Mafia Don’s Little Silent Wife Chapter 02

Mafia Don’s Little Silent Wife Chapter 02

Bianca barely heard a word from me during her first week in the house.

It wasn’t that I avoided her.

It was just unnecessary.

Even if I spoke, she couldn’t hear me clearly.

Her presence in this house was incredibly faint.

When I left in the morning, she was on the balcony watering flowers.

When I returned at night, a plate of sliced fruit sat on the table.

Clean.

Quiet.

Out of the way.

On the rare occasions we crossed paths in the hallway, she nodded and made a sign.

I didn’t understand a single one.

Until one night, deep into the hours, I was on the phone in my study.

Something went wrong with the shipment at the eastern docks.

If it wasn’t handled within an hour, the Moretti front companies stood to lose millions.

My voice grew colder by the second.

I dropped at least twenty curses.

When I finally hung up, I realized someone was standing at the study door.

Bianca.

She wore her pajamas and held a glass of warm milk, which she set down on the cabinet near the door.

Then she turned and walked away.

I blinked.

Was she not supposed to be deaf?

How did she even know I was in the study in the middle of the night?

Later, Vincent suggested she probably just saw the lights on.

“Donna likely assumed you were working late. Bringing milk is normal.”

Fine.

From that day on, I noticed something.

Bianca might be deaf, but her eyes were incredibly sharp.

She could read my face to tell whether I was in a good mood.

When my mood was foul, she vanished instinctively.

She only showed up when I was in a good mood.

By the second week, I started getting used to talking to myself around her.

After Vincent left, I sat on the couch with a drink.

She sat at the coffee table nearby, quietly folding origami.

“The Costa family came looking for trouble again today,” I said to the ceiling.

“They want me to hand over the storefronts on the three eastern streets. Hand them over? On what grounds? That’s Moretti territory, and they’ve got the nerve to reach for it?”

She gave no reaction.

She kept her head down, folding her paper crane.

“And your sister. Do you know Alessandra was photographed abroad? Cuddling up with some old guy. The Romanos are embarrassing themselves all the way across the border.”

Still no reaction.

I looked at her profile.

Her skin was smooth.

Her fingers were slender.

When she bowed her head, the line of her neck looked elegant.

“You’re all right, at least,” I muttered. “You don’t cause me any trouble.”

No one answered.

No one argued.

No one reminded me to watch my language.

A sense of relief I had never felt before slowly rose from my chest.

I, Rocco Moretti, twenty-six years old, finally had a safe space to say whatever I wanted in this estate.

From that day on, I completely let loose.

“Little silent wife, that dress looks good on you today. Shows off your legs.”

She looked up at me, tilting her head slightly.

“What are you looking at? I called you my little silent wife.”

She blinked and made a sign.

Vincent had mentioned that one meant hello.

“Yeah, yeah, hello,” I waved her off.

By the third week.

She crouched on the living room floor, reaching for the remote that had rolled under the couch.

The hem of her dress rode up slightly.

I walked past and paused.

I looked down for a few seconds.

“Why are you so soft?” I said. “Soft all over, like a fresh brioche bun.”

She grabbed the remote, stood up, and kept her face completely blank.

She placed the remote back on the coffee table and patted down her dress.

I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms as I watched her.

“Hey,” I said. “You really scored, getting a guy with a build like mine.”

She turned her head to look at me.

Her gaze was calm.

Then she walked away.

I rubbed my nose, a little embarrassed.

It felt like flirting with thin air.

But somehow, I liked it.