"Adriana! Are you okay?"

A man's voice cut through the chaos, urgent and breathless.

I turned my head slightly, wincing, and saw Luca Valente running toward me. Dante's closest friend. A consigliere-grade attorney from the allied Valente outfit, the one man in Dante's orbit who still treated me like a person rather than a position.

So this time, Dante hadn't even sent one of his own soldiers.

He'd sent Luca.

"I'm stuck," I said weakly. "I can't get out."

Luca's expression tightened immediately. He scanned the scene quickly, his eyes moving the way a man trained in crisis moved, cataloging damage, measuring risk, checking for the gasoline pooling under the wreck. Then he rushed back to his car without another word. Within a minute, he returned with tools, working efficiently and carefully to pry the damaged door open.

Metal groaned under the pressure.

Piece by piece, he created enough space to pull me free.

When I was finally out, my legs nearly gave way beneath me. Luca caught me instinctively, steadying me with one arm as he looked me over, his brows drawn tight with worry.

"Can you walk?" he asked. "I'll take you to the hospital."

He looked more panicked than I felt.

I didn't answer right away. Instead, I leaned slightly against him, using his arm for support, grounding myself. Rain ran down both of us. Somewhere behind the wreck, a siren started up. Luca's jacket smelled like clean wool and nothing else, no gunpowder, no cologne chosen to intimidate.

"Luca," I said quietly after a moment, my voice hoarse, "you're a top lawyer, right?"

He met my gaze, clearly confused by the question, but nodded anyway.

I managed a faint, fragile smile. "Then… could I trouble you to draw up a dissolution agreement for me?"

At the hospital, the one on Mulberry Street that operated under Falcone influence, where the nurses knew not to ask questions and the intake forms never told the full truth, the diagnosis came quickly.

A fractured shoulder, crushed from the impact.

Multiple other injuries. Bruises, cuts, internal strain. They kept me under observation in case of a concussion, monitoring me through the night.

Two days passed.

Dante didn't call once.

Not a message. Not a question. Nothing.

In the end, I signed my own discharge papers, the pen steady in my hand despite everything. No one came to pick me up.

No one needed to.

When I stepped back into the house, the guarded estate that had never once felt like mine, the silence felt heavier than before, pressing in from all sides. The soldier at the gate had nodded when I walked through. He was the only person in the Falcone compound who had acknowledged my return.

It wasn't until I had just set my things down that my phone rang.

Dante.

For a second, I simply stared at the screen.

Then I answered.

"Adriana, come pick me up."

No greeting. No explanation.

Just an order.

And before I could respond, the line went dead.

To everyone else, I was Adriana Falcone, the blood-bound bride of the heir, the woman who sat at the right hand of power and smiled when the Family required it. In reality, I felt more like his on-call, unpaid maid, someone he summoned when it was convenient and dismissed just as easily when it wasn't.

A moment later, my phone buzzed in my hand, the sharp vibration cutting through the silence. I glanced down and saw a location pin. No explanation, no message, just a demand disguised as convenience. I let out a quiet sigh, already knowing what it meant. Grabbing my keys, I pushed myself up despite the dull, persistent pain in my shoulder, forcing my body to cooperate as I headed out the door and into the night.

The drive felt longer than usual. Every turn of the wheel sent a faint jolt of pain through me, but I ignored it, focusing instead on the empty stretch of road ahead. By the time I arrived at the private club, exhaustion had settled deep into my bones.

Inside, the air was thick with alcohol and laughter. Two soldiers stood near the entrance with their jackets unbuttoned, off-duty in posture if not in fact. I found Dante slumped on the leather couch in the back room, his usual sharp presence dulled into something almost unrecognizable. He looked utterly defeated, shoulders heavy, gaze unfocused. For a man as ambitious and composed as he was, it was a rare and unsettling sight.

One of his associates leaned in, handing him another drink with a careless grin. "Come on, Dante. She's just a courier. If you want a woman, it's not that hard."

"Liliana turned you down?" another chimed in, scoffing. "Big deal. There are a dozen women dying to throw themselves at you."

Someone in the corner snickered, their voice low but clear enough to carry. "Like Adriana."

Laughter erupted, loud and unrestrained, filling the room.

So this was it. This was why he was here, drowning himself in alcohol. Not because of anything that had to do with me, not because of the life we shared, but because Liliana had turned him down.

My hand froze on the doorknob. For a long moment, I just stood there, my jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. The sound of their laughter echoed in my ears, but eventually, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The shift was immediate. The room fell silent as if someone had cut the sound entirely.

One of his associates looked up, startled, before quickly forcing a smile. "Well, look who's here. Mrs. Falcone."

I didn't even spare him a glance. My eyes went straight to Dante. "I'm here to take you home."

Dante slowly pushed himself to his feet. His face was unreadable, a blank mask that gave nothing away. He staggered slightly as he walked toward me, then casually draped his arm over my shoulders, leaning into me as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He didn't say a word, didn't acknowledge me beyond using me as support.

The weight of him pressed directly against my injured shoulder. Pain flared instantly, sharp and biting, but I kept my expression steady.

I turned, ready to leave, when a voice suddenly cut through the heavy silence.

"Mr. Falcone."

Liliana stood just inside the doorway, her figure framed by the light behind her. "If you were going to have your wife pick you up, why did you message me?"

I looked at her then. Her face was scrunched, her brows drawn together as if she were deeply hurt. Her voice trembled just enough to make it convincing. "You didn't have to go this far just to humiliate me."

She smoothed the edge of her lower lip with her thumbnail, the motion barely visible, as though she were settling into the shape of whatever wound she'd chosen to perform.

Dante's expression changed in an instant. The dull haze in his eyes vanished, replaced by sharp, blazing anger.

He turned on his associates. "Who used my phone to message her?"

No one answered.

"I said, who did it?" His voice rose, cutting through the room like a whip.

The silence grew suffocating. No one dared to speak, no one even shifted in their seats. The two soldiers near the door had straightened without making a sound.

Dante looked like he was on the verge of exploding. "If any of you think this kind of prank is funny, don't say I didn't warn you. Stay the hell away from Liliana."

Liliana stood frozen, her cheeks flushed red, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. For a second, it looked like she might say something, but instead, she turned abruptly and rushed out, barely holding herself together.

Dante didn't hesitate. Despite the alcohol in his system, despite the way he could barely keep his balance, he let go of me immediately and stumbled after her.

"Liliana, don't be upset… wait, please. Just wait."

His voice faded as he followed her down the hallway.

I stood there, watching their figures disappear from view. Strangely, I didn't feel much of anything. No anger, no heartbreak, not even disappointment. Maybe it was because, deep down, I had always known this was how it would be. The moment someone else called, I would be the one he let go of without a second thought.

After he left, the room slowly came back to life. At first, the voices were low, hesitant, but it didn't take long for them to return to normal.

"Jesus, I've never seen him that angry before."

"Think he's serious about her this time?"

"Obviously. Anyone can see it. People who throw themselves at him just come off cheap."

Another round of laughter followed, louder this time, more careless.

They didn't bother lowering their voices. There was no need. Dante didn't care about me, so why should they? I was the heir's wife, and not a man in that room flinched when they laughed at my name. That told me everything about what the Falcone name was worth when the Falcone heir had already turned his back.

The weight he had placed on me earlier had aggravated my already fractured shoulder. The pain pulsed steadily now, spreading down my arm. I lifted my hand and pressed gently against it, trying to steady myself as I prepared to leave.

Then I heard a voice behind me.

"Adriana."

I turned to see Luca standing there.

His expression was tight, his jaw set as if he were holding something back, something he didn't want to say out loud. "Let me drive you home."

He must have been there the entire time. He had seen everything, heard everything, from beginning to end.

I didn't know what he thought about any of it. I wasn't sure I cared anymore.

Luca had always been there, Dante's closest friend, the consigliere-bred ally who moved between the Valente outfit and the Falcone inner circle like a man who belonged in both rooms. From the moment I fell for Dante, Luca had been at his side, witnessing every step of it, every humiliating moment I had tried and failed to hide. There was no point pretending now.

I said nothing, just followed him out.

The ride home was quiet, almost suffocating in its stillness. The city lights flickered past the window in blurred streaks, but neither of us spoke. Luca kept his eyes on the road, his hands steady on the wheel.

When the car finally stopped, I reached for the door handle, ready to leave without a word.

His voice stopped me.

I paused, my hand still on the handle.

"You really sure you want a dissolution?"

I didn't hesitate.

I nodded.

I didn't even hesitate when I gave my answer.

Luca looked straight at me for a long second, as if searching for something in my expression. Then, without saying anything, he opened the car door, stepped out, and walked around to my side. The night air was cool, brushing faintly against my skin as he stopped right in front of me.

He didn't joke. He didn't soften his tone.

"Then maybe…" he said, his voice low and steady, "you should consider me instead."

I froze where I stood.

That wasn't what I had expected. Not from Luca. Not from him of all people.

For a moment, my mind went completely blank. I wasn't trying to get back at Dante. I wasn't trying to make anyone jealous or prove anything. I wasn't even angry enough for that anymore. I was just… tired. A kind of exhaustion that went deeper than anything I had felt back when I was eighteen, still naive enough to believe in fairytales and forever. Back then, loving Dante had felt like everything. Now, all I wanted was something simple. Quiet. Peace.

So I laughed it off, turning it into a joke before it could become anything real.

"Sure," I said lightly, waving it away as if it meant nothing. "Once I'm free of the Family, I'll come find you."

Then I walked away without looking back.

Not long after I got home, my phone buzzed in my hand. I glanced down.

A message from Luca.

[I'm done waiting.]

The words were simple, but they carried a weight that lingered.

I stepped out onto the balcony almost without thinking, the cool night air wrapping around me. When I looked down, his car was still parked below on the private drive, just past the iron gate. He hadn't left.

Luca was leaning casually against the side of it, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette between his fingers. The faint orange glow lit up briefly as he took a drag.

It caught me off guard.

It was the first time I had ever seen him smoke.

I had always heard that Luca came from the Valente outfit, old blood with ties to the military before they turned to the law. Discipline was carved into bone in that family. Reserved, controlled, almost cold in the way he carried himself. His background wasn't any less formidable than the Falcones'. If anything, it rivaled them. A consigliere-grade mind with enough connections to broker peace between crews that wanted each other dead.

And yet, there he was, standing alone in the dark outside a Falcone compound, smoking like he had nowhere else to be.

Maybe he sensed me watching, because after a moment, he slowly lifted his head.

Our eyes met across the distance.

He exhaled a thin stream of smoke, the haze drifting into the night air. Then, almost imperceptibly, the corner of his lips curved into a faint, crooked smile. It wasn't playful. It wasn't mocking. It felt… resolute.

Without another moment, he straightened, flicked the cigarette aside, got into his car, and drove off.

I stood there, watching his taillights fade past the estate wall and into the darkness until they disappeared completely.

To my surprise, something inside me shifted, just slightly, like a quiet ripple beneath still water.

By the time Dante finally came home, the sky had already begun to pale with the first hint of dawn.

The moment he stepped through the door, his expression twisted into a frown. His nose wrinkled in obvious displeasure.

"Adriana, can you try acting like a decent woman for once?" he snapped without preamble. "You stink of smoke. It's disgusting. Quit that habit."

He had always hated it when I smoked.

But I hadn't always been like this. I only picked it up after we were bound together, after the warmth between us had faded into silence, into cold indifference, into a life that felt more like routine than anything real. Days blurred into each other. Conversations became scarce. I needed something, anything, to break through that suffocating stillness.

Even if it was just the sharp burn of nicotine in my lungs.

I said nothing. I simply stubbed the cigarette out and walked past him toward the bathroom.

He followed immediately.

"Did you hear me?" he demanded, irritation already creeping into his voice.

Of course he was irritated. I had always revolved around him, always responded, always complied. I had never pushed back, never ignored him. Now that I wasn't reacting the way he expected, it unsettled him.

"I heard you," I replied, my tone flat, almost absent.

Dante paused, clearly thrown off.

Through the mirror, I could see him watching me closely, his brows drawing together. He was still wearing his coat, the signet ring on his right hand catching the bathroom light. His thumb moved once over it, a slow rotation, then stopped.