The Mafia's Son III

Chapter Twenty Seven

Adriana's POV

"Testa di cazzo!" I curse out loud while slamming my bedroom door shut, heading straight into my walk-in closet.

I grab the large brown designer suitcase that's in the back, immediately annoyed with myself for never becoming independent after I got married, for allowing myself to be completely dependent on my husband's money.

Everything is his. This house is his. This suitcase is his. The clothes on my back are his, the cars, my phone, everything is his.

You're his. My stupid, annoyingly, subconscious screams at the back of my head as I grab onto the suitcase and begin to roll it out of the closet.

I stop for an immediate second as I watch Carmelo step into the bedroom, a bedroom that used to be our bedroom, his safe zone, my comfort place.

No matter how bad things got throughout the day, everything always seemed to feel better when we were both in here, both laying in each other's arms. The bedroom was the one place Carmelo could really be himself, the one place where he didn't have to have his walls up, the one place he can be at peace; his true self.

I loved seeing the soft side of him here. In here he was just Carmelo, in here he wasn't a mafia leader, he wasn't arrogant, demanding, in here he was simply just my husband.

"What are you doing amore?" He speaks cautiously, kicking the door closed behind him.

"Leaving," I hissed. "If you won't leave then I will."

"Adriana-," he urges forward, reaching for the suitcase. He takes it from my hand, lifting it inches off of the floor due to his height, following along beside me.

I point to the bed and he's instantly setting it down on top of it a second later. I quickly push him out of the way, unzipping the suitcase and leaving it open as I walk back into the closet to retrieve some of my clothes.

Carmelo stands quietly next to our bed, next to the suitcase that's starting to slowly fill up, watching me walk in and out of the closet multiple times, crying as quietly as I can so that I don't cause a scene so that our son isn't rushing in here, guns blazing, attempting to kill his own dad.

I hate that Carmelo lets me cry out my anger and hurt before he decides to plead his case and try to fix what's wrong. As much as I loved that he did that, I hate it at the moment. I don't need that from him right now. I need my husband to come running in after me in the closet, as pissed as I am. I need him to pull me into him so that I can scream my lungs out, hit him out of frustration, I need him to try and reassure me, I need him to just be here.

"Okay, that's enough!" He snatches the pile of clothes in my hands before I manage to throw it into the suitcase and is dropping them on the floor.

I glanced down at them, instantly annoyed that he threw them on the floor rather than onto the bed, quickly looking back at him, my blood bubbling even more so.

"You're two seconds away from getting slapped." I hissed.

"They're clothes. They're replaceable." He says and is grabbing onto the side of my arms with his hands, gesturing me towards the bed, "sit."

I don't move an inch. I stay standing for a couple more seconds looking up at the man I used to know, glaring up at him.

Carmelo sits me down on the edge of the bed, clearly seeing that I'm not budging and is kneeling down in front of me, immediately reaching for my hands. "Adriana, talk to me, baby, please."

I quickly yank them away from him, looking away from the man who's had my entire heart since I was in my early twenties.

I don't recognize this man kneeling down in front of me, the man that I fell in love with, the man that I married, my husband- he isn't a liar.