"Well, well. I have to say, I'm impressed. Your husband is sleeping with another woman, talking about divorcing you to put someone else's baby under his name, and you don't even flinch? That's some next-level doormat energy."
I watched her in silence.
Her lips curled. One by one, she undid the buttons of her hospital gown, slow and deliberate, the way she tucked her hair behind her left ear when she was performing. Everything about this woman was choreography.
"You know what the difference between us is, Giovanna?"
The figure she revealed made my brow tighten.
"Your body? Let's see how long that lasts after you're done breastfeeding."
"Oh, I won't be breastfeeding. You think these are natural? Why would I ruin them? You know what Tomasso told me?" She tilted her chin up, the hospital light catching her collarbone like she was posing for a painting. "He said you're boring. No fun at all. And your body doesn't compare to mine. I'm an E cup, sweetheart."
So even her chest was fake.
Tomasso really had no standards. The Don of the Rossetti Family, the man I had built from nothing, couldn't tell the difference between a woman who would die for him and one who was performing for his wallet.