Salvatore.
Throwing the comforter back, I climb out of the bed. I need to face him myself, I need to hear the words. I need to know exactly what Massimo wants from me. What he’s denying me. Exactly what kind of fucking asshole he is.
“Pippa, go back to bed,” Renzo murmurs as soon as I appear.
Salvatore turns around from his place in the chair. My eyes find his, and I shake my head once. “No, I need to know exactly what Massimo’s wishes are,” I say, my voice firm, but my entire body trembling.
Salvatore jerks his chin and I nod my head once as I walk over to the other chair. I can’t sit on the sofa next to Renzo, I need to be alone. Lifting my legs, I wrap my arms around my shins and rest my chin against my bent knees.
“Tell me,” I softly demand.
Salvatore nods his head. “You have access to an account that he had me set up for you. All you need to do is sign the signature card, which I have with me. There will be fifteen thousand dollars deposited each month. That’s yours to do with as you see fit. Gavino and the famiglia will be taking care of the rest of the expenses. The car is paid for and yours to use as you see fit. The house is paid off. Gavino will be taking over the household bills. Massimo has also added a once a year, one-hundred-thousand-dollar deposit for you.”
“It’s too much,” I say, interrupting him.
Salvatore shakes his head. “He has it, take it, Pippa. You’re his wife, you are owed fifty percent of his assets, and this isn’t even close to that,” he explains.
Pressing my lips together, I look down, inhaling a deep breath. Lifting my eyes back to meet Salvatore’s I ask him the question that I definitely do not want an answer to, but I need it.
“He wants a divorce, right?”
Renzo growls, but Salvatore lifts his hand. “On paper, for now. It doesn’t take away your protection, or the assets that he’s giving you. He wants you to have your freedom though, Pippa. He knows that’s important to you and he doesn’t want to force you into a life of solitude because he’s in prison.”
“That’s a bullshit cop-out,” I snap. Renzo chuckles, but I narrow my eyes on him. “You can tell him that I refuse to sign that shit until he asks me in person.”
“Pippa, he wants this, he won’t like that message.”
Standing, I lift my hand and extend my finger toward him. “Fuck you, Sal. Fuck him, too. You can tell him I said that shit. He can ask me himself, in fucking person if he wants a goddamn fucking divorce,” I shout before I turn and stomp away, heading upstairs.
“That’s a lot of fucks for a wife,” Salvatore mumbles as I walk away.
“Stick around, I’m good and pissed off, Sal. I may say fuck about fifteen more fucking times,” I scream before I continue to stomp up the stairs, ignoring their low laughter.
Chapter Twenty-Three
MASSIMO
“Fuck,” I hiss.
Sal chuckles. “That about sums it up, your moglie is good and pissed the fuck off, cugino.”
Closing my eyes, I let my forehead rest against the wall and let out a sigh. She can be good and pissed off all she wants. It doesn’t change that I want a divorce. That I need a divorce. Pressing my lips together, I shake my head before I open my eyes.
“Doesn’t matter. It’s happening,” I grunt.
“She wants to see you, talk to you herself,” he murmurs.
“No.”
Salvatore stays silent for a moment, then clears his throat. “She has a right, don’t you think? She is your wife, Massimo.”
“Fine. I’ll put her on the list for my next visitation. But you can tell her that it’s the fucking end. One time and one time only. I want that shit signed and done after I meet with her.”
“Why the hell are you doing this, Massimo? This all seems really rash. We got her protected, you made sure she was set monetarily, Renzo is staying with her for a while until we know for sure there isn’t any kind of threat. She’s solid, cugino. Talk to me.”
I debate telling him everything that’s going through my head, but ultimately, I decide against it. I’ve already said my piece. He knows the reason I want to let Pippa go, at least part of the reason.
My second reason for letting her go is a bit more complicated. She never wanted a Made Man. She felt as though she had no choice. It was either marry me, sell her body, or be homeless.
I’m giving her that freedom back, the one that I know she wanted so damn badly. I’m not going to force her to stay married to a man that can’t be with her, one that she never really wanted in the first place.
“Tell her she can come to the next visitation day,” I grunt, then slam the phone down, hanging up on him.
Turning my back to the phone, I make my way over to the guard. Jerking my chin toward him, I look down my nose and wait for directions. He guides me toward my cell with a grunt. Stepping inside, I let out a breath and walk over to my bed. Sinking down on the edge, I lift my arms and put my elbows on my thighs before I bury my face in my hands.
* * *
TWO WEEKS LATER
Today is the day. I shouldn’t have allowed this. Sliding my hand down the front of my shirt, I make sure that it’s tucked in neatly and that my buttons are straight down the middle of my chest.
Lifting my hand, I slide my palm along the side of my head to ensure that I don’t have any stray hairs. Stepping up to the officer at the door, I wait as he snorts over at me.
“Someone coming to see you today, Ferrucci?”
“My wife,” I rasp.
He lets out a
