She turned to look at me as I opened the rear door, and she gave me a smile that was all surface, all practiced warmth. Her fingers drifted to the hollow of her throat, resting there for just a moment. "Sorry, Grazia. I get carsick. Must be the pregnancy, you know, so I had to sit up front."
I smiled back faintly. "Sure."
When I hadn't been considering divorce, I might have felt something about my husband's first love sitting beside him, her hand resting near his on the center console, her perfume filling the car. But now, whatever they did just stopped bothering me. The sting was gone. In its place was something flat and clear, like the surface of water after the wind dies.
It was funny, though. If it was Simone's car, she had to sit next to him. But in anyone else's car, at any other gathering, she never mentioned carsickness. She'd take whatever seat was offered and never say a word about it.
The restaurant was one of those places the Families used for sit-downs when they wanted neutral ground that still felt expensive. White tablecloths. Heavy silverware. A private room in the back where the staff knew not to enter without knocking twice. By the time we arrived, all of Simone's men were already there, seated around the long table like soldiers awaiting orders. Rocco Valente. Dario Ferretti. Luca. A few others from the crew who'd been present when the remarks were made.
Rocco came over first. He greeted me with a nod that was barely a nod, then pulled out the chair beside him and gestured for me to sit. "Grazia. I'll be the first to apologize."
His tone wasn't exactly sincere. There was something underneath it, something that sounded less like remorse and more like a man who'd been told to do this and resented the instruction. Once everyone was seated, Rocco poured me a drink, announced he'd take a shot to make up for his mistakes, and raised his glass. He drained it in one swallow, set it down with a deliberate clink, and began.
"Well, I don't usually think before I speak, so don't take it to heart." He cracked the knuckle of his right index finger. A single, sharp pop. "Honestly, I never thought you were good enough for my brother. But he wants to be with you, so I'm here to support him."
"Thanks," I said. "I guess."