Tina's hand trembled as the woman's voice slithered through the phone, smooth and syrupy. "Hi, darling. Where are you?"
Her heart stopped, like someone had yanked the plug on her world. The bedroom spun—Enzo's phone burning in her grip, the shower steam still clinging to the air. She clutched the phone tighter, her voice sharp as a blade. "Who the fuck is this?"
A pause, then a nervous laugh. "Oh, I must have the wrong number. Sorry—"
"Don't give me that shit," Tina snapped, her chest heaving. "It's too late to deny it now. You called him 'darling.' Who are you?"
The woman's tone hardened, but there was a crack in it, like she'd been caught. "I don't know what you're talking about. I have to go."
"Don't hang up!" Tina's voice broke, raw and desperate. "Don't be a coward. Tell me your name. That's the least you can do."
Silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Then, a whisper. "Bianca. Bianca Falco." The line went dead.
Tina stared at the phone, her breath ragged. Bianca. The name burned into her brain, sharp and ugly. Her legs gave out, and she sank onto the bed, the world blurring through tears she didn't realize were falling. Her stomach churned—anger, shame, betrayal twisting together like a knot she couldn't untie. She'd known Enzo was slipping away, felt it in the late nights, the excuses, the way he didn't touch her anymore. But this? A woman calling him "darling"? It was a knife to the heart, and she was bleeding out.
She thought of Mia, asleep down the hall, her tiny hands curled around her stuffed bunny. She thought of the house, the wedding, the promises they'd made. Ten years of love, of choosing him, of enduring his secrets because she believed in them. And now this—Bianca. The name tasted like poison.
The bathroom door creaked open, and Enzo stepped out, towel slung low, water dripping from his hair. He froze when he saw her, the phone still in her hand, her face streaked with tears. "Tina? What's wrong?"
She looked at him, really looked. His dark eyes, his strong jaw, the man she'd loved since that diner day. But now she saw something else—lies, shadows, a stranger wearing her husband's face. Her voice shook, barely above a whisper. "She called you."
He frowned, stepping closer. "Who?"
"Bianca," she spat, the name cutting her tongue. "Bianca Falco. She called you 'darling,' Enzo. Asked where you were."
His face changed—not guilt, not shock, but something colder. He crossed his arms, jaw tight. "You answered my phone?"
"That's what you care about?" Tina stood, her voice rising, cracking. "I'm your wife, and some woman's calling you like she owns you! How long, Enzo? How many have there been?"
He sighed, like she was a kid throwing a tantrum. "What does it matter, Tina? It's not a big deal."
Her mouth fell open, the words hitting like a punch. "Not a big deal? You're fucking around, and it's not a big deal?"
He stepped closer, his voice low, almost bored. "Look, it's not that we haven't been happy. I love you, you know that. But I'm a man. Men and women have different needs. You wouldn't get it."
Tina's blood roared in her ears. She laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that didn't feel like hers. "Different needs? Are you serious? I'm your wife, Enzo! You don't get to do this to me! You don't get to screw around and call it 'needs'!"
His eyes darkened, and before she could move, his hand cracked across her face. The slap was loud, stinging, and it sent her stumbling back. Her cheek burned, her vision swimming with shock. She touched her face, fingers trembling, unable to process it. Enzo—her Enzo—had hit her.
"You hit me," she whispered, voice breaking.
He stepped closer, looming over her. "What, I can't hit you? You're my wife. You don't talk to me like that."
"You can't," she said, her voice rising, defiance sparking through the fear. "You don't get to—"
He hit her again, harder, the force knocking her against the dresser. Pain exploded in her jaw, and she gasped, clutching the edge to stay upright. He grabbed her shoulders, hitting her a third time, his voice low and vicious. "I make the money, Tina. I make the rules. You don't like it? Too fucking bad."
She stared at him, tears streaming, her whole body shaking. This wasn't the man she'd married. This was a monster. "What if I don't like the rules?" she choked out, her voice barely audible.
He smirked, cold and cruel. "You take the good with the bad. That's marriage. You wanted this life—the house, the kid, the fancy shit. This is the price."
He reached for her cheek, his fingers brushing her skin, but she jerked away, her heart pounding. His face twisted. "Don't be a bitch, Tina."
Before she could react, he grabbed her hair, yanking hard. Pain seared her scalp as he dragged her across the room. She screamed, clawing at his hand, but he was too strong. "Stop! Enzo, please!"
He didn't listen. He shoved her into the walk-in closet, her knees hitting the floor. The door slammed shut, and she heard the click of the lock. "Stay there," he growled through the wood. "This is what you get for pushing me. You wanna live the good life? You deal with me."
Tina sank against the wall, her sobs echoing in the dark. Her face throbbed, her scalp stung, and her heart felt like it had been ripped out. She curled into herself, the closet's tight space pressing in, suffocating. She thought of Mia, sleeping innocently, unaware of the nightmare her father had become. She thought of Bianca's voice, that smug "darling," and Enzo's casual dismissal—like Tina's love, her loyalty, meant nothing.
The betrayal was a weight, crushing her. She'd given him everything—her heart, her trust, her years. She'd endured his secrets, his late nights, because she loved him. But this? The affairs, the violence, the way he locked her away like a dog? It was too much. Her tears slowed, replaced by something harder, sharper. Anger. She wasn't just hurt—she was fucking furious.