Chapter 76 I'M SORRY
Chapter 76 I'M SORRY
THE MORETTI’S MANSION
The aroma of food filled the expansive kitchen of the Moretti mansion, but the warmth of the food couldn’t mask the chill that had settled between the high ceilings and marble floors. Aurora stood at the gas cooker, her movements practiced and mechanical.
The silence was broken by the pitter-patter of small feet against the tile.
"Mama! Is it pasta night?"
Rico, their four-year-old son—the spitting image of his father but with Aurora’s spirited eyes—skidded into the kitchen.
"Almost, piccolo," Aurora said, her expression softening instantly. She reached down to ruffle his dark hair, the only time her face truly lit up these days. "Go wash your hands"
The heavy front doors groaned in the distance, followed by the rhythmic, authoritative click of leather soles. Aurora’s shoulders tensed. She didn't need to look at the clock to know it was 7:00 PM.
Matteo entered the kitchen. He had shed his suit jacket, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal the tattoos that marked his rank and his history. He looked every bit the Don—powerful.
"Papa!" Rico squealed, pivoting away from the sink.
Matteo’s hardened expression cracked for a split second. He caught the boy mid-stride, hoisting him high into the air. "There’s my champion. Have you been looking after your mother today?"
"I helped her out with the cooking!" Rico beamed, clinging to Matteo’s neck.
Matteo’s gaze drifted over the boy’s shoulder, landing on Aurora. He waited, his chest tightening with a hope he refused to voice. He wanted a greeting, a nod or even a glance that didn't feel like a sentence.
Aurora turned, but as their eyes met, her expression went flat. It wasn't hatred—hatred was loud. This was indifference, a cold wall built out of five years of secrets, blood, and the "incident" that had shattered the fragile peace they had once found.
She looked away just as quickly, focusing on the simmering pot.
Matteo’s jaw tightened. He let out a long, weary sigh that seemed to echo through the hollow spaces of their marriage. He didn't try to force a conversation, he knew better by now.
"Go get your shoes, Rico," Matteo said quietly, setting the boy down. "We’ll play in the garden for ten minutes before dinner"
As Rico ran off, Matteo lingered for a moment, staring at Aurora’s back.
"The Leone gala is tomorrow," he said, his voice low. "I expect you to be ready by six"
"I'm not coming" she replied, not turning around.
Matteo’s eyes narrowed as the weight of her refusal hit him. He didn't move. In the boardroom, his word was law, but in this kitchen, he was a man begging for a glance from a woman who had once been his entire world.
"Why?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave, thick with a mix of frustration and exhaustion. "Leone is an ally, Aurora. A clean one. This isn't a war meeting, it’s a birthday. It’s the image we need to maintain"
Aurora didn't flinch. She picked up a wooden spoon, stirring the sauce with a rhythmic, detached grace. She didn't offer a reason. She didn't even offer him the courtesy of a sigh. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating, until the tension became a physical ache in his chest.
Matteo turned to leave, his hand already on the doorframe, but then he stopped. He closed his eyes for a brief second, his pride losing the battle against his conscience.
"I'm sorry," he muttered.
The stirring stopped. Aurora’s back went rigid. The air in the room seemed to turn to ice.
"I don't need your sorry, what you did is unforgivable, Matteo. That’s it. There is no middle ground here"
Matteo spun around, his shadow looming large against the marble island. "I will keep saying it until you forgive me. I will say it every day for the rest of my life if that’s what it takes"
Finally, Aurora turned
"I'm never going to," she spat. "You told me you loved me. You swore that we were leaving that life behind for Rico. And yet, you still did that to me. You betrayed the one thing we had left, and now you want me to forgive you? To put on a dress and play the happy wife?"
"It wasn't intentional!" Matteo stepped toward her, his hands out as if trying to catch a falling glass. "The situation spiraled, Aurora. I did what I had to do to protect this family—to protect you"
"Protect me?" She let out a short, humorless laugh that cut deeper than any scream. "I don't get how destroying my trust protects me, Matteo"
She set the spoon down with a sharp clack and walked past him without a second glance.
Matteo stood alone in the kitchen, the scent of the dinner she had cooked still swirling around him, feeling more like a ghost in his own home than the Don of Sicily.