I do.
Aria Sartori doesn't leave Sicily unless something has gone terribly wrong. Or unless one of her children has done something unforgivable.
Apparently, getting married without telling her qualifies.
"Pietro was supposed to handle that."
"Pietro told her about the wedding." Valentino's voice carries a hint of amusement. "Three days after it happened. Through a text message."
A text message.
I would laugh if I weren't so exhausted.
"She's furious," Valentino continues. "At Pietro for not telling her sooner. At you for not inviting her. At everyone for keeping her in the dark about your plans to become Don."
"She knows about that too?"
"She knows everything now." Valentino pushes off the doorframe. Walks closer. "Nico called her last night. Told her you've been pushing for the position. That you're not ready."
Of course Nico called her.
Of course he did.
"What did she say?"
"She said she'll decide for herself whether you're ready." Valentino stops beside my wheelchair. "She wants to meet your wife."
My wife.
"Bruno."
I look up.
Valentino's watching me with that expression he gets.
"You've been avoiding her."
"I've been busy."
"You've been hiding."
I don't answer.
Because he's right.
I have been hiding.
Every morning, I time my arrival at breakfast to minimize interaction. I eat fast. Leave faster. Spend my days in the gym or my office or anywhere she isn't.
At dinner, I keep my eyes on my plate. Answer questions with single words. Pretend she doesn't exist.
And every single day, it gets harder.
"What happened at the party?" Valentino asks.
"Nothing."
"Something happened."