Taking a deep breath, I shakily opened one of the videos. In it, Dante stood by the ocean, the wind pulling at his open collar, and tenderly called her "My Carina."
She softly asked, "Do you love me?"
This was my husband of seven years, the father of the baby growing inside me, a Capo in the Moretti crime family, a man who gave orders that other men obeyed without question, replying with a warmth I hadn't seen in years.
"I'll always love you, Cara."
His voice was soft. Unguarded. The voice of a man who had nothing to prove and no one to perform for. I had not heard that voice directed at me since before the miscarriage. Maybe longer. Maybe ever.
I replayed the video over and over, tears streaming down my face. As dusk fell, the room around me grew dim. The estate's exterior lights clicked on automatically, casting long shadows through the windows. Somewhere beyond the gate, one of the soldiers coughed. The world kept turning. The Family kept running. And I sat in the dark with my husband's betrayal playing on a loop in my hands.
Dante finally came home. I heard the car first. Then the gate. Then the front door, and the familiar sound of his shoes on the marble entryway. His voice was gentle as he lightly scolded me, "Olivia, why didn't you turn on the lights? It's so dark. What if you fall?"
He flipped the light switch, and the room lit up. I quickly covered my tear-streaked face as he knelt in front of me and took my hand.
"Why are you crying? Who made my precious wife and our little one so sad?" he asked, his voice soft as he kissed my belly.
His hand was warm. His touch was practiced. This was the version of Dante that the household saw. The devoted husband. The expectant father. The Capo who kept his home in order. I wondered how many times he had knelt like this after coming from her apartment, still carrying her scent, and played the part so well that even I believed it.
As he leaned closer, I smelled the same sweet jasmine fragrance. Struggling to keep calm, I asked, "Where were you?"
"I was at the club, finishing up some business with Enzo. What's wrong, honey?" Dante replied casually, as though nothing was out of the ordinary. He ran his thumb along the edge of his jaw, a gesture I had once found attractive. A man measuring his next move. Now I saw it for what it was. A man deciding which lie to tell.