The Don's Wife Was Never Weak novel · Chapter 1 of 32
Chapter 1: The Second Table
Moved to the girlfriends' table while Cordelia takes her chair, Talia takes off her ring in front of the whole family and walks out, and Gianni shows her a photo of Cordelia with Philadelphia.
Cordelia Carrington was sitting in my chair at the head table, and not one man in the hall would look at me.
It was the Sabatini family's annual gathering.
Three hundred people in a banquet hall on Staten Island, gold tablecloths, a ten-piece band.
I had worn the green silk my mother's tailor fitted for me.
I was holding a glass of wine I had poured for myself, because no waiter had come near me.
For four years that chair had been mine.
It sat at my husband's right hand.
Cordelia had her elbow on the table and her hand on his sleeve.
She was laughing at something he'd said into her ear.
Renzo Sabatini ran every port, every truck and every back room from Boston to Baltimore.
At our wedding he had cut his palm and pressed it to mine in front of both families.
He had sworn to honor me before God and before them.
He was ten feet away, and he didn't turn his head.
The consigliere found me by the door.
He was sixty-one and had known me since I was in pigtails.
He couldn't meet my eyes either.
"Talia," he said. "There's been a change in the seating."
"I can see that."
"Miss Carrington has business with the Don tonight. You're at the second table."
I looked over at it.
The second table was by the kitchen doors.
It was where the soldiers' girlfriends sat in their tight dresses, close enough to watch the wives and far enough to know they weren't one.
Two of the girls were already staring at me with their mouths open.
"Who made the change?" I asked.
His jaw worked.
"Miss Carrington."
Of course it was.
Eight months ago Renzo had brought her home from a business school in Philadelphia and called her his strategic advisor.
First she took my place at the Monday meetings.
Then my plate went missing from Sunday dinner.
Two months ago my security detail was moved to her, and Gianni Lombardo, who had walked behind me for four years, started walking behind her.
Every time, I went to Renzo.
Every time, he said the same thing.
"She's valuable to the family, Talia. Don't make this personal."
I set my wine down on the consigliere's tray.
Inside my clutch was a square of glossy paper.
That morning I had lain on a table in a Manhattan doctor's office.
She had moved a wand over my stomach and shown me a flicker the size of a bean.
Eight weeks.
I had planned to tell Renzo tonight, after the toasts.
I walked past the consigliere.
I walked past the second table.
I walked across the dance floor while the band was still playing, and people moved out of my way without being asked.
By the time I reached the head table the music had thinned out to one confused violin.
Renzo looked up at last.
"Talia." His voice was low and flat. "Sit down. You're making a scene."
Cordelia didn't move her hand from his arm.
"Hi, Talia," she said. "That green is so brave on you."
The captains at the table studied their plates.
Their wives studied me.
"Get up," I told her.
She smiled and lifted her glass.
"Renzo, she's upset. Should I have someone walk her out?"
"Nobody touches my wife," Renzo said, and then he looked at me. "Go to your table. We'll talk at home."
"This is my table."
"Not tonight."
The whole hall heard it.
I felt it go through the room.
I took my wedding ring off.
It came hard over the knuckle, and I didn't hurry it.
I put it down on the white cloth in front of his plate.
"My father gave you the Red Hook piers to protect," I said. "He gave you his only daughter. You swore on your own blood you'd honor her."
"Talia."
"The Conforti family withdraws its oath."
Somebody at the next table gasped.
Renzo stood up so fast his chair hit the wall.
"Walk out that door," he said, "and you walk out with nothing."
"I came in with the piers," I said. "They're leaving with me."
I turned around.
I walked the length of that hall with three hundred people watching, and I didn't look back once.
Outside, the October air hit my bare arms.
I gave my ticket to the valet.
He went white.
"Mrs. Sabatini, your car went out an hour ago. Miss Carrington's driver took it. She said it was reassigned."
I stood there in my green silk with my ring finger cold.
Headlights swung across the lot.
A black sedan rolled up to the curb and stopped in front of me.
The window came down.
Gianni Lombardo looked up at me, the scar through his eyebrow white in the lot lights.
"Get in, Mrs. Sabatini."
"You work for her now."
"I quit an hour ago." He leaned across and pushed the door open. "Right after I saw this."
He held out his phone.
On the screen was a photo taken through a restaurant window.
Cordelia, in her cream silk, was sliding a folder across a table.
The man taking it was the son of the Philadelphia Don.
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