I bit down hard on my lip, fighting back the sob rising in my throat. The pain of suppressing it sent a shiver through my entire body. My free hand gripped the edge of the awning's support column. The metal was cold and wet and real, and I held on to it because I needed something real.
"Mom, don't worry," I said, forcing a smile even though she couldn't see me.
My voice sounded almost normal. Almost. The rain provided cover, filling the silence between my words with white noise that might explain any roughness she heard.
"We're just out having dinner." I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "Oh, we're being careful. Dante's right here with me."
The lie came out smooth. I had learned to lie smoothly. Seven years married to a made man teaches you that, whether you want the lesson or not. You learn to keep your voice level when the truth is a weapon you can't afford to fire yet. You learn to say his name like everything is fine. You learn to protect the people you love from the knowledge that would hurt them, because the knowing doesn't help. Not yet. Not tonight.
I had to keep it together. I couldn't let my mom hear me cry. I wouldn't.