Dena Osinski Facebook ad: “New book online！ click here to read it first”

About this ad

Meta Ad Library ID

1096627956248110

Platforms

Facebook, Instagram, Audience Network and Threads

Relaunches

0

How we count

Ad text

After days of giving me the silent treatment, blaming it on Family business as usual, Gianni left his coat slung over a chair. In the pocket, I found two tickets to a Broadway charity gala. The back was stamped with the Ferraro Family seal. The seat beside the underboss—publicly reserved for his wife—should have been mine. When I confronted him, Gianni’s tone was flat. “I was going to give those to you for your birthday. Since you found them, I'll see you at the theater this weekend.” That weekend, I put on my evening gown, did my makeup, and waited from the moment the curtain rose until it fell. Gianni never showed. When I checked my phone, I saw a new post from Sofia, the girl who’d grown up with him. [I didn’t get a ticket to the gala, but someone diverted his entire security detail through a storm just to take me to the movies. I forgive you.] In the past, I would have called Gianni, sobbing, demanding to know why he’d sent the Ferraro motorcade to the daughter of an allied boss while I sat alone in that box. This time, I just felt tired. A rare storm had brought New York traffic to a standstill. The theater closed early. I didn’t have an umbrella and couldn’t get a cab, so I had no choice but to pick my way toward the main road in my heels. My phone rang. It was Gianni. His voice was hard. “Where the hell are you? It’s almost midnight. Why aren’t you home?” I didn’t answer right away. His voice turned colder. “Answer me, Colette.” “I’m on Broadway.” Gianni went quiet for a few seconds, as if just then remembering how many Family guests had seen me sitting there alone tonight. “Send me your location. I’m coming.” I didn’t want him to pick me up. But just then, someone rushing to get out of the rain slammed into me. I fell, sprawling into the muddy street. My left ankle swelled almost instantly; I knew I wouldn’t be able to walk. After I sent him my location, I waited for one hour and twenty-three minutes. The wind was vicious, the rain relentless. I was soaked through, huddled under the awning of a closed shop. With my phone’s battery about to die, I checked my messages from Gianni one last time. He hadn’t come. He hadn’t even sent a single text. In the end, a taxi driver took pity on me and drove me to a nearby hotel. After I checked in and plugged in my phone, I reflexively opened Sofia’s social media. Half an hour earlier, she had posted again. [Power outage? No problem. Someone still brought the Ferraro motorcade to take me home to my parents like a knight in shining armor.] The photo was of Gianni and her father, their profiles illuminated by the fireplace at the Greco estate. Sofia was the daughter of the head of the Greco Family. As long as she framed it as an allied family security matter, Gianni always found the time—and the manpower—for her. First, I blocked Sofia. Then I unfollowed her. A few seconds later, I blocked Gianni, too. We had been married for six years. No matter how vicious our fights got, I had never blocked him. It was the first time. And I was done. The next day was Monday. I went straight from the hotel to work. As soon as I reached my drafting table, my supervisor shot me a strange look. “HR said you called in sick today.” I pulled the engineering schematics from my bag and set them on the desk. I was a licensed structural engineer. Riverside Construction might be a Ferraro Family company, but my license and my portfolio were my own. Gianni was both the company’s VP of operations and the Ferraro Family’s underboss. If he snapped his fingers, HR jumped. I forced a smile and said I was feeling better. At noon, I was pouring coffee in the break room when Gianni appeared. He usually kept to the executive floor. He never came down to my department. This time, he made an exception, though his expression was thunderous. “You didn’t come home last night. You think that’s funny, Colette? You know my rules. If it happens again—” I cut him off. “There won’t be a next time.” Once he formally renounced our marriage before the Family, I would never have to report my whereabouts to him again. Gianni froze. He clearly hadn’t expected me to let last night go without a single question about where he’d been. When the coffee finished brewing, he frowned, took the cup from my hand, took a sip, and poured the rest down the sink. “Wait for me in the parking garage after work. I’m taking you to dinner.” I knew this was his peace offering for standing me up. I had something to tell him as well, so I agreed. When I got back to my desk, I found cupcakes and cookies my coworkers had left for me, along with a note that said, *Happy Birthday, Colette.* I turned away, quickly wiping my eyes. I finished my work and went to the garage as Gianni had instructed. The second I spotted his black sedan, the engine started. The car drove right past me. Through the tinted window, Gianni didn’t even glance my way. A moment later, he called. He said a capo had brought him urgent news and told me to go on to the restaurant without him. Once I got there, I called over the waiter and ordered my favorite steak with a red wine reduction. Gianni always said Family business was more important than my waiting. Little by little, I had gotten used to waiting for him. My stomach, already sensitive, had been wrecked over the years, one cold, solitary dinner at a time.The steak at that restaurant was excellent. I ate two of them myself. Gianni had stood me up again, and I wasn’t even angry. It was after midnight when he finally got home. He noticed the lights by the door and in the living room were off. For the past six years, anytime he was out late for a meeting, I’d leave out a glass of water and headache medicine and wait for him on the couch. I never asked questions I wasn’t supposed to ask. Gianni never liked that. The next day, if he saw the dark circles under my eyes, he’d smirk and say I looked older than his aunt. “Colette, are you sick?” He walked into the bedroom and reached for my forehead. I shifted away. “It’s late. Go take a shower.” The smell of whiskey on his breath turned my stomach. Gianni sat on the edge of the bed and glanced at his phone. Not a single missed call. He wasn’t used to that. Usually, if he’d been out drinking, I’d call and insist he let one of his men drive him home. He cleared his throat. “I really couldn’t get out of it tonight. I’ll take you to dinner tomorrow. Is that enough?” I looked at him. “No need. Go about your business.” I almost always pushed for an answer. Now that I was silent, he just gave a cold laugh. “So, I try to be nice and now you want to negotiate? Colette, I’m busy. I don’t have time for this.” My phone buzzed. A new email had arrived, and I opened it immediately. But aloud, I only said softly, “It’s amazing how, in the middle of being so busy, you still found time to divert a security detail to take someone to the movies and then drive her to the Greco estate. You’re a master of time management.” Gianni’s face darkened. He claimed the Greco family car had been stranded in the storm. An ally had requested protection. As underboss, he couldn’t refuse. “Colette, don’t confuse obligations between Families with your own ridiculous paranoia. You disappoint me.” There had been no allied-family obligation when he took Sofia to the movies. In the past, the moment he said he was disappointed in me, I would have panicked. I’d have cried and explained, desperately trying to prove I was only acting this way because I cared too much. Not this time. I lowered my eyes to my phone and said nothing. Gianni didn’t know I was looking at two documents my lawyer had sent over. One was a divorce petition. The other was a formal request for him to renounce our marriage in front of Family witnesses. He noticed me lock my phone and leaned closer. “What are you looking at?” “Nothing. I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.” The study door slammed shut behind him. It was his usual punishment: freezing me out, ordering the guards not to pass on any messages until I broke down and admitted I was wrong. A year ago, I would have been standing outside that door by now, crying and begging him to come out. Not tonight. The only sound was the low hum of the printer. I printed both documents, signed them, and placed them in the bedside drawer. Then I turned out the light. I was a terrible sleeper. That night, I slept like the dead. The next day, Gianni summoned me to the top floor via the internal line. “Long time no see, Colette.” Sofia was sitting in Gianni’s chair, propping her chin in her hands and smiling at me. That chair belonged to the Ferraro Family’s underboss. No ordinary guest would dare touch it. But Gianni just stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, letting her. “Oh, but Gianni and I see each other all the time. I’m always telling him to bring you to our get-togethers, but he says you don’t understand Family business, and you’d just feel awkward.” Every time I’d seen Sofia before, I’d felt plain, frumpy—nothing like an underboss’s wife. Not today. I even smiled back. “I never liked those things anyway. As long as you all have a good time.” At that, Gianni turned to look at me. There were dark shadows under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept much, either. “Colette. Sofia’s hungry. Give her my lunch.”Every day of our marriage, I had made Gianni’s lunch. He had too many enemies. He used to say that food from my hands was the only food that didn’t need a taster. And yet, just last Friday, I had overheard him complaining to his assistant that the slop I made was so bad even the guard dogs wouldn’t eat it. He had also said, “That’s what happens when you marry the wrong woman.” Thinking of that, I said calmly, “I didn’t make your lunch today.” Gianni looked at me as if he hadn’t understood. “Why not? You know I only eat what you make.” Sofia laughed, every word a poisoned dart. “Gianni, you must have really upset Colette. How could she stand the thought of you risking your life with outside food?” She was sitting in his chair, waiting for me to hand over the only food he trusted. Gianni's expression flickered. He asked what I wanted to eat, offering to send his assistant for it. “No need. Just order whatever Sofia likes. I’ll grab something downstairs.” The second I turned, Gianni snatched his suit jacket and insisted on coming with me. In the end, I had no choice but to take them both to lunch. During the meal, Gianni and Sofia did all the talking. They talked about people they grew up with, swapping stories about internal matters from both Families. I used to force myself to join in. Whenever I did, Gianni would cut me off, saying women had no place in such matters. Later, when I stopped speaking, he’d accuse me of deliberately snubbing a Greco. No matter what I did, I was wrong. So this time, I said nothing and just ate my food. At one point, I excused myself to the restroom.

Where the ad sends people

h5.reelshortnovel.com

New book online！ 🔞🔥click here to read it first👉