The Cullinan I'd just had delivered lasted less than a day in the hands of Salvatore Vitale's little courier before she folded the front end into scrap. Totaled.

That made three cars this month.

I dropped the photos of the wreck onto the desk and looked coldly at Carmela Russo, hunched in the corner.

"I let the first two slide. This one didn't even have its papers squared away yet. So tell me—how exactly do you plan to pay for it?"

Her shoulders jerked, and the tears came at once.

"Donna Vitale, I'm so sorry... I really didn't mean to. I'll pay you back even if I have to sell everything I own."

She wept so prettily that anyone walking in might have thought she was the wronged party.

The next second, Salvatore, who'd been standing beside her the whole time, suddenly stepped in and pulled her behind him.

He frowned at me, his voice thick with impatience.

"Adriana Falcone, was that really necessary?"

"It's just a car. Why are you scaring a young girl like this?"

He drew a black card straight from his wallet and tossed it onto the desk—the tribute line, drawn against money he'd never once asked where it came from.

"I'll cover it for her."

The office went silent.

Carmela huddled behind Salvatore, eyes red, the very picture of someone in need of protection.

And I, the lawful wife, somehow came off as the one closing in for the kill.

I tugged at the corner of my mouth and reached for the card.

But the instant my fingers touched its edge, Carmela lunged forward and slapped it out of my hand onto the floor.

"Donna Vitale, every cent you spend is money the Boss earned. How do you still have the nerve to keep taking his money?"

Her answer came a half-second too fast, the smile widening just enough to give her away.

The black card skidded a long way across the floor.

My hand stopped.

Salvatore didn't reproach her. He laughed softly instead.

"That's her for you. Never satisfied. Greedy to the bone."

I looked down at the tribute line lying on the floor, and then I laughed too.

So that was it.

In their eyes, I was spending Salvatore's money.

But they seemed to have forgotten something.

Every card Salvatore touched drew on a credit line out of the Falcone vault.

Everything the Vitale name had enjoyed over the years was built on Falcone money—the men, the fronts, the borrowed crown he wore.

A Boss who stops listening should be replaced before it's too late.

Wait for him to come around?

That would be the most laughable thing of all.

I didn't waste another glance on the two of them. I turned and walked out the door.

My heels struck the floor, crisp and cold.

The moment the elevator doors closed, I called my right-hand man.

"Get word to the men who handle the books."

"Effective immediately, kill every card, every line, every cent of credit the Falcone vault carries for anyone bearing the Vitale name."

...

That afternoon, the dealership called out of nowhere.

"Ms. Falcone, the damage to your Cullinan is extremely severe. The repair cost is already close to the value of the car. We'd recommend writing it off entirely."

I went still for a moment.

"What?"

The man on the line clearly hesitated too.

"Your husband had it towed in and said the charges should go on your account. The situation seemed unusual, so I wanted to confirm with you personally."

I hung up and had a car brought around to take me straight to the dealership.

Even so, the sight of that Cullinan was a knife to the eyes.

The front end was almost completely crushed, the hood peeled back, the windshield shattered into a web. The whole car looked like it had just been dragged off the scene of a major wreck.

And I'd only taken delivery the week before.

The newest Cullinan.

Understated, solid, gleaming black.

I'd waited a full three months to get it.

I'd driven it exactly once.

Now it was a pile of scrap.

I didn't need to guess who'd done it.

The moment I left the dealership, I had the driver turn around and take me to the Vitale offices.

The whole way, a fire sat pressing against my chest.

This wasn't the first time.

Two weeks ago, Salvatore had taken my SUV to let Carmela practice driving. In under a day she'd hit a roadside tree and totaled it on the spot.

Last week, he'd lent her my Bentley, and she'd put it straight into a river. The car sank to the bottom and the salvage still wasn't finished.

Now, the third time.

She'd flat-out wrecked my Cullinan.

Three cars in a month.

Even someone deliberately taking cars apart couldn't keep up that pace.

The elevator doors opened, and I walked straight to the Boss's office in my heels.

The door banged as I shoved it open.

The two people inside looked up at once.

Salvatore and Carmela were leaning together over the same arrangement, shoulders nearly touching.

At the noise, Carmela sprang back like a startled rabbit, the smile not quite wiped from her face yet.

"Donna Vitale."

She frowned and complained under her breath.

"You really should knock before walking into the Boss's office."

I didn't even look at her.

My eyes went straight to Salvatore.

"My Cullinan. You took it out again to let Carmela practice driving, didn't you?"

Salvatore looked as if he'd seen this coming. Not a flicker of surprise.

He leaned back in his chair, his tone almost weary.

"Honey, do you really need to blow up like this?"

"It's just a car."

That made me laugh.

"Just a car?"

"Two weeks ago, you handed her my SUV to practice with, and in under a day she'd wrapped it around a tree."

"Last week, you lent her my Bentley, and she drove it straight into a river."

"And now you've given her the Cullinan I just took delivery of."

"Three cars in a month."

"Every car totaled, and not a scratch on her."

I stared at Carmela, spacing out each word.

"I have every reason to suspect she's doing it on purpose."

Carmela's eyes went red in an instant.

As though she'd suffered some terrible injustice.

Salvatore's face darkened too.

"Adriana, don't talk nonsense."

"Carmela only got her license recently. Isn't it normal for her to drive badly?"

"And precisely because she's not good at it, she needs more practice."

He paused, then added,

"You can't suspect her of staging accidents on purpose just because the cars got wrecked and she came out fine, can you?"

"Besides, isn't it a good thing she's unhurt?"

"It just means Carmela's blessed with good fortune."

I let out a cold laugh.

"She's lucky, all right."

"Three major accidents, and she walks away clean every time."

"With luck like that, she'd have more than enough to win the lottery."

The office fell silent.

I looked at Salvatore, my eyes turning cold by degrees.

"When the first two cars were wrecked, I told you plainly."

"If she wants to practice, she can buy her own car for it, or use one of the family's."

"But she does not touch mine."

"And what did you do?"

"Let everything I said go in one ear and out the other."

"Now you've handed her the brand-new car I just took delivery of, to wreck like the rest."

I took a step forward and held his gaze. Beneath the desk, my thumb found my wedding ring and turned it a quarter-turn.

"Salvatore."

"Before you lent my car to someone else, did you ask me—the owner?"

The question stopped him short.

But a second later, that careless smile was back on his face, and he reached out to clap a hand on Carmela's shoulder, gripping a beat too long.

As if, to him, all of it was nothing worth bothering about.

Salvatore didn't think he'd done anything wrong. He even smiled at me.

"Babe, what's yours is mine, isn't it?"

I didn't have the patience to argue with him. My eyes went straight to Carmela.

"I already gave you a pass on the first two cars."

"This Cullinan wasn't even insured yet. So how exactly do you plan to pay me back?"

Carmela flinched like a startled doe, her eyes going red in an instant.

She shrank into her shoulders, tears dropping one after another.

"Donna Vitale, I'm so sorry, I really didn't mean to."

"Even if I have to sell everything I own, I'll pay you back, I swear."

I said it flatly.

"Eight million."

The color drained from her face.

"I... I..."

Her lips trembled, but she couldn't get out a single complete sentence.

The next second, Salvatore pulled her behind him.

His tall frame planted itself in front of her, like he was shielding some priceless treasure.

"Adriana, that's enough."

"It's just a car."

He pulled a tribute line out of his wallet and held it out to me, the matte black plastic that drew straight from the Falcone vault.

"Take it."

"Go buy yourself a new one."

His tone was light, like eight million was nothing but a string of numbers.

"Forget one Cullinan."

"Carmela could wreck ten more and I'd still cover it."

I looked down at the card.

I'd just reached for it when Carmela suddenly lunged forward and slapped it out of his hand.

A sharp crack.

The card skidded across the polished marble floor, loud in a room that had gone too quiet.

She glared at me with red-rimmed eyes, like she'd finally worked up the nerve.

"Donna Vitale, every cent you spend was earned by the Boss."

"Now that something's gone wrong, how do you still have the nerve to take his money?"

The answer came a half-second too fast, and her smile widened a fraction at the edges, the eagerness to be believed louder than any of her words.

The office went quiet for a beat.

Salvatore didn't stop her. He let out a soft laugh instead.

"That's just how she is. Never satisfied."

I looked down at the card on the floor, and I almost laughed.

So that was how it was.

Pay me back with my own money.

And in the end, call me greedy for it.

How very entertaining.

The reason I married Salvatore in the first place was that he was clever enough, and obedient enough.

But now I could see it.

Once a man gets propped up too high, he forgets how he climbed up there in the first place.

I lifted my eyes to him.

"Salvatore."

"You've stopped being good."

He visibly froze.

Like he hadn't expected me to say something like that.

But I didn't have the patience to explain anymore.

I didn't pick up the card on the floor.

Because starting today, it was about to be a dead piece of plastic.

After I left the office, I called my right-hand man.

"Notify the risk control men at the Falcone vault."

"Freeze every Vitale tribute line and credit account, effective immediately."

"Salvatore included."

A two-second silence on the other end.

Then a respectful reply.

"Yes, Donna Falcone."

I hung up and drove straight to the dealership.

If the car was gone, I'd just buy another one.

Half an hour later, I drove off in a brand-new Phantom.

I took the long way, letting the air clear my head.

And the whole time, my phone never stopped ringing.

Every call was from Salvatore.

I didn't even glance at them. I just put it on silent.

It wasn't until I got home that evening.

The moment I pushed open the door, I found the whole Vitale bloodline seated in the living room of the family estate.

Salvatore's father, his mother, and his sister Bianca Vitale.

Like they'd been waiting just for me.

I hadn't even changed out of my shoes before Rosaria Vitale spoke up first. She set down her fork at the Sunday table and folded her hands with deliberate precision.

"Adriana, it's not that I'm criticizing you."

"Carmela accidentally banged up one car. Did you really have to freeze every account in the family?"

Bianca jumped right in.

"Exactly, Adriana!"

"I took some friends out this afternoon, and when I went to settle the tab, the line just got declined."

"Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?"

"I was completely mortified!"

She flipped her hair back and lifted her chin, as if posture could stand in for the standing she'd never actually held.

Vincenzo Vitale's expression wasn't any better. He tapped his cane twice on the floor, the way he once had to silence a room.

"This is what comes of Salvatore spoiling you all the time."

"A woman with a worse temper than anyone."

I stood in the doorway, watching them quietly.

From start to finish, not one of them asked me why I'd frozen the accounts.

And not one of them cared about the wrecked Cullinan.

What they cared about.

Was only that their own money was no longer there to spend.

Just then Salvatore came over and slipped an arm around me, drawing me in.

His voice was so gentle, as if the man who'd called me greedy this afternoon hadn't been him at all.

"Babe."

"Don't be in a mood about this."

"Just turn the lines back on."

"We're all famiglia here. Nobody's going to hold it against you."

Bianca lifted her chin and added her piece too.

"Adriana, since it's your first time slipping up, we'll let it go this time."

"But you can't pull this again."

"Mom and Dad are patient, but everyone has a limit."

"What if you really set them off one day and my brother decides he doesn't want you anymore?"

I couldn't help laughing out loud.

Doesn't want me?

Did they still not understand, even now?

Exactly who couldn't live without whom.

I looked at Salvatore.

"This afternoon, at the office."

"Your little courier said every cent I spend comes from you."

"You didn't just stay quiet. You called me greedy."

"Fine. From now on, we each spend our own money."

"Nobody lives off anybody else."

The living room went silent in an instant.

Every face in the Vitale bloodline changed at the same time.

Because they'd finally realized.

With the Falcone lines frozen, the millions they bled through every month would now have to come out of their own pockets.

Ever since the marriage alliance was sworn.

Every member of the Vitale family had carried a Falcone tribute line.

No spending limit.

Over the years, they'd long since gotten used to spending without a second thought.

And I'd never said a word.

But now.

I didn't want to give anymore.

Whatever I could hand them, I could just as easily take back. All of it.

Salvatore's tone finally softened. His hand found my shoulder and gripped, harder than the moment called for, the way it always did when he was least sure of himself.

"Babe, half the crew was watching."

"You could at least leave me a little face, couldn't you?"

I reached up and straightened his tie, then patted his chest lightly.

The gesture was gentle.

The words that came out carried no warmth at all.

"Salvatore."

"You can't have it both ways."

"Since you were so tough at the office this afternoon."

"Then now, be tough all the way through."

Bianca's face had gone an ugly shade of green. She planted her hands on her hips and flipped her hair back, lifting her chin at me.

"So, sister-in-law, you really don't plan on giving us back our tribute lines."

"Fine. You'd better not regret it!"

I didn't so much as lift an eyelid.

Regret?

The one who should regret anything had never been me.

The next morning, I was woken by the clattering downstairs.

Pots and pans banging together, on and on, until the whole estate was in an uproar.

I've always been a light sleeper.

The house staff all knew it. The soldiers posted at the doors walked softly, and not one of them would dream of making this kind of racket at dawn.

Frowning, I went downstairs.

I'd barely reached the dining room when I saw the whole Vitale family already seated around the long table, the kind of table where alliances were made and broken over Sunday gravy.

And in the kitchen, a familiar figure bustled back and forth in an apron.

Carmela.

The moment she saw me, she broke into a sweet smile.

"Good morning, Mrs. Vitale."

"Breakfast will be ready in just a minute."

As if this were her house. As if she sat at the head of it.

My brow tightened.

Before I could say a word, Bianca had already strolled over, arms crossed.

"Sister-in-law, you really ought to learn something from Carmela."

"Look how devoted she is, up at the crack of dawn making my brother his breakfast."

I gave her a flat glance.

"Your brother keeps her on the payroll."

"Does he keep me on one?"

Bianca choked on it.

"You—"

Just then Carmela came out of the kitchen carrying a big bowl of soup.

She set it gently on the table, her smile soft and harmless.

"Mrs. Vitale, really, it's no shame not knowing how to cook."

"If you'd like, I'd be happy to teach you."

"After all, once a woman is married, the most important thing is taking good care of her husband."

Then her gaze drifted to the Phantom waiting out in the courtyard, flanked by two of my men.

"That Phantom is yours, isn't it?"

"Mr. Vitale is so good to you, buying you a car that expensive."

Just the right amount of envy surfaced in her eyes.

"I really do envy you."

"Not like me. I have to work for everything myself."

Bianca jumped right in.

"Exactly!"

"Sister-in-law's been married into this family three years, and we've never once eaten a meal she cooked."

Rosaria set her fork down and folded her hands with deliberate precision.

"Adriana, it's not that I want to lecture you."

"But as a daughter-in-law, you really haven't done enough."

At last I smiled.

"Oh?"

"And who does Mamma think has done well?"

"Carmela?"

The dining room went silent in an instant.

I walked unhurriedly to the table, my eyes moving over each member of the Vitale bloodline.

"True enough."

"She gets up early to make breakfast, she does whatever you tell her, she keeps you all happy and smiling."

"But here's the thing."

"Can she hand each of you an unlimited tribute line?"

"Can she put you up in a compound worth more than a billion?"

"Can she buy you cars and put a driver in every one, so not one of you ever has to walk a step on your own?"

"Can she?"

Question after question came down on them.

Rosaria was struck speechless.

Bianca sat there with her mouth open, nothing coming out, her chin sagging from the height she'd been holding it.

Even Carmela froze with the plate in her hands.

I stepped up to her and bent down slightly.

"And one more thing."

"I'm not the kind of kept wife you imagine, living off a man."

"If you'd spent any time at all looking into the Falcone name, you'd never have said what you just did."

The color drained a little from Carmela's face.

Clearly, she'd never seriously looked into me.

Or rather.

No one in this family had ever told her what the Falcone name meant. That the money keeping every Vitale soldier fed came out of a Falcone vault.

It was right then that Vincenzo brought his cane down twice against the floor, then slammed his hand on the table.

The teacups jumped.

"Adriana Falcone!"

"What kind of attitude is this?"

"You make it sound like the whole Vitale family lives off of you!"

I turned to look at him.

My voice was calm to the point of indifference.

"Papà."

"Since you feel you don't need to rely on me."

"Then it works out perfectly."

"From now on, you can stop drawing on the Falcone line too."

One sentence.

It turned Vincenzo's face an iron gray. His cane found no room to silence anyone now.

I couldn't be bothered with them any longer. I sat straight down, picked up a breakfast roll, and took a bite.

I set it back on the plate the moment I'd tasted it.

"Mediocre."

"Nowhere near what our chef makes."

I pulled out a napkin and wiped my hands. As I did, I slid my wedding ring a quarter-turn around my finger.

"Since you all enjoy the breakfast Carmela makes."

"Let her make it every day from now on."

"As for our chef, going forward he only needs to cook for me."

Bianca let out a cold laugh.

"Sister-in-law, you really have no sense of danger, do you."

"Carmela's younger than you, prettier than you, and more devoted than you."

"Keep acting up like this and you'll find my brother doesn't want you anymore."

I looked straight at Salvatore.

"You want to dissolve the alliance?"

"Fine."

"Bring the papers."

"I'll sign them right now."

The air went still. The kind of stillness that falls over a room when men reach for what's under their jackets.

Salvatore's face changed at once.

He shot Bianca a vicious glare.

"Shut up!"

Then he hurried around behind me and started kneading my shoulders on his own.

His voice went soft.

"Sweetheart, Bianca just talks too fast."

"Don't lower yourself to her level."

"We're all one famiglia. There's no need to blow this up."

That said, he immediately called out to the others, laughing one beat too long and clapping a heavy hand on his father's shoulder.

"All right, everyone, eat up."

"Any longer and it'll go cold."

Only then did they reluctantly sit.

They'd barely picked up their forks.

When Carmela suddenly lowered her head, eyes reddening.

Her voice was so pitiful she sounded ready to cry the next second.

"Mr. Vitale."

"I'm so sorry about wrecking Mrs. Vitale's car last time."

"My driving is just terrible."

"How could I be so clumsy…"

With that, she bit her lip in distress.

That helpless, pitiable picture would have softened anyone's heart.

But I found myself smiling.

Three cars.

One into a tree.

One driven into a river.

One totaled outright.

A track record like that.

You couldn't call it bad driving anymore.

You'd have to call it precision work. The kind a soldier gets paid for.