Chapter 8
I did not beat Marcus again.
The punch in the kitchen had been enough.
More would make the story about my anger.
It was not.
I removed him from my business instead.
He laughed when I told him.
At first.
“You’re removing an associate because your wife washed dishes?”
“No.”
I spoke slowly.
“Because you watched someone use my name to control my household and decided it benefited you.”
His smile vanished.
No more private meetings.
No Montoro vehicles.
No use of my properties.
No guest privileges through marriage to Delia.
Business with him would be reviewed individually and ended where practical.
He stared.
“I’m your brother-in-law.”
“Exactly.”
Not immunity.
Relationship.
He looked toward Delia.
She had gone pale.
This consequence touched her too.
That mattered.
But I refused to punish her through him.
Separate choices.
Separate consequences.
Delia asked:
“What happens to me?”
I looked at the brooch still in my pocket.
“You move out.”
Her face collapsed.
The Manhattan penthouse had been partly hers emotionally for seventeen years.
Not legally.
Not relevant.
It was home.
“You’re throwing me out for Sofia?”
“No.”
I let the distinction settle.
“I’m asking you to leave because you made my wife unsafe in her own home.”
Delia cried.
“You think she’ll keep you from me.”
Sofia, standing near the doorway, said:
“No.”
Everyone turned.
She looked at Delia.
“I wanted you as Lily’s aunt.”
Not rival.
Not servant.
Not matriarch.
Aunt.
Delia stared.
That was the tragedy.
The role available to her had been real.
Important.
Loved.
May you like
She simply considered it smaller than the one she was losing.
People can destroy a place in your life because they are too busy measuring whether it is the biggest.
