"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."

I hesitated at first, my thumb pressing hard against the silver rosary bracelet at my wrist. Then I opened the door and slid into the leather seat.

Behind me, Dante's voice cut through the night air like something edged. "Adriana! Get out of that car right now!"

I didn't move.

Luca leaned in close. He turned my face toward the glow of the dashboard with careful fingers, tilting my chin so the light caught the side of my cheek.

His brows drew together the moment he saw the mark. "He hit you?" His voice was quiet, but full of restrained anger. The kind that sat low in a man's chest and didn't need volume to be dangerous.

He unbuckled his seatbelt in one sharp motion, clearly ready to get out of the car.

I grabbed his arm. "What are you doing?"

He turned back to look at me, his face tense, the lines of his jaw set hard enough to cut. "What do you think?"

God. Was he really going to confront Dante? The heir to the Falcone Family? For me?

I kept my voice low. "Just drive. I don't want to be here anymore."

And I really didn't want to see Dante again. Not standing in the courtyard of that guarded estate like he owned every stone, every shadow, every breath I took inside its walls.

Luca paused. His hand stayed on the door handle for a long beat, and I could feel the argument running through him, the way a man who has talked down capos and consiglieri weighs a decision in silence. But then he turned the key and pulled away from the curb.

In the rearview mirror, I saw Dante striding toward the car, the compound lights throwing his silhouette long across the gravel. "Adriana! If you leave now, don't bother coming back!"

His voice rang out behind us like a final warning, the kind of declaration men in this world didn't make lightly because it would be remembered by every soldier and gate guard who overheard it.

I turned in my seat and looked back at him. "Fine."

Not sure if he heard it, but I meant every word.

I had already made up my mind. I was going to dissolve this blood-bound union with Dante. I didn't plan on going back to that house ever again. Let the elders talk, let Carmela clutch her handkerchief and weep about disgrace. I was done.

Luca drove fast the entire way. His hands sat rigid on the wheel and there was a tension in his shoulders I wasn't used to seeing. He'd always been calm and collected, the kind of man whose composure made courtrooms fall quiet. This was the first time I'd seen him so on edge, and the fact that he didn't try to hide it unsettled me almost as much as what I'd left behind.

I pulled a cigarette from my bag and held it up toward him. "Mind if I smoke?"

Luca shook his head.

I lit it and rolled the window halfway down. As soon as I did, he eased off the gas. Cold wind rushed into the car and hit me square in the face, carrying with it the faint diesel scent of the waterfront district where Falcone shipping containers sat stacked like dark monuments.

I exhaled a long trail of smoke before speaking. "You got a place I can crash? I've just been kicked out and need somewhere to stay, for now."

He glanced over at me briefly. "Yeah."

Just one word. But from Luca, one word was a promise notarized.

By the time I finished my cigarette, Luca had already pulled over on a quiet side street lined with old brownstones, the kind of block that looked residential enough to stay off anyone's radar.

"I've got a small apartment," he said, cutting the engine. "I use it sometimes when work keeps me too busy to go home. Someone comes by to clean it regularly. You can stay there."

He led me upstairs.

On the way, I asked him, "Luca, why did you decide to become a lawyer?"

Considering his background, his ties to the Valente outfit, the connections that could have set him on an entirely different path, he should've been positioned to rise through the ranks, not sit for a bar exam.

He held the elevator for me, then stepped in and turned to face me. "Wasn't that your dream?"

His words froze the smile on my face. I looked down and let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah. I almost forgot."

Besides being the Falcone bride, I was still Adriana.