HIS WIFE FOR 365 DAYS.

CATERINA My mother had a particular way of entering my room when she wanted something from me. She never knocked twice. The first knock was polite, almost affectionate. The second was a warning. “Caterina?” I looked up from my laptop. “Come in.” The door opened, and my mother stepped inside carrying a garment bag over one arm. She was dressed in an ivory silk blouse and a pair of tailored trousers, her blonde hair swept into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck. She looked as though she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine. I looked considerably less impressive. I was curled up on my bed in an oversized T-shirt, surrounded by open notebooks and a glass of wine I had forgotten to drink. Her eyes travelled across the room. Then to me. Then back to the room. “Don’t.” I smiled. “I haven’t said anything.” “You were about to.” “Probably.” She sighed and placed the garment bag across the armchair. “What are you wearing tonight?” I glanced at the clock. “Clothes, hopefully.” “Caterina.” “Mother.” Her expression softened despite herself. There were moments when I wondered whether she regretted giving birth to a daughter with an inconvenient personality. Then again, I had inherited most of it from her. “Your father wants everyone downstairs by eight.” I frowned. “Everyone?” “Yes.” “That sounds ominous.” “It is dinner, not a funeral.” “Those aren’t mutually exclusive in this family.” My mother gave me a look. I laughed quietly, but she didn’t. That was the first thing that made me sit up properly. My mother was not easily unsettled. She had spent thirty years married to my father, which should have qualified her for a medal of endurance, if nothing else. But tonight, something was different. Her fingers lingered on the garment bag. “What is it?” “What is what?” “That expression.” “I don’t have an expression.” “You have several. This one usually means someone has made a terrible decision and you’re about to pretend it wasn’t your idea.” She looked away. Interesting. I closed my laptop. “Who is coming?” “No one important.” I stared at her. She smiled faintly. “That was a terrible lie.” “Caterina.” “Fine. Is it business?” “Everything is business with your father.” “Then why do we have to be present?” “Because he asked.” I leaned back against my pillows. “That doesn’t answer my question.” My mother crossed the room and sat at the edge of my bed. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Outside my window, the afternoon light had begun fading over the gardens. The estate looked peaceful from up here, almost impossibly so. Rows of cypress trees lined the long driveway, and the fountains in the courtyard continued their endless performance beneath the evening sky. This house had always been beautiful. It had also always felt like it was hiding something. “Wear something appropriate,” she said finally. I narrowed my eyes. “Appropriate for what?” “Dinner.” “With armed security?” Her gaze snapped toward me. I smiled. “Don’t look surprised. I notice things.” My mother studied my face. Then she reached forward and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You ask too many questions.” “And you avoid answering too many of them.” “That is because some things are better left alone.” I laughed softly. “That sounds like something people say right before everything becomes a disaster.” Her smile disappeared. For a second, I wondered if I had gone too far. Then she stood. “Just come downstairs when I call you.” “That’s it?” “That’s it.” She reached the door before I spoke again. “Mother?” She turned. “Is Dad alright?” The question seemed to catch her off guard. Her expression changed. Not dramatically. My mother was far too composed for that. But something flickered behind her eyes. “Your father is fine.” That wasn’t what I had asked. She opened the door. “And Caterina?” “Yes?” “Please don’t make tonight difficult.” I stared at her. “I wasn’t planning to.” She gave me a knowing look. Neither of us believed that. Then she left. ⸻ By seven-thirty, I had changed my mind about dinner approximately six times. The black silk dress hanging from the garment bag was beautiful, which was irritating because my mother had been right about it. It fell elegantly against my figure, simple enough not to appear desperate for attention and expensive enough to remind anyone looking that I belonged to a family that could afford things most people only admired through glass. I fastened a pair of diamond earrings and examined myself in the mirror. My hair fell in loose blonde waves over my shoulders. I looked composed. That was useful. Composure was something my family valued almost as much as silence. I picked up my phone from the vanity and glanced at the messages waiting for me. Three from my best friend. One from my brother. And one from my father. Downstairs. Eight o’clock. Don’t be late. No greeting. No explanation. Typical. I slipped my phone into my clutch and moved toward the window to close the curtains. Then I heard it. An engine. I paused. Another followed. Then another. The sound grew louder, rolling across the quiet estate until it became impossible to ignore. I pushed the curtain aside. Below me, the gates were opening. My eyebrows drew together. A black SUV entered first. Then a second. Then a third. They moved through the driveway in perfect formation, their dark bodies gleaming beneath the estate lights. I watched as the vehicles came to a stop near the front entrance. Men stepped out almost immediately. Four. No—six. All dressed in dark suits. All carrying themselves with the unmistakable confidence of people who knew exactly what they were doing. Security. My stomach tightened. What the hell? Another vehicle appeared beyond the gates. This one was different. Longer. Sleeker. More expensive. It glided toward the house and stopped directly beneath the marble steps. A driver emerged and opened the rear door. For a moment, no one moved. Then a man stepped out. I couldn’t see his face clearly from the second floor. But I could see enough. Tall. Dark-haired. Dressed in black. He stood beside the vehicle. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then he walked toward the house. My phone buzzed against the vanity. Mamma: Caterina, come downstairs. Now. I stared at the message for a moment before slipping my phone into my clutch. I left my room and made my way downstairs. Through the glass doors, I saw my father waiting at the entrance. He was meeting the stranger before he could even enter the house. That alone was strange. My father never rushed to greet anyone. The man approached, and my father immediately extended his hand. “Signor Russo,” he greeted. His voice was different. Careful. Respectful. Almost nervous. I stopped halfway down the staircase. I had never seen my father behave that way toward anyone. Not businessmen. Not politicians. Not even the men he considered friends. Whoever this stranger was, he clearly held enough power to unsettle my father. My father gestured toward the house. “Please, come inside. Dinner is waiting.” The man said something I couldn’t hear. Then they began walking toward the entrance. My mother appeared from the dining room. “Caterina, hurry up. We’re about to begin.” I barely heard her. My attention remained fixed on the man approaching the doors. He was tall. Dark-haired. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. As he stepped beneath the warm light of the entrance, he lifted his head. Our eyes met. I froze. Dante Russo.