"A small burn," I said, my voice ice.

Dante's hand froze mid-air. His brown eyes, the ones I used to get lost in, flickered with suspicion.

But I wasn’t the naive music student I was five years ago. I had learned how to hold a perfect smile at a Moretti family dinner, how to survive with grace amidst blood and betrayal.

"I got you a gift," I said, picking up a beautiful blue box from the sofa and sliding it toward him.

The box was light. Inside was our wedding photo, cut into a thousand tiny pieces, each no bigger than a fingernail.

Dante took the box, a look of what I once would have called genuine surprise on his face. "What’s the occasion? Did I forget something?" He didn't open it, instead placing it on the coffee table and reaching out to touch my face.

I took a step back, my smile perfectly in place. "You really don't remember, Dante? It's our fifth wedding anniversary."

His expression froze, as if he'd been slapped. I saw the flicker of panic in his eyes, the guilt of a man caught in a lie but trying to play innocent.

"God, Alessia, I..." He reached for me. "Things with the family have been so crazy lately, I completely..."

"It's fine." I subtly pulled away, refusing to inhale the scent of another woman on him. "I understand."

"No, it's not." He grabbed my hand, his grip tight. "We have to celebrate. Let's go to the stables. Right now. You love it there. We can ride and watch the sunrise, just like we used to."

Used to? The last time we went riding together was three years ago. Back then, he would kiss the shell of my ear and tell me I was his queen. Now he couldn't even remember our anniversary.

But I nodded. "Okay. That sounds nice."

To ensure my escape, I had to keep playing the part of the clueless wife.

At four in the morning, Dante tried to manufacture romance as he drove, playing our wedding song—"La Vie en Rose."

"I'm so sorry I forgot, baby," he said, glancing at me. "You know how much I love you."

I didn't answer.

My hand brushed against the side compartment and felt a piece of fabric. A cheap, black lace thong fell out.

It wasn’t mine.

I pretended not to notice and pushed it back into place.

I had no interest in his meaningless excuses.

The sky was just beginning to lighten when we reached the stables.

We rode for about half an hour, with Dante trying his best to recreate the affection of the past. He’d sneak pictures of me as I rode by, loudly praise my form, and point out the sunrise with some cheesy romantic line.

One of the stable hands played along. "Mr. Moretti, you spoil the Mrs. rotten. Enough to make a man jealous!"

I said nothing.

Then his phone rang. A special ringtone.

"Sorry, baby. Gotta take this. Urgent family business." He gave me a quick peck on the forehead and trotted his horse to the other end of the paddock.

I quietly slipped back to the car, where Dante kept his burner phone.

The screen was lit up with a synced chat between him and "Kitten."

Kitten: I miss you, daddy… Can we try that new position you were talking about tomorrow night? With the new toy?

Dante: Of course. Looks like I didn’t wear you out enough last time.

Kitten: Don’t you like it when I’m insatiable? I’ll even wear that black lace set you love. I promise to make you happy.

Dante: I’m looking forward to the show.

More messages flooded the screen, filthy and detailed, planning their next rendezvous.

They had a date for tonight. The presidential suite at the Westin. He’d already ordered champagne and red roses.

When Dante returned, he slipped back into his role as the devoted husband.

"Couldn't see you for a second there, I was starting to panic," he said, riding up beside me and taking my hand. "Thought you'd left me."

My stomach churned.

Bile rose in my throat.

"Alessia? You okay?" Dante looked at me with concern. "You're pale."

I couldn't take it anymore. The dirty texts, the thong reeking of another woman, his hypocritical concern—it all made me physically sick.

I threw open the car door and scrambled out, doubling over in the bushes as I vomited violently.

Everything in my stomach came up, as if I was trying to purge the last five years of my marriage.

"Alessia!" Dante shouted, jumping out of the car. "What's wrong?"

I knelt on the ground, heaving, tears mixing with the bile streaming from my mouth.

It wasn't just sadness. It was rage.

"Baby, you must have eaten something bad," Dante said, gently helping me back into the car and handing me a bottle of water. "We should go to the hospital."

I shook my head, affecting an air of weakness. "No, it's fine. I think I've just been stressed lately."

He made a thoughtful suggestion. "There’s a gala tomorrow night. It could be fun, a good way to relax. Would Mrs. Moretti do me the honor?"

A cold, sharp idea formed in my mind. I smiled. "Of course. Can we have it at the Westin? I love their food."

A flash of panic crossed Dante’s eyes, but he quickly masked it. "Of course, baby. Anything you want. I'll have my guys book it right away."

I knew what he was thinking.

If we both showed up at that hotel, the risk of his mistress being seen was too high.

But he couldn't refuse a "sick" wife's small request, could he?

Back at the mansion, Dante was unusually attentive. He made me chicken soup, insisted I stay in bed, and checked on me every hour. He was playing the part of the perfect husband.

But on his burner phone, I saw the message he sent to Jenna:

"Change of plans. Meet me in the private wine cellar downstairs tomorrow. 8:30 p.m. It's more secluded. More thrilling. Imagine it… making love among all those expensive bottles of red..."

Kitten: "Sounds amazing! I'll wear that red dress you love. And nothing underneath."

The sound of the shower turning off in the bathroom brought me back. I quickly put the phone away.

When Dante walked out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist, water tracing paths down his muscular chest, the sight that would have made my heart race five years ago now only filled me with disgust.

"Feeling any better?" He sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to feel my forehead.

I nodded, then pretended to remember something. "Oh, I almost forgot." I pulled the blue box from the nightstand. "I got you this for our anniversary. I was so excited to give it to you."

He started to open it, but I stopped him.

I stroked his cheek. "I want you to wait a week to open it. Think of it as a little surprise, okay?"

He looked at me, confused. "Why a week?"

I gave him a mysterious smile. "Because by then, you'll understand what the gift truly means."

Dante shrugged, placing the box in his nightstand drawer. "Alright. If that's what my wife wants."

The next morning, Dante was up early, making me breakfast in the kitchen.

Fried eggs, bacon, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and my favorite, a perfect espresso.

A perfect breakfast from a perfect husband.

Just then, the doorbell rang. One of Dante's men, Marco, stood on the doorstep, holding a plain brown paper bag.

"Boss, the thing you asked for." Marco handed it over, his eyes darting around nervously.

But I saw it—a small velvet box peeking out. Probably something for his little tryst.

After Marco left, Dante returned to the table and continued eating as if nothing had happened.

I stirred my coffee, my voice casual. "Dante, can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

I looked up at him. "How important do you think loyalty is in a marriage?"

Dante’s fork paused in mid-air for a second before he continued cutting his egg. "It's everything. Loyalty is the foundation of our world."

"Is it?" I tilted my head, playing the part of the naive wife. "So you've never betrayed me?"

Dante immediately put down his fork and reached for the silver cross he wore around his neck. It was a gift from his father, a sacred object to the Moretti family.

"I swear on my father's grave," he said, looking me straight in the eye, his tone solemn and sincere. "I will only ever be loyal to you, Alessia. You are my wife, my queen, the only woman in my life."

His performance was flawless. If I didn't know the truth, I might have been moved to tears.

"So," I said, lifting my coffee cup, my eyes turning cold as steel, "what happens if you do betray me?"

Dante, completely oblivious, answered with a relaxed smile. "Then let me lose everything. Let me wander this earth like a ghost."

"Of course, my love," I whispered, the coffee bitter on my tongue. "I'll hold you to that."

"I want to sit in the back."

On the way to the hotel, Dante looked at me, confused. "Why? You always sit up front."

Because I couldn't stand to sit in the passenger seat his little whore had occupied countless times. The thought of Jenna sitting there, cooing at him, begging him to pull over so they could fuck, made me want to vomit.

But I just said, "I feel like having more space."

Dante thought nothing of it.

As Dante led me into the hotel, his arm around my waist, other patrons stared with a mixture of envy and awe. In our world, being Mrs. Moretti was a dream for countless women.

If only they knew the price.

Several of the family's Capos came over to greet us.

Dante kept his hand on the small of my back, poured me wine, and whispered in my ear, "This bottle is worth twenty thousand dollars, but even it can't compare to your beauty."

Once, words like that would have made me blush.

Now, they just made me want to laugh. In his mind, my worth was clearly less than that of a twenty-two-year-old bartender.

Dinner went smoothly, at least on the surface.

Dante talked about family business, occasionally turning to me for my opinion. I played the part of the perfect wife: elegant, intelligent, involved just enough but never overstepping.

At 8:20, Dante glanced at his watch. "Darling, I need to go downstairs and meet a business associate. Shouldn't be more than half an hour."

"Of course," I said with a smile. "Take your time."

A few minutes later, I excused myself, claiming to feel unwell. Once out of the ballroom, I called Dante.

He answered on the third ring.

"Hey, baby. What's up?" Dante's voice sounded a little rushed.

"I'm feeling a bit dizzy," I said, feigning weakness. "When will you be back?"

"Soon. Just give me... fifteen more minutes." His voice suddenly became muffled, as if he was struggling to control something.

And then I heard it.

A woman's low giggle, soft and seductive. And the distinct, metallic jingle of small bells on some kind of toy. Jingle, jingle.

"Dante? Where are you?" I kept my tone worried.

"In... in the office," he answered, panting. "The associate just arrived."

"Mmm… Dante…" a woman moaned in the background.

My hand tightened around the phone, my knuckles turning white. The voice was unmistakably Jenna's.

"Baby, you sound strange," I said, deliberately dragging out the call. "Are you sure everything's okay?"

"Of course... ah..." Dante struggled to keep his voice steady, but I could tell exactly what he was doing. "This associate is just... difficult to handle."

"Oh yes, Dante... right there..." Jenna's voice came through, muffled. She clearly had no idea he was on the phone.

"Come on, kitten," Dante's voice dropped to a growl. "I want you right now..."

Jingle, jingle. The damn bells were getting faster.

I quickly hit the record button, calmly documenting it all.

"Dante? Dante?" I called out, pretending to be anxious.

"What? Oh, sorry, baby," he said, breathless, back on the line. "Bad signal. I'll be right up."

"Okay. I love you," I said in my sweetest voice.

"I love you too."

The lie rolled off his tongue so easily, so practiced.

After hanging up, I saved the recording and walked back to our table as if nothing had happened.

Forty minutes later, Dante returned to the restaurant. His hair was a little messy and his tie was crooked, but he had a satisfied smile on his face.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, baby." He sat down beside me. "That associate was a tough nut to crack."

I turned to him and offered a perfect smile. "It's fine. Business is important."

He reached out and took my hand. "You're the best wife in the world."

Just then, my phone buzzed.

Passport and ticket confirmed. Activates in five days. All set.

I quickly locked the screen, but Dante caught a glimpse of the words.

"Passport?" He looked at me, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "Alessia, are you going somewhere?"