Omertà of the Heart

On the night of our ninth wedding anniversary, my husband, Dominic Valente, brought his pregnant mistress home to the compound.

With a voice as flat and measured as if he were reading terms at a sit-down, he laid out a few instructions.

"Daniela is particular about what she eats. From now on, every meal is to be different. See to it."

"She's fragile and can't sleep alone, so pack your things and move to the guest room at the end of the hall."

Without bothering to respond, I picked up the suitcase I had already prepared and walked calmly toward the door.