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.

"What's wrong with you?"

His gaze dropped, landing on my collarbone where the edge of a bandage peeked out from beneath my clothes.

"What happened to your neck?"

He stepped closer, reaching out instinctively as if to check it himself.

But I turned away before his fingers could touch me.

His hand stopped midair, suspended awkwardly. For a split second, something flickered across his face. Surprise, maybe. Or annoyance.

For once, I didn't let him touch me.

The shift was subtle, but it was enough.

His expression hardened. Impatience replaced whatever hesitation had been there, and he dropped his hand, turning as if to leave.

"Adriana," he said coldly, "I've given you everything I promised. You have no reason to act out like this."

But I hadn't done anything at all.

As he took a step toward the door, I looked at his back, at the man I had once believed was my entire world.

"If you think I'm standing in your way," I said quietly, "with her or anyone else… maybe…"

My voice didn't shake.

"…we should dissolve this."

Dante stopped as if he had hit a wall.

Slowly, he turned around, staring at me like he hadn't heard correctly. "What did you just say?"

There was a brief silence.

Then he laughed, a dry, humorless sound that carried no warmth.

"So that's what this is?" he said, his tone turning sharp. "First you cling to me like your life depends on it, and now you're trying emotional blackmail?"

His eyes hardened as he looked at me.

"Adriana, do you really think a manipulative woman like you is someone I could ever love?"

The words landed without impact.

"You've been in this house since you were ten," he continued, his voice growing colder. "The Family took you in. If we dissolve this, where the hell would you even go?"

Each sentence was sharper than the last, deliberately cutting, deliberately cruel.

"If you're not strong enough to walk away, then stop pretending to be," he finished. "Just stick to your role as Mrs. Falcone."

He didn't often lose his temper like this.

But when he did, there was nothing restrained about it.

He didn't stop until he had stripped me down to nothing in his eyes, until he had made it clear that without him, without the Falcone name, I was insignificant.

I didn't argue. I didn't defend myself.

I simply turned on the faucet and began washing my hands, the sound of running water filling the silence between us.

Behind me, I could feel his gaze lingering, heavy and unreadable.

Eventually, his tone shifted. Calmer. Colder. Detached.

"Salvatore Salvatore's tribute dinner is next week," he said. "Get something respectable and come with me."

It wasn't a request.

It was an order, delivered no differently than how he would speak to the soldiers who ran his errands.

The day of the tribute dinner arrived before I realized it.

Dante actually came home early, something he hadn't done in a long time, supposedly to pick me up. For a brief second, I almost thought he might have remembered something, might have made an effort.

But the moment I stepped outside, that thought vanished.

Liliana was already in the car.

She sat in the front passenger seat, her posture elegant, her appearance flawless as always. When she saw me, she turned slightly and offered a polite, composed smile.

"Good evening, Mrs. Falcone," she greeted softly, her voice gentle and perfectly measured.

"Mr. Falcone, I've already prepared a gift for Don Salvatore," Liliana said softly, her tone gentle yet confident, as if everything was naturally under her control. "And your stomach's been acting up lately. You really shouldn't drink at the feast tonight, okay?"

Every word she said landed exactly where it should have come from me.

From the wife.

From Mrs. Falcone.

So I said nothing.

There was no space left for me to speak anyway.

When we arrived, the car had barely come to a complete stop before Liliana opened the door and stepped out with effortless grace. Dante's soldier held the door, eyes front, posture rigid. Dante followed right behind her, his attention already on her, as if I didn't exist. I got out last.

She was the first to walk up to Don Salvatore.

"Don Salvatore, happy birthday," she said with a warm smile, her voice carrying just the right amount of affection.

The old man's face lit up the moment he saw her. His eyes softened with unmistakable fondness, the kind he had never once shown me. His worn wooden rosary sat still in his lap, untouched. When his gaze shifted to the scroll in her hands, his expression grew even more pleased.

She carefully presented it, slowly unrolling the painting.

It was a longevity piece, intricate and elegant, every stroke deliberate and refined. The kind of gift that required time, thought, and understanding of the recipient.

It was obvious.

This wasn't her first time at the compound.

As for me, I stayed where I was, a few steps behind, with no intention of forcing myself into a place I didn't belong.

Don Salvatore had never liked me.