Bennett didn't return until the sun was already bleeding through the sheer curtains of our bedroom.

I was awake.

In fact, I hadn't slept at all.

I lay perfectly still, feigning deep slumber, my ears straining against the silence as I listened to the heavy sound of the front door closing, followed by the muffled thud of his boots being kicked off in the hallway.

He entered the bedroom quietly, moving with the practiced stealth of a predator trying not to wake the wife he thought was asleep.

The mattress dipped under his weight as he sat on the edge.

A wave of nausea rolled over me. He smelled of stale smoke, the metallic tang of gunpowder, and something floral that wasn't me.

He leaned down, brushing a kiss against my cheek.

"Sleep well, bellissima," he whispered.

It took everything in me not to recoil from the heat of his breath.

I kept my breathing even, a skill I had perfected over four years, waiting until he went into the bathroom to shower off the evidence of his betrayal.

When the water started running, I opened my eyes.

They felt dry, gritty from hours of staring into the dark.

I got up and went to the walk-in closet, my fingers hovering over the handle of a suitcase.

No.

Not yet.

If I left now, he would haul me back. I was a Vitale wife. I was property.

I needed a reason that the Don would accept, or I needed to disappear so completely that his reach couldn't find me.

Bennett walked out of the bathroom with a towel slung low around his waist, water dripping from his dark hair.

He looked refreshed. He looked sated.

"You're up early," he said, reaching for me.

I stepped back, pretending to look for earrings on the dresser to avoid his touch.

"I have a headache," I said, keeping my voice flat. "I didn't sleep well."

He frowned, his hand dropping to his side. "I'm sorry I wasn't here. The shipment had complications."

"I'm sure it did," I said.

He paused, sensing the shift in the air like an animal scents a storm. "Is something wrong, Kelsey?"

"Just the headache," I said, finally turning to look at him.

I looked at the man I had spent four years trying to please.

I looked at the scars on his chest, earned in wars for his family. I used to trace them with my fingers, believing they were maps to his soul.

Now, I just wondered how many of them were lies, too.

"I'm going to the gallery," I said. "I want to redecorate the private lounge. It feels... stale."

He nodded, seemingly relieved to avoid a confrontation. "Do whatever you want, baby. It's your space."

I left before he could try to touch me again.

At the gallery, I went straight to the private lounge.

It was a space Bennett used for meetings when he didn't want to go to the warehouse, a room that reeked of masculine authority.

I started moving cushions, stripping the room of its warmth, needing to purge his presence.

I reached under the sofa to pull out a rug, but instead, my hand brushed against silk.

I pulled it out.

It was a scarf.

Hermès.

Bright orange and garish.

Decidedly not my style.

I brought it to my nose, and there it was. It smelled like the floral scent I had detected on Bennett's skin.

I didn't cry.

I didn't scream.

I just folded the scarf neatly and placed it on the coffee table, a silent accusation.

That evening, we had to attend a dinner at the Capo's house.

I wore black, like a widow in mourning before the body was even cold.

Bennett wore a matching suit, his hand possessively on my lower back as we entered.

The room was filled with the acrid smoke of cigars and the murmur of dangerous men.

I saw her immediately.

Aria Diaz.

She wasn't supposed to be here. She was a nobody, an outsider.

But she was standing near the bar, laughing at something a soldier said.

She was young. Vibrant.

And she had a hand resting protectively over her flat stomach.

My breath hitched in my throat.

Two of the Capo's wives were standing near me, their backs turned, sipping champagne.

"That's the one," one whispered, her voice dripping with gossip. "The new girl. Bennett set her up in the penthouse on 5th."

"Bold," the other said. "Does Kelsey know?"

"Please. Kelsey is a statue. Pretty to look at, but hollow. Bennett needs a legacy, not a decoration."

I felt the blood drain from my face.

I looked across the room at Bennett.

He was looking at Aria.

His expression wasn't the cold, calculated mask he wore for business.

It was soft. It was open.

He saw me looking, and his face hardened instantly, but the damage was done.

He walked over to me, grabbing my elbow a little too tightly.

"Smile," he hissed, his voice a lethal command. "You look like you're at a funeral."

"Maybe I am," I said.

He narrowed his eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm tired, Bennett. I want to go home."

"We just got here."

"I said I want to go home."

He glared at me, asserting his dominance, waiting for me to fold like I always did.

"Go then," he said dismissively, releasing my arm as if I were a burden. "Take the driver. I have things to discuss with the Capo."

He turned his back on me.

He turned back to her.

I walked out of the house, the night air biting against my skin.

I didn't go home.

I went back to the gallery.

I went to the lounge.

I picked up the scarf.

I picked up the wedding photo I kept on the desk.

I looked at the smiling girl in the white dress.

I didn't know her anymore.

I dropped the photo into the trash can.

The glass shattered.

It was the most satisfying sound I had heard in years.

The Vitale Family Anniversary Gala was more than just a party; it was the single most important night of the year.

It was a calculated display of power, wealth, and unbreakable unity.

I stood by the towering crystal champagne display, my spine rigid, wearing a silk dress that cost more than most people's cars.

Bennett was circulating through the crowd, shaking hands, playing the part of the dutiful Underboss to perfection.

And then she walked up to me.

Aria.

She was draped in red. A bold, aggressive crimson that clashed violently with the elegant neutrals of the other wives.

She smiled, and it was like looking into the eyes of a viper.

"Mrs. Vitale," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "It's so lovely to finally meet you properly."

"I don't believe we've been introduced," I said, my voice pure ice.

"Oh, I feel like I know you," she said, stepping closer, invading my personal space with a cloud of heavy perfume. "Bennett talks about you sometimes."

"Does he?"

"He says you're very... proper." She laughed, a light, tinkling sound that grated against my nerves. "He worries about you. He thinks you're fragile."

"I'm stronger than I look," I said tightly.

She leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "He's amazing, isn't he? So protective. He cleared my brother's gambling debts last week. Fifty thousand dollars. Just like that."

The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

Fifty thousand.

Bennett had told me money was tight this quarter because of the port strikes.

He had told me we needed to cut back on the gallery budget.

But he had fifty thousand for her brother.

"He's very generous with his employees," I managed to say, though my grip on my glass was white-knuckled.

"I'm not an employee, Kelsey," she said, dropping the pretense. "We both know that."

She looked pointedly at my stomach, then back at my face with a pitying sneer.

"He wants a son," she said cruelly. "It's a shame you couldn't give him one. But don't worry. I'll take good care of his legacy."

I felt bile rise in my throat.

She wasn't just a mistress.

She was his plan.

She was his future.

I was just the placeholder until the baby was born.

"Is everything alright here?"

Bennett's voice cut through the tension like a blade.

He appeared beside us, looking between me and Aria with a flash of genuine panic in his eyes.

"We were just chatting, Bennett," Aria said, beaming at him. "Your wife is charming."

Bennett's jaw clenched hard. "Aria, go find your seat. Dinner is starting."

She pouted slightly but obeyed, trailing a hand across his arm possessively as she walked away.

Bennett turned to me, reaching for my hand.

"What did she say to you?" he demanded, his voice low and urgent.

"She told me about Rico's debts," I said.

Bennett froze.

"That's business, Kelsey. Her brother is a runner for us. I take care of my men."

"Stop it," I said.

I looked at him, really looked at him.

I saw the lies etched into the lines of his face.

I saw the arrogance.

He thought I was stupid.

He thought I was so blinded by love that I would swallow anything he fed me.

"Kelsey, don't start a scene," he warned, his grip tightening painfully around my fingers.

"I'm not starting a scene," I said calmly. "I'm finishing one."

I pulled my hand away from his.

"I'm going to the restroom."

"Hurry back," he said, adjusting his cuffs nervously. "My father is going to make a toast."

I walked away.

I didn't go to the restroom.

I went to the coat check.

I got my wrap.

I walked out the front door of the hotel, past the security guards who nodded at me respectfully.

I stood on the sidewalk, the city noise washing over me like a cleansing tide.

My phone buzzed in my clutch.

It was a text from Bennett.

Where are you? Father is asking for you.

I didn't reply.

I turned off my phone.

I hailed a cab.

For the first time in my life, I didn't care what the Don thought.

I didn't care about the family reputation.

I felt a strange, cold emptiness spreading through my chest.

It wasn't pain.

It was the death of hope.

And God, it was strangely liberating.

I refused to cower.

The next day, I went to the gallery as usual.

Aria sauntered in around noon.

She moved through the space like she owned it, carelessly dragging her fingertips across the sculptures, leaving smudges of oil on the patina.

"Bennett told me you fled early last night," she said, examining a bronze bust. "He was very upset. He came over to my place to burn off that frustration."

She watched me, waiting for a reaction, her eyes glinting with malice.

I continued typing on my laptop, refusing to look up. "The price of that piece is twelve thousand. If you break it, you buy it."

"Bennett buys everything for me," she sneered. "You know that."

"He buys things for his mistresses, yes. It's a tax write-off."

Aria's face twisted into a mask of ugly rage.

"You think you're better than me because you have a ring?" she spat. "He doesn't love you. He pities you."

I stood up, walking around the desk to confront her.

"Get out of my gallery, Aria."

"Or what?" she challenged, stepping closer. "You'll call your husband? He won't pick up for you."

Suddenly, a sickening metallic groan echoed from the ceiling.

We both looked up.

The massive, suspended kinetic sculpture-a heavy arrangement of interlocking steel beams-was swaying violently. One of the support cables had snapped.

"Move!" I shouted.

I lunged forward.

At the same moment, the front door burst open.

Bennett.

He had come to check on me, or maybe to intercept Aria. Whatever his reason, he froze.

He saw the sculpture shearing loose.

He saw us both standing in the impact zone.

Time seemed to fracture and slow.

He had a choice.

He was closer to me. He could have reached out and pulled me to safety.

But he didn't look at me.

His eyes locked on Aria.

"No!" he roared.

He sprinted past me, tackling Aria to the ground, shielding her body with his own.

The steel beam crashed down with the force of a guillotine.

It missed them by feet.

It didn't miss me.

The edge of the sculpture clipped my shoulder with bone-crushing force and sent me flying into a glass display case.

The world exploded into shards.

I hit the floor hard, pain white-hot and blinding, radiating through my arm and side.

I lay there, stunned, gasping for air that wouldn't come.

Through the high-pitched ringing in my ears, I heard Bennett's voice.

"Aria! Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

He was frantically checking her, his hands running over her face, her arms, desperate to find a scratch.

She was crying, clinging to him. "My baby! Is the baby okay?"

"It's okay, I've got you," he soothed, his voice trembling. "I've got you."

I lay in the wreckage of my life, bleeding onto the pristine white marble floor.

He hadn't even looked at me yet.

A security guard ran over to me, his face ashen. "Mrs. Vitale! Oh my god. Call an ambulance!"

Only then did Bennett turn his head.

He saw me lying amidst the jagged glass.

His face went pale.

"Kelsey?"

He stood up, helping Aria up first, making sure she was steady before he finally walked over to me.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking down at me.

He didn't kneel.

He stood there, anchored to the spot, still holding Aria's hand.

"I'm fine," I whispered, though my arm felt like it was on fire.

"I have to take Aria to the hospital," he said, his eyes darting away from my blood. "The stress... the baby."

"Go," I said.

"The ambulance is coming for you," he said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself he wasn't a monster. "I'll meet you there."

He turned and led Aria out of the gallery.

He left me bleeding on the floor.

Later, in the hospital room, my arm was stitched up and in a sling.

My phone buzzed on the bedside table.

It was a photo from Aria.

It was a picture of Bennett holding a cup of soup, blowing on it to cool it down.

He's taking such good care of us. Don't worry about him.

I stared at the photo. The intimacy of it made my stomach turn.

The nurse came in to check my vitals.

"Is your husband coming to pick you up, honey?" she asked kindly.

I looked at the empty chair beside my bed.

I looked at the phone.

I looked at the nurse with dry, clear eyes.

"No," I said. "I don't have a husband anymore."