Sienna POV

Luca shot to his feet and began to pace the length of the room.

"You do not understand!" he snapped.

His temper flared instantly—the telltale sign of a weak man who detested being questioned.

"This is for the Family, Sienna! Do you think I want this? Do you think I want to leave my wife and my home?"

He raked a hand through his hair, disheveling the perfect style.

He was sweating more now, a sheen of perspiration glistening on his forehead.

"If I succeed in Sicily, I come back a Made Man," he said, his voice climbing in pitch, cracking with manic energy. "Maybe even a Capo. Think of the tribute, Sienna. Think of the power."

He was spinning a delusion.

He was painting a picture of a golden future to whitewash the rot of the present.

I watched him.

I saw the way his eyes darted to the closet, where I knew his go-bag was already packed and waiting.

I saw the way he couldn't meet my gaze for more than a second without flinching.

"A Capo," I repeated softly.

"Yes," he said, rushing back to the bed as if my agreement was the only permission he needed. "But first, we must protect the assets. The divorce is just a piece of paper. It means nothing to us. In the eyes of God, we are still one."

He reached for my face.

I forced myself not to flinch.

His touch used to make me feel safe.

Now, it felt like a stain on my skin.

"I swear on my honor," he said.

His honor was empty.

It was a hollow shell, rotting from the inside out, just like his promises.

"I will send money," he continued, the words tumbling out fast. "Tribute. Every month. And once the heat dies down, once the rivals are dealt with, I will come back. We will remarry in the biggest cathedral in New York."

He was lying about the money, too.

I knew it.

If I said no, he would leave anyway.

He would disappear into the night like a thief, leaving me with nothing but questions and shame.

If I said yes, I could control the narrative.

I could prepare for the war he didn't know was coming.

I looked at the man I thought I loved.

He was small.

He was selfish.

And he was underestimating me.

"Okay," I whispered.

Relief washed over his face so intensely it was almost insulting.

"You are the best wife," he said, pressing a damp kiss to my forehead. "The best. I will call the lawyer now. We need to move fast."

He jumped up, grabbing his phone.

He didn't look like a man going to war.

He looked like a man going on vacation.

"I will go pack your things," I said.

"No need," he said quickly, cutting me off. "I have a bag ready in the car. For emergencies."

Of course he did.

"I love you, Sienna," he called out as he walked toward the door.

He didn't wait for me to say it back.

He was already dialing a number, his voice dropping to a low, excited murmur.

I sat alone in the dark bedroom.

The silence of the house settled over me like a heavy shroud.

Down the hall, his parents were sleeping, believing their son was a hero.

They did not know he was a traitor.

But I knew.

And in our world, knowledge was the only weapon that mattered.

Sienna POV

I waited for the heavy thud of the front door.

Luca was gone to meet his "contact."

I knew exactly who he was meeting.

I slid the laptop out from its hiding place under the pillow again.

With trembling fingers, I refreshed the forum page.

There was a new update from RatKing88.

The naive canary agreed. Easier than I thought. Papers are being drawn up tonight.

I stared at the screen.

My hands were shaking, but not from sorrow.

They shook from a cold, vibrating rage.

I scrolled down to the comments.

Smart move, someone replied. What about the money?

RatKing88 replied instantly.

Cleaning out the safe before I leave. She won't check until I'm gone. I'll be in Madrid before she realizes she's broke.

I felt the blood drain from my face, leaving me cold.

The safe.

It held three hundred thousand dollars.

It was the Family savings, blood money meant for emergencies, for medical bills, for bribes to keep us out of prison.

It was not his money to take.

Another comment caught my eye.

When do you go back?

RatKing88: Never. Unless the Old Man kicks the bucket. Then I come back for the inheritance. Until then, I'm a ghost.

He was planning to wait for his own father to die.

He wasn't just a thief; he was a vulture circling a dying beast.

I wanted to type a reply.

I wanted to scream at him through the screen, to shatter his arrogance.

I typed: Omertà is not a suggestion. Traitors bleed.

My finger hovered over the enter key.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

I took a deep breath.

No.

If I posted that, he would know I knew.

He might panic.

He might hurt me before he left.

Or worse, he might stay and try to silence me permanently.

I deleted the comment character by character.

I needed to be smarter than him.

I needed to be patient.

I closed the laptop and walked to the window.

The Vitiello estate stretched out below me, dark and imposing.

This was a world of wolves.

Luca was prey trying to wear a predator's skin, but he lacked the teeth.

I, however, had spent three years watching the wolves.

I knew how they hunted.

I went back to bed, but I did not sleep.

When Luca returned hours later, he slid into bed beside me.

He draped his arm over my waist, pulling me close.

I felt his breath on my neck.

A wave of revulsion crashed over me.

I turned over sharply, my hand flailing out, striking him hard across the face.

Smack.

"What the hell!" he yelled, sitting up.

I sat up, gasping, clutching my chest as I feigned a panic attack.

"I'm sorry," I sobbed. "I had a nightmare. You were dead. They killed you in Sicily."

He rubbed his cheek, his annoyance fading into a smug satisfaction.

He bought it. He believed I was terrified for him.

"It is okay," he said, soothingly. "I am here. I am alive."

I looked at him in the shadows.

"Promise me something," I said.

"Anything."

"Promise me you will never come back to this house until it is safe," I said. "Promise me you will not step foot on this territory while there is danger."

"I promise," he said.

He thought he was comforting me.

He didn't realize I was cursing him.

I was binding him to his own lie.

If he ever came back, I would make sure the danger he invented became very real.

Sienna POV

The lawyer was a small, nervous man who seemed physically incapable of meeting my gaze.

He slid the papers across the mahogany surface of Luca’s study desk.

"Standard dissolution," he mumbled, his eyes darting around the room. "Asset protection clause included."

Luca stood by the window, silhouetted against the light, dressed in his finest black suit.

He wore a mask of practiced solemnity.

He was playing the part perfectly: the tragic soldier, sacrificing his own happiness for the call of duty.

"Sign here, Sienna," Luca said softly. "It is just a formality."

I picked up the pen.

The ink was black.

Permanent.

I signed my name without a flicker of hesitation.

Sienna Moretti.

No longer Vitiello.

At least, not on paper.

Luca signed next, his hand moving with a speed that betrayed him—too fast, too eager to be free.

"Done," the lawyer said, scooping up the documents as if they were burning his hands. "I will file these immediately."

The next three days were a blur of performance and deceit.

Luca played the role of the perfect son to the hilt.

He sat with Don Carlo, feigning interest in old war stories he had heard a thousand times.

He held Nonna Rosa’s hand while she stirred the Sunday gravy, acting the part of the devoted grandson.

He even played with our daughter, Mia, pushing her on the swing set in the backyard with a heavy, performative sadness.

"Daddy has to go away for work," he told her. "But I will bring you the biggest doll in the world when I come back."

Mia giggled, innocent and unaware.

She didn't know he was abandoning her.

She couldn't see what I saw: that he wasn't leaving for war. He was trading her for a life of hedonism, clubbing, and drugs. I could feel his desperation to escape the responsibility of fatherhood radiating off him like heat.

I watched from the kitchen window, feeling a cold, calcified hatred settle in my chest.

Finally, the day arrived.

Luca loaded his car with frantic energy.

He had packed two large suitcases—far too much for a tactical mission.

"Equipment," he told his father.

Don Carlo nodded, his eyes misty with misplaced pride.

"Make us proud, son," the Don said. "Serve the Commission well."

"I will, Papa."

Luca turned to his mother.

Nonna Rosa was weeping openly, clutching her rosary.

"Be safe, my boy. Call us when you land."

"I cannot call for a while," Luca said, smoothly reciting the lie. "Secure comms only. But I will write."

He turned to me last.

He leaned in, his lips grazing my cheek, cold and impersonal.

"Goodbye, Sienna," he whispered. "Play your part."

"Goodbye, Luca," I said.

I watched him slide into the driver's seat.

He revved the engine, the sound aggressive and loud.

He drove down the long driveway, past the iron gates, and turned onto the main road without a backward glance.

He didn't look back because he didn't care.

I waited until the red glow of his taillights had vanished completely.

Then, with a steady pulse, I walked into his study.

I moved the painting of the Tuscan landscape aside to reveal the wall safe.

I spun the dial.

He hadn't changed the combination.

He was arrogant to the very end.

I pulled open the heavy steel door.

It was empty.

Dust motes danced in the stale air where stacks of cash used to sit.

Three hundred thousand dollars.

Gone.

He had left his aging parents, his wife, and his child with absolutely nothing.

I closed the safe with a soft click.

I didn't cry.

I didn't scream.

Instead, I felt a strange, icy sense of calm wash over me.

He had taken the money, yes.

But in his haste to run, he had left behind something far more valuable.

He had left his seat at the table.

And I was going to take it.