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.

In his eyes, I was the woman who had schemed her way into Dante's life, the orphan ward who had "tricked" the heir into a blood-bound union. That belief had taken root long ago, and no matter what I did, it had never changed.

So I stopped trying.

The painting was large, its silk surface catching the light as Liliana carefully held it up. She adjusted her position slightly, then stepped back, wanting Don Salvatore to take in the full view.

I noticed the movement and instinctively shifted to the side, trying to give her space.

But she moved faster.

Too fast.

Her shoulder collided directly into me.

There was no time to react.

With a startled cry, she stumbled backward, her balance completely lost. The next second, she fell down the stone steps of the estate entrance, the painting slipping from her grasp and tumbling with her.

The delicate silk tore the moment it hit the ground.

Right down the middle.

The sound was sharp. Final.

Two soldiers near the entrance stiffened but didn't move. No one moved without the Family's word.

Dante reacted instantly.

"Lily!" he shouted, rushing forward without hesitation.

He dropped to her side, his hands already reaching for her, his entire focus on her as if nothing else existed. "Are you okay? Did you get hurt?"

Liliana clutched her arm, her brows furrowing as if in pain. She let out a soft wince, her breathing uneven.

But her eyes…

Her eyes were fixed on me.

She didn't say a single word.

She didn't have to.

That look alone was enough.

Dante turned.

His expression had completely changed, anger flashing across his face without restraint. His signet ring had gone perfectly still against his finger.

"Adriana," he said, his voice sharp and cold, "I didn't know you were capable of something this cruel."

The accusation came without hesitation. Without doubt.

"Apologize to Lily. Now."

Around us, the atmosphere shifted instantly.

Don Vittorio's face darkened, his earlier joy completely gone. The torn painting clearly struck a nerve. He tapped one knuckle against the arm of his chair, once, and the sound carried in the silence like a sentence passed. His lips tightened, his expression turning rigid with anger.

"This is outrageous," he muttered under his breath.

Carmela didn't hold back.

She stepped forward, lifting the lace handkerchief to the corner of her mouth before speaking, her gaze filled with open disdain as she looked at me.

"Adriana, what is wrong with you?" she snapped. "Do you hate this Family so much that you'd come here, on the Don's feast day, and make a scene like this?"

Her words were loud enough for every guest and soldier in the courtyard to hear.

Every eye turned to me.

Judging. Condemning. Certain.

Dante had already helped Liliana back up the steps, supporting her carefully as if she were something fragile.

Then he walked toward me.

I barely had time to register what was happening before his hand came down across my face.

The sound echoed off the stone walls of the compound.

Sharp. Sudden.

My head snapped to the side from the force of it.

For a moment, everything went still. The courtyard, the murmuring guests, the soldiers at the gate. All of it stopped, as though the entire estate had drawn a single breath and held it.

The sting spread quickly across my cheek, hot and burning.

His voice followed, colder than the slap itself.

"I should never have spoiled you the way I did," he said. "It's made you completely out of control."

His eyes were filled with nothing but disappointment and anger.

"Apologize."

I raised my hand slowly, pressing it against my cheek as the pain throbbed beneath my skin.

Then I lifted my head.

And that was when I saw it.

The faint curve at the corner of Liliana's lips. Her thumbnail grazed the edge of her lower lip, barely perceptible.

Subtle.

But unmistakable.

A small, fleeting smile.

Triumphant.

Something inside me went quiet.

Completely quiet.

My thumb found the silver rosary bracelet at my wrist, turned the smallest bead once, then let it fall.

I didn't feel the urge to explain. I didn't feel the need to defend myself anymore. What was the point?

No one here would believe me.

No one ever had.

I straightened, meeting Dante's gaze directly.

"I'm sorry," I said calmly. "It was my fault."

My voice didn't waver.

Then I looked around at all of them.

"Well?" I added, almost lightly. "Are you all satisfied now?"

No one spoke.

I didn't wait for an answer.

I turned and walked away.

Behind me, Dante's expression faltered for a brief second. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but the words never came.

I didn't look back.

I made my way through the courtyard alone, past the guests in their dark suits and jewels, past the whispers that had already begun to rise again, until I finally reached the front gate where a soldier stepped aside without meeting my eyes.

The moment I stepped toward the exit, a car pulled up abruptly in front of me, cutting off my path.

I stopped.

The tinted back window slowly rolled down.

Luca.

He was sitting inside, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp, fixed directly on me. His glasses rested folded in one hand.

"Get in," he said, his voice low, leaving no room for argument.

For a moment, I didn't move.

Before I could respond, a familiar voice called out from behind me.

"Adriana."

I turned.

Dante stood a few feet away, the compound's iron gate framing him, his face shadowed, his expression darker than I had ever seen it.

His eyes flicked briefly toward the car, then back to me.

"I dare you," he said slowly, each word heavy with warning, "to get in that car."