Chapter 2: The Departure

I pack in silence while they celebrate downstairs.

Through the bedroom floor, I hear champagne bottles popping, Luciana's high-pitched laughter, the capos offering their congratulations. Congratulating him for what? Throwing away the woman who built his empire?

My hands move methodically through the closet. Not the designer dresses he bought me—those are costumes, props for playing the Don's wife. I take only what I brought into this marriage five years ago: jeans, a leather jacket, my mother's locket.

Everything else was always borrowed anyway.

"I tried to stop him."

I turn to find Marco in the doorway, his face drawn with guilt.

"Did you?" I ask coldly, folding a shirt.

"You don't understand. Luciana... she has connections. The Sicilian families, the old guard. They never approved of an outsider as his queen. With her back, he can finally consolidate power—"

"I tripled his territory in three years," I cut him off. "I made him untouchable. But that doesn't matter, does it? Because I don't have the right bloodline."

Marco flinches. "It's not personal."

"Everything in this world is personal, Marco." I zip my bag. "You taught me that yourself."

He steps closer, lowering his voice. "Where will you go? You have no family, no protection. The streets know you're being cast out. That makes you vulnerable. The other families—"

"Will what? Kill me?" I laugh bitterly. "That would be a mercy compared to this."

"Let me help you. I can arrange—"

"You can do nothing," I say sharply. "You made your choice when you stood silent downstairs."

His face hardens. "Five years ago, I told him you were dangerous. That there was something calculated about you. But he was so desperate to stabilize the family after your father's—" He stops abruptly.

So he knows. Or suspects.

"After my father's what, Marco?" I ask softly, dangerously.

He backs toward the door. "Forget I said anything. Just... be careful. And don't come back. For your own sake."

After he leaves, I allow myself thirty seconds. Thirty seconds to sit on the bed we shared, to remember the man I thought I knew, to mourn the life I thought I was building.

Thirty seconds of weakness.

Then I stand, shoulder my bag, and walk through the mansion one last time.

Past the dining room where we hosted politicians and judges. Past the office where I negotiated peace treaties between warring families. Past the library where he first kissed me, whispering promises he never meant to keep.

Luciana intercepts me at the front door, a champagne glass in her hand.

"Leaving so soon?" She's drunk, emboldened. "I thought you'd at least stay for breakfast. Say goodbye properly."

"I don't do goodbyes," I reply evenly.

"No?" She steps closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Good. Because I want you to know something. That ambush at the docks? I told the Bratva exactly where you'd be. I wanted you dead. But you survived, and he started caring about you even more." Her eyes glitter with malice. "But I'm patient. I waited three years for him to realize you're nothing. And now you're finally getting what you deserve—nothing."

I smile at her. Really smile. "You're right. I am getting exactly what I deserve."

Her brow furrows, confused by my reaction.

"Tell me," I continue conversationally, "does he know you're three months pregnant with his cousin's baby?"

The color drains from her face.

"Yes," I murmur, watching her panic. "I know everything, Luciana. Every secret. Every lie. Every betrayal. And soon..." I lean in close, "so will he."

I walk out into the cold dawn, leaving her frozen in the doorway.

Behind me, I hear glass shattering as she drops her champagne flute.

The first move has been made.