When Love Runs Dry

Before anyone could react, I had unbuttoned my cashmere coat.

It was late fall, but the heat was cranked up in the living room. Still, I was standing by the door, and a cold draft slithered in through the cracks, raising goosebumps on my bare shoulders.

I reached behind my back and unzipped my dress. The thin chiffon slipped past my waist, and the outline of my body was slowly revealed to the stunned room.

"Oh my God!" one of the women gasped, covering her eyes.

But the men's eyes lit up.

Only Salvatore's gaze darkened. His lips pressed into a thin, hard line. The fingers digging into the flesh of the girl beside him sank deeper, betraying the turmoil inside him.

The dress pooled at my feet, leaving me nearly naked before them all.

Salvatore shoved Carmela aside and threw a wool blanket over my shoulders.

"Francesca, you've got a death wish!" he roared.

"Everybody, close your goddamn eyes! If one word of what you saw today gets out, I'll cut all of your throats!"

"Now get out! All of you!"

Salvatore rarely lost his temper like that in public, especially not with family members. They were all old associates; they knew when to leave. The seven other girls scurried upstairs. Only Carmela remained, frozen in place.

"Are you satisfied, Salvatore? Can you let me go now?"

I looked up at him, tears welling in my eyes but refusing to fall. I had cried too many tears for Salvatore. I wasn't going to cry for him anymore.

"Francesca, stop playing these games with me. It’s disgusting," he hissed, still not believing me. "Don't you dare bring shame on the Genovese family."

I took a deep breath. "Salvatore, I'm serious this time. I want a divorce."

He looked at me as if I'd told the world's greatest joke. He grabbed the back of my neck, forcing my head down.

"You dare divorce me? Can you afford your father's medical bills? Do you have any fucking income? Francesca, how do you think you've been living this life? Without me, how are you gonna make money? Selling yourself?"

He sneered. "And who's going to pay top dollar for a divorced woman like you?"

"You and your mother are the same. A pair of whores who only know how to use their bodies. You make me sick."

"Francesca," he spat, "you're the one who destroyed us."

The drugging incident. No matter how many times I explained I was a victim too, he would never believe me.

Seeing my silence, Salvatore's scowl deepened. He dragged me over to Carmela, forced me to my knees, and pushed my head down toward the table.

"Pour her a drink. You've been doing this for eight years. You should be an expert by now."

For eight years, I hadn't just served Salvatore; I had to take care of those seven other women. I did things I was forced to do, things I volunteered for, things that made me despise myself.

But now, all I wanted was for it to end.

I knelt, poured the wine into the glass at Carmela's feet, then picked it up with my teeth to offer it to her.

Perhaps my obedience bored him. He dragged me furiously into his office and, in front of me, started tearing off Carmela’s clothes.

I'd seen this scene a hundred times. Sometimes he even made me stay and coach them. As usual, I tore open a condom wrapper and held it out.

But this time, Salvatore slapped it away.

"Not this time."