At the dinner table, my husband Alex and our son Leo suddenly started speaking in an old Sicilian dialect.

"Daddy," Leo began, "I don't want Mommy sitting in Auntie Elena's special seat."

Alex, while pouring water for me, replied in the same dialect, "Just this once. If you want to see Auntie Elena and Stella more often, we have to keep it a secret from Mommy. Understand?"

In that single moment, my blood ran cold. My head buzzed.

What they didn't know was that my grandmother was from Sicily.

To make sure I never forgot my roots, she had spoken to me in that dialect since I was a child.

I understood every single word.

Later, when they knelt on the floor, begging me to come back, I never once looked back.

…

At nine that evening, after tucking Leo into our bed, Alex emerged from the bathroom and wrapped his arms around me from behind.

He performed his husbandly duties, just as he always did, but something felt wrong.

After our routine lovemaking, it hit me.

Alex had the scent of two different shower gels on him. One of them, a cheap gardenia fragrance, felt hauntingly familiar.

The next day, after dropping Leo off at his private school, I didn't go home. I met my best friend, Sophia, at a heavily secured café nearby.

Sophia wasn't concerned. "Your Don has been busy with family business. He probably just showered at a safe house to wash off the smell of blood before coming home to you and Leo."

I shook my head. "It's the mixed shower gel scent. I feel like I've smelled it somewhere before."

Sophia looked at me. "Casey, you're not seriously suspecting Alex Moretti of cheating on you, are you?"

She frowned, looking at me like I was an idiot. "You're his entire world, Casey. The queen of the Moretti family. Even if you cheated on him, he'd get on his knees and beg you to come back for the family's honor."

Everyone knew I was Alex's world.

If our marriage fell apart, the entire New York underworld would lose its faith in loyalty.

I fell silent. Just then, Alex's private line rang.

"My love," he said, his voice dripping with tenderness, "Maria told me you were in a bad mood this morning. I'm sorry, family business has been overwhelming lately, and I haven't spent enough time with you and Leo. I'll clear my schedule this afternoon. Tonight, I'm taking you to our favorite restaurant for a candlelight dinner."

He spoke so gently, as if I were a priceless treasure he was afraid of breaking.

Sophia clutched her heart in mock envy. "Could you two be any cuter? I swear, Leo was the accident. You two are the real love story."

She wasn't wrong. Alex had wanted a few more years of just the two of us, but one careless night seven years ago led to our son, Leo.

When I gave birth to Leo, I had an amniotic fluid embolism. I didn't wake up for five days. The first thing I saw was Alex, his eyes bloodshot, desperately wanting to hold me despite all the tubes connected to my body.

He whispered, his voice trembling, "Casey, I thought you were leaving me."

I found out later that when the doctor came out of the delivery room and told him how bad it was, he had to sign a critical condition notice.

He went berserk, trying to force his way in. It took three of his armed bodyguards to hold him back, and even then, the family doctor had to give him a sedative.

When I was moved to a regular room, he stubbornly refused to hold the baby. It broke my heart. I beckoned him closer.

"Alex, hold him. He's the proof of our love."

Only then did he reach out, a goofy smile spreading across his face as he held our son. "My love," he'd said, "this is our legacy."

Alex loved me. Eight years of marriage had only made that love stronger. I was sure of it.

And of course, I loved him. Otherwise, I never would have noticed the scent of another woman's shower gel on his skin.

Alex always kept his promises. That afternoon, we picked Leo up from school together.

"Daddy!" Leo shouted, launching himself into Alex's arms.

I noticed a sheen of sweat on Leo's forehead and reached out to wipe it, but he dodged my hand.

He'd been giving me the cold shoulder ever since I'd added an extra riding lesson to his schedule.

"Leo, apologize to your mother," Alex ordered, his voice low and firm.

Leo tilted his head back, his little mouth pouting, but he still gave in to his father's authority. "Sorry, Mom."

I softened my own voice. "It's okay."

I had been thinking about it. Forcing him to take riding lessons he hated would only backfire. "I know you don't want to go to riding lessons anymore, so you don't have to."

I expected him to cheer, but instead, his little voice was filled with panic.

"No! I like riding lessons! I want to go!"

I was stunned. "Leo, what made you change your mind?"

He looked like he was hiding something. I was about to press him when Alex cut in. "Kids change their minds all the time. One minute it's one thing, the next it's another. If he wants to go, let him go."

He held Leo with one arm and wrapped the other around my waist, guiding me toward our armored car. "I had my assistant book a table at your favorite French restaurant," he cooed.

Alex had planned for a driver to take Leo home, but I couldn't bear to be apart from him, so we brought him along.

The best table at the restaurant, the one by the window, was permanently reserved by Alex, just so I could come whenever I pleased.

Just after we ordered, Leo started talking to Alex in that fluent, old Sicilian dialect.

"Daddy, why did you bring Mommy here? I thought this table was for Auntie Elena and my little sister Stella."

Alex's voice grew stern. He poured my water and replied to our son, "This table has always been for your mother. They're at the table behind us. If you want to see Stella more often, you have to keep it a secret from Mommy. Understand? You almost slipped up after school today."

For a split second, I felt my blood turn to ice. I couldn't move.

I couldn't breathe. My heart seized in my chest.

My face must have gone deathly pale, because Alex's voice was suddenly filled with alarm. "Casey? What's wrong?"

I didn't know how to answer. His words were still echoing in my mind, a horrifying puzzle finally clicking into place. The unfamiliar shower gel on his skin… it all made sense now.

Alex was in a full-blown panic, jumping to his feet and pulling me into his arms.

"It's because Daddy and I were speaking Sicilian, isn't it? You're sad because you can't understand," Leo huffed, clearly annoyed. "If you don't understand, you should learn. What's the point of crying?"

Alex shot a glare at Leo. "Leo Moretti, apologize to your mother! Now!"

Being yelled at in public was a blow to his pride. He started wailing in Sicilian, "No! I don't want her to be my mom anymore! She doesn't even love me! She won't let me take the fun classes, and she never lets me have snacks! I want Auntie Elena! I want Auntie Elena!"

Every word he screamed was a dagger in my heart.

Alex's face was grim. "Leo, I'm telling you one last time. Apologize."

Leo cried so hard he started to throw up. My resolve crumbled. He was my son, the child I had suffered to bring into this world. How could I not love him?

I reached out and pulled him into my arms, gently patting his back. "It's okay, Leo. Mommy forgives you. Shh, no more crying."

He eventually cried himself to sleep in my arms. I stared at his tear-streaked face and said nothing more.

Alex wrapped his arms around both of us, comforting me. "My love, I won't let him speak the dialect anymore."

I clutched my son and pushed him away, walking out of the restaurant without another word.

I had understood everything he and my son had said.

How could they possibly know? I was raised by my Sicilian grandmother. How could I not understand the ancient dialect of my own family?