Page 125 of Till Death Do Us Part

I stared at her. “Did Babbo kill Romeo and Juliet on my sheets?”

She turned to me, studying my face. “This has nothing to do with Romeo and Juliet. Felice sent Babbo your wedding night sheet. To let him know your marriage had been…consummated.”

My face scrunched up. “Why…?”

“To let it be known the marriage was final. No one could question it. You’re his.”

Turning away from her, I flung my lipstick back in my purse. It was mortifying to have my father see the sheets we had sex on for the first time. Felice didn’t have to do that to prove anything.

I’d signed my name on the certificate willingly. Uncle Tito had witnessed it.

I’d given Felice my blood and mixed it with his. He had a certificate of that too.

I’d vowed my life to him. As final as my last breath.

What Felice had done went beyond his claim of me. He’d done it for that stupid fucking game he refused to lose. He was no better than Alfonso or Jack.

He studied my face when we returned to the table. His arm settled on the back of my chair, and he went to set his hand on my neck, but I pushed up some. I wasn’t even hungry. I ordered a drink instead. Felice did the same.

Lo and Sandro walked with us to the gelato place after dinner, but I refused to get any.

My husband got the point.

The walk home was quiet and cold. The house even more so. I undressed in the closet and put my nightclothes on, doing whatever I needed to do in the bathroom, then I got into bed.

He stood in the doorway of our room, leaning against it, hands in his pockets, watching me. I turned my back on him, feigning getting comfortable. He was quiet for so long, I assumed he left.

I flipped back over, and he was still there.

Our eyes met.

“You—” he pointed at me “—Roma Maggio, belong to me—” he pointed at his himself “—Felice Maggio.”

“I know, John,” I said. “I’m another stake in this game of yours. Too bad you can’t put me on your wrist.” I turned over and closed my eyes, but the ache in my heart refused to let me sleep.

* * *

The next morning, after Felice left, I dressed in comfortable clothes, stuck my hair in a high ponytail, and found the boxes Babbo had sent over. It was time to face them.

I moved them around, setting them next to each other. Even though a few were bursting at the seams and heavy, I didn’t want to wait for Felice to get home. The building attendant and security guard were downstairs, and so were some of Felice’s men, but they were only there for emergencies. Felice didn’t want them alone with me.

That was fine. I wanted to be by myself.

I used a box to sit on and started with one that had been on top. It was the lightest. A manilla envelope sat on top of my old bedding set from Babbo’s house. Underneath it was the scrap of sheet from our wedding night. The blood had turned black.

Last night, I’d been mortified at the thought. In the daylight, I was beyond mortified to be holding the proof.

How could he have done this to me? Shared something so personal to prove a point. I knew the old tradition was still done, proving a marriage was consummated by the blood on the sheets, but so were arranged marriages. We didn’t have one of those.

My hands trembled as I slid the letter out from inside the envelope. Felice had written and signed it.

John

I picked up the material, squeezing it in my hand, remembering.

I held the ripped piece of sheet up. “Um, what is this?”

“A sheet.”

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