Page 73 of Letters From Victor

“That was when he decided,” Frank said, his words heavy with resignation. “He wanted you, Barbara. And he knew the surest way to get you was to offer something I couldn’t refuse.”

I barely found my voice. “What do you mean?”

Frank’s eyes were hard, his jaw clenched. “You were part of the deal.”

The air in the room shifted.

“I couldn’t keep up with the payments, and Victor offered a…solution. He said if you came to work for him, he’d consider it partial payment on my debt.”

My mind reeled, trying to process this information. I thought back to that day when Victor had offered me the job—how excited I’d been, how it had felt like a lifeline thrown to a drowning woman. Had it all been a lie?

“No,” I murmured, shaking my head. “That can’t be true. Victor wouldn’t?—”

“Wouldn’t what, Barb?” Frank cut in, his voice edged with contempt. “Wouldn’t use you as a pawn? Wouldn’t manipulate both of us for his own gain? Grow up.”

I struggled to find something to say—some retort that would cut through Frank’s accusations and make them less real, less devastating. But nothing came.

“He’s playing the long game, Barb,” Frank continued, relentless. “You think he cares about you? That he loves you? He’s just getting you in deeper and deeper. And the worst part is, you’re letting him.”

I bit my lip, the pain a slight distraction from the storm inside me. “I don’t believe that, Frank,” I said slowly. “Victor has always been honest with me.”

Frank’s laugh was a cold shard of ice in the stifling room. “Honest? You believe that? Then why didn’t he tell you any of this?”

I had no answer. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive.

“Barbara,” Frank said, his voice softer, almost pleading. He reached for my hands, and before I could stop myself, I let him take them. His grip was warm, familiar. “We can still fix this. Think about our family. Our son.”

I looked at him—really looked at him—my husband for almost four years. The father of my child. The first man I’d ever loved. The conflict within me surged, tearing me in two.

I closed my eyes, hearing Victor’s voice.“A divorce won’t be simple, angel. Not in a town like this.”

I pulled my hands away.

“No. We can’t. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Understand?” Frank’s voice sharpened. “What’s there to understand? You’re leaving me for another man. It’s as simple as that.”

“I’m leaving because I’m unhappy, Frank. Because we’re unhappy. Can’t you see that? This isn’t just about Victor. It’s about me wanting something more, something different. Something I can’t have with you.”

Frank paced the kitchen, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “So, what now? You just walk out on our family? On our son?”

“Of course not,” I said, my voice softening. “Frankie will always be my priority. But he deserves parents who are happy, not just…coexisting.”

Frank stopped pacing and leaned against the counter, his shoulders slumped. “And Victor makes you happy?”

I hesitated, knowing my answer would hurt him, but unable to lie. “Yes. He does.”

His face hardened. “Well, I hope you two will be very happy together,” he spat. “But don’t think for a second that I’ll make this easy for you. I’ll fight you on everything—the house, the money, custody of Frank Junior. Everything.”

My heart sank. I had hoped—foolishly perhaps—that we could handle this amicably. “Frank, please. Let’s not make this uglier than it needs to be.”

“If you think I’m going to let that thug anywhere near my son, you’re out of your damn mind. And no judge inhisright mind will leave Frank Junior with you.”

My blood ran cold. “You wouldn’t,” I whispered, my voice shaking.

“Wouldn’t I?” Frank’s eyes were ice, his jaw set. “You’re a two-bit whore, and you’re leaving me for a goddamn gangster,Barbara. If that doesn’t make you an unfit mother, I don’t know what does.”

I refused to let him see how deeply his words cut. “You don’t know the first thing about caring for a child. You wouldn’t last a week on your own.”

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