Page 75 of Chains of Recompense
Like it was made for a version of me I haven’t grown into yet but desperately want to.
“You look like the patron saint of revenge,” Evi says softly, eyes bright. “Or maybe temptation.”
Smoothing my hands down the soft fabric, I rotate in the mirror as I admire each angle and all the details she’s put into the design.
It would be an understatement to say I’m blown away by the beauty and quality of it. Evi clearly has a talent for fashion design.
“It’s incredible,” I breathe. “You could make a fortune selling dresses like this.”
Evi smiles shyly, color painting her cheeks. “I’ve been thinking about opening up a little boutique or something once everything calms down—you know, just for fun.”
“I love the idea,” I gush. “And I’m happy to help in any way I can. I’m not familiar with sewing or anything, but I did do some marketing classes a few years back.” Turning away from the mirror, I meet Evi’s eyes. “You’re sure I can wear this tonight?”
“Of course. I want someone to enjoy it, and it’s not the most comfortable style for my current condition.” She beams down at her tummy, her tender expression tugging at my heartstrings.
Not for the first time, I’m grateful that I’m not all alone in this ruined mansion full of builders and brutal Mafia men, and my heart warms at my sister-in-law’s generosity.
The fact that she and Sandro are so in love says a lot about the kind of man her husband is, and in the weeks that I’ve grown closer to her, it makes me want to see what she sees in the Chiaroscuro men.
“Are you nervous about having twins?” I ask.
I know it’s her first time around, and she’s barely eighteen—having one child at that age is daunting enough as it is.
Evi’s hand falls lightly on her belly, and she smiles up at me. “Honestly, it just feels like a blessing. I… well, not many people know this, but I actually suffer from PCOS—polycystic ovary syndrome—so I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to have children.”
I can see the shadow of sadness behind her eyes, and my lips press into a sympathetic line.
It means a lot that she would tell me something so personal, especially when I can see the pain it causes to think about such things.
“Sometimes, I still fear the worst because my ability to carry to term is less likely, but so far, the doctors say the babies are healthy.”
“I’m so happy for you,” I say, reading between the lines of what she’s saying. This might be her only chance to have a baby, so the fact that she’s having two really is a blessing.
“What about you?” she asks, dashing away a single tear that rolls down her cheek and waving off the emotion as she quickly changes the subject. “Do you want a family?”
Riley’s face is the first thing that flashes into my mind—her round cheeks and adorable dark ringlets, the way she smiles like sunlight when she sees me, her infectious giggle.
I love that little girl more than life itself.
I’ve adored her from the moment she was born, and it makes me smile just thinking about the first time I held her, how tiny and fragile and perfect she was.
“Yes, I would love to be a mother,” I admit, a hint of sadness tinging the pure joy within my memories of spending time with Riley.
Because I’ve hardly spoken about her since my wedding day, worried of what I might let slip if I got too comfortable around someone in the Chiaroscuro house—like Evi.
Better not to think about it too closely, because I’m not so sure that motherhood is a reality I’ll ever fully get to experience—not after everything that’s happened.
Especially now that Raf and I are so far down this path of a fake marriage. Because he and I certainly won’t be raising a family together.
And once our divorce is official, no other man will want to take me as his wife—not now that the entire world would consider me damaged goods.
It was no minor miracle that my family managed to hide the fact that I’ve been ruined for a long time now.
And in the world of Mafia brides, I’d already been bordering on the age of an old spinster.
When the daughter of an Irish Catholic Mafia boss has to get a divorce, that all but ensures she’ll be perceived as broken, damaged beyond repair.
But I don’t mind.
