I wanted to turn back the clock and never step into Nico’s room last night. A few moments ago, the memory of his hands had been warm, pleasurable impressions. Now, they were stains I couldn’t wash away.

From the exaggerated banging and clatter of pans downstairs, it was safe to say Isabel and I hadn’t hit it off. I’d realized shortly after shutting the door that it was Monday and the cook was supposed to be here.

Isabel comes Mondays and Thursdays, Nico had said. And then something about her cleaning too, though that was either code for “She fucks me too,” or she was the worst maid I’d ever seen. My gaze coasted Nico’s messy bedroom, taking in the shattered lamp with detachment.

Ever since I’d met him I’d resorted to immature games that put me in awkward situations. Like now, as I stood in a towel in his room to spite his mistress. I banged my head on the door. He made me do stupid things and I hated it.

I crossed the hall and put on my nicest maxi dress. A pretty outfit always made me feel better, though it didn’t seem to help today. I did my makeup, all the while hearing Isabel clanging around until a “Jesus Christ, woman. Shut up,” came from a disgruntled Luca.

I made my way down the stairs, and relief hit me when I found the kitchen and living room to be empty. I didn’t want to be unkind anymore; it was exhausting.

The office door was cracked, and Luca and Isabel’s hushed voices came from within as I got the coffee started. I checked my phone that had been charging on the counter. I had a text from my mamma about some wedding details but nothing else. I wanted to speak with Adriana, but I knew she wouldn’t have gotten her phone back. I was about to call the landline when the talking in the other room stopped, and now sounded suspiciously like . . . kissing.

A grimace pulled on my lips.

It felt like I was trapped in a Gabriella situation, though this time I was on the opposite side of the scenario: the girlfriend instead of the relative. I didn’t like this new angle at all.

A little moan.

I shifted on my feet. Were they seriously going to mess around with the door open? They had to know I was out here; the coffee was brewing and the creak in the stairs had been loud enough to wake the dead.

“Shit,” Luca coughed.

Yep, messing around.

I could only assume Isabel was trying to make me as uncomfortable as she could, and Luca was just a man and couldn’t turn down sex.

My stomach twisted as I imagined it was Nico in there with Isabel instead. I would have to grow used the possibility, and so I forced myself to believe it was him. I let the ache in my chest unfurl until it would scar.

I pulled up Benito’s number and sent him a text.

Me: Please come pick me up.

Three dots appeared right away, showing he was typing.

Benito: You know I can’t do that.

I expected his response, but it felt like all the walls were closing in on me and squeezing my lungs. If I didn’t get out soon, I wouldn’t be able to breathe.

Me: Please. I just want to talk to Adriana.

Benito: Call the home phone.

Me: No, I need to see her.

Benito: Dammit, Elena.

Me: Ple.. . .

Benito: Fuck. The things I do for women.

Relief filled me, and I sucked in a breath.

Benito: Is Ace there?

Me: No. Just Luca.

Benito: Make sure you ask him.

Me: Yeah, I know, Benny.

Benito: Don’t Benny me. Be there soon.

I took a cup of coffee to my room and waited for him to arrive. When I got a text saying he was waiting out front, I hopped up and headed downstairs, only to find Luca and Isabel still preoccupied. It’d been a good twenty minutes, at least. I hesitated. I couldn’t stay here for another second, but the thought of confronting either of them made my stomach dip.

I found a piece of paper and wrote a quick note that Benito had picked me up and I was going home for a couple hours. My hand faltered on the word home. I didn’t believe I thought of my parents’ as home anymore, but today the last place home felt like was here.

I left through the front door since Benito waited on the street, but that wasn’t only it. I didn’t want to use the back door in case Luca would hear. An awareness itched in a corner of my mind that he might not let me leave, and that wasn’t an option. My heart beat with uncertainty as I let the screen door shut with a quiet click.

I climbed into the passenger seat.

Benito was sending a text, probably to some unlucky lady. He was a sight for sore eyes, and for some annoying reason tears began to well.

“I gotta tell you about this one, Elena,” he said, tossing his phone in the center console. “Blonde, tall . . . and these legs. Damn.” He made a circle with his thumb and forefinger in the “perfect” sign and looked over at me. His hand dropped, and his expression darkened. “What did that asshole do?”

“Nothing.” I shook my head, wiping my eyes. “I’m just being a stupid girl.”

His gaze narrowed. “Elena.”

I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck. He smelled like hundred-dollar hair gel and his signature cologne. “I don’t know how you get any women with how much cologne you wear. Could smell you from a mile away.”

He hugged me back. “Makes them come in droves.”

“Thanks for picking me up.”

His arms tightened around me. “If he hurts you, you’ll tell me.”

It wasn’t a question, though it felt like one. We both knew there was nothing he could do if it came down to that. Nobody meddled with a man’s wife or relationship in the Cosa Nostra. It wasn’t anyone’s business, regardless if he was abusive.

“I’ll tell you, but he hasn’t.” I pulled back and put my seatbelt on.

“So, what is this?” He wiped a tear off my cheek with a thumb. “Period shit? Aunt Flo in town?”

I laughed. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too, cuz. Let’s go home.”

Home.

It didn’t feel right when he said it either.

“If the Sun and Moon should ever doubt, they’d immediately go out.”

—William Blake

THE GRANDFATHER CLOCK’S TICKS AND tocks filled the silent room.

Mamma took a sip of wine and stared at me.

Nonna sat on the adjacent couch, watching me like she knew I’d had mind-blowing, premarital sex last night.

I flushed.

She smiled like a cat.

“Have some fruit salad, Elena.” Mamma set down her wine glass to push a plate across the coffee table. “I just made it last night.”

“I’m not hungry, Mamma.”

Both of their gazes widened as though I’d confessed I wanted to join a convent. I suddenly regretted not accepting the salad.

My mother placed a hand on her chest. “I knew that Russo was abusing her.”

I sighed. “He’s not—”

“Please,” Nonna scoffed. “It looks consensual enough from where I’m sitting.” She observed me like someone would a bride in an off-white gown.

“Nadia,” Mamma scolded. “That’s not what I meant.”

“No, it wouldn’t be. You’re the biggest prude on this side of the Mississippi.”

“He’s not abusing me, all right?” I crossed my legs in discomfort. “I’m just not hungry.”