Chapter 2

I sat in that bedroom until dawn broke through the windows. Then I changed into a fresh dress and did my makeup—something sharp and flawless.

Good. Now I looked like myself again.

I went somewhere interesting.

Lower Manhattan. A high-end underground club owned by the Falcone family—The Eagle’s Nest.

This was the nerve center where Dominic met his various contacts and conducted business—his unofficial second office.

Two guards in black flanked the entrance, expressionless, screening everyone who passed through.

I pushed through the door to the VIP floor. The manager hurried over, his face arranged in a professional smile. “Mrs. Falcone, how may I help you?”

“Get me ten male models.” I settled into Dominic’s private booth, crossed my legs. “The best-looking ones you have. Best bodies. Put it on the Godfather’s tab.”

The smile froze on the manager’s face.

His eyes darted instinctively around the room. Seven or eight tables in the main hall were occupied, every one of them filled with “businessmen” who did business with the Falcones.

Every last one of them had watched me walk in. Every last one of them had their ears pricked.

“Now,” I added.

Ten minutes later, ten tall, chiseled men stood in a line before me.

Blonds with blue eyes. Dark brunettes with tousled curls. And one with close-cropped black hair and bone structure so sharp he could have stepped out of a Renaissance sculpture.

Mm. Very easy on the eyes.

I rose from the sofa, my heels clicking across the floor as I approached them.

“Not bad.”

I pulled a stack of bills from my clutch, folded one slowly, and walked up to the tallest of the lot. He had half a head on Dominic, with pale gray eyes.

I slipped the bill between his parted lips, my fingertip brushing his lower lip as I drew my hand back. “Hold that for me.”

He blinked, stunned for a beat, then clamped down on it with his teeth.

“Good boy.”

I patted his cheek and moved on to the next. The brunette had a pair of gorgeous green eyes. I slid out another bill, hooked a finger under the top button of his shirt, popped it open, and tucked the note inside his collar, trailing my finger slowly down from there. His Adam’s apple bobbed visibly.

“This one I like,” I said, glancing back at the manager with a smile. “Much better-looking than the Godfather. Better build, too. My husband’s passable with clothes on, but underneath? Nothing to write home about.”

The manager went a shade paler.

He knew every person sitting in that club had heard every word.

Within twenty-four hours, this would be all over the Five Families.

The Falcone wife, on his own turf, in front of everyone, letting other men fawn all over her.

Then I settled back into the center of the booth, a model flanking me on each side. Green-Eyes was on my right. I picked up a glass of champagne and tipped it to his lips.

“Good?”

The tips of his ears went scarlet.

I laughed out loud.

If Dominic knew what I’d turned his private booth into, he’d probably blow a blood vessel.

The next second, the door was kicked open.

Dominic stood in the doorway, two personal enforcers at his back.

A vein pulsed at his temple, and those eyes—usually so polished and polite—were shot through with red, churning with a fury I had never seen before.

He swept one look across the ten models. All ten of them fell over each other scrambling out of the room.

Dominic crossed the floor in a few long strides, gripped my chin between his fingers, and forced my face up to meet his eyes.

“Valentina.”

The word ground out from between clenched teeth. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

I leaned in close, my lips nearly brushing his ear, and whispered: “Weren’t you the one who said what you do outside the house is none of my concern?”

“So what business is it of yours what I do with other men?”

His pupils contracted sharply. The hand gripping my chin jerked away, and then—

Crack.

The slap landed hard across my face.

Dead silence in the club.

I lifted my gaze to Dominic. His chest was still heaving, his eyes boiling over with possessiveness and rage. Guilt? Not a trace.

He could cheat, but I couldn’t so much as touch another man.

That was the Falcone Godfather’s logic.

I let out a cold laugh and slapped him back with everything I had.

A vivid red mark bloomed across Dominic’s cheek.

He stood there, frozen, for several long seconds.

Out in the main hall, someone sucked in a sharp breath.

Nothing like this had ever happened in the history of the Five Families.

Disbelief flickered through his eyes. “Valentina, listen to me carefully.”

He glared down at me. “You belong to me. Only me.”

Before I could respond, he straightened his collar, turned on his heel, and walked out.

I stayed on the sofa. Standing in the doorway was the woman with the honey-blonde curls.

Alessia Cardani.

A social media personality with half a million followers. My husband’s new flame.

On the surface, a lifestyle influencer. In reality, she’d clawed her way up from the bottom rungs of Brooklyn, leveraging beauty and cunning to worm her way into this world.

I let out a cold laugh and pulled out my phone to call my lawyer.

“Draw up the divorce papers. Now. I want out.”

I hung up and called a car back to the mansion I shared with Dominic.

I walked straight down to the wine cellar.

His pride and joy. Bordeaux, Burgundy, Napa Valley—rare vintages, some worth the price of a sports car per bottle.

I started at the top shelf. One by one, I pulled the bottles down and twisted them open.

Wine gushed out—red, white, amber—flooding over the tips of my shoes. The air turned thick with the smell of it, so strong it stung.

Then I reached into my pocket and pulled out a lighter.

The flame flickered once.

I let go and tossed it into the mouth of the cellar.

A wave of heat hit my face and I stepped back.

I stood there and watched it burn.

The flames climbed higher, crackling and snapping.

I turned away, walked back through the living room, and grabbed the suitcase I’d already packed.

It was over.