Page 73

The sunroom is filled with golden light when I step in. My mother is seated with a magazine in her lap. My father is standing at the windows, phone pressed to his ear.
They both look up at the same time.
My mother rises slowly, her expression warm but tight with concern. My father’s brows draw together immediately, reading me in a single glance like he always does.
He hangs up the call without another word and turns toward me.
“Mija?”
I don’t smile.
There’s no need to pretend. I walk in and sit on the edge of the couch, hands resting on my knees.
“I want a divorce,” I say.
The words drop like stones into still water. My mother blinks in surprise, and my father goes rigid.
“What did he do?” My father demands his nose, already flaring in anger. He starts pacing with clenched fists. “That son of a bitch dared to hurt you?”
“Thiago,” my mother warns gently, already rising to place a hand on his arm. He shakes her off and points at me. “Tell me what he did. Right now. Did he physically hit you?”
“What did he do to you?” Mom joins in, her voice more careful. “Is he cruel, baby? Has he ever laid a hand on you?”
I take a deep breath, but my voice shakes as I answer. “He’s not cruel,” I whisper. “He hasn’t done anything. He is colder than ice. I don’t think he is capable of feeling any form of emotion.” I blink once, and the tears come faster than I can stop them.
“Oh, come here, my baby.” Mom sits beside me, wrapping me in her arms.
“He’s always gone,” I say, struggling to keep my composure. “Even when he’s home, it’s like he isn’t. We’re polite, but distant. And it’s cold, Mom. It’s like I live with a ghost that haunts me. One moment he’s there, and the next—he’s vanished without a trace.”
Mom leans in closer and whispers, so only I can hear, “Have you tried being intimate with him? Sometimes touch can bring down walls.”
I nod once, slow and broken.
“I have. And I can’t anymore. I can’t bear his touch now. Not after knowing it didn’t mean anything to him. I feel cheap, invisible, and used.”
My mom looks at me with eyes full of sympathy. “It may feel like that initially, but maybe if you give it time, you both will grow familiar with each other.”
“No, Mom, we won’t. We’ve been married for six months now, and still nothing has changed.” I say in a panicked voice. “I’drather die than stay married to a cold and heartless man like Zasha.”
My father is still pacing, trying to keep from exploding. So I turn to him.
“Please don’t make me stay in a house where I’m constantly questioning my right to be there.”
The silence that follows is thick. And for the first time, my father doesn’t have a quick answer. After a brief moment of silence, he explodes like a match struck against dry stone.
“That’s it. I’m calling off every damn agreement with the Bratva. All of it. They don’t get to walk into my family, break my daughter, and keep my ports.”
“Carino?”my mother warns.
But he’s pacing now, rage spiraling out in sharp waves. “They can go back to whatever frozen alley they crawled out of. I don’t care if they are taking over New York like wildfire. I don’t care what it costs. No man makes my daughter cry and keeps my respect.”
I stand and go to him, “Papa?”
He doesn’t stop pacing.
“Papa, please stop.”
His steps falter, and I take a deep breath. My voice is steady, even though my chest is full of shards.