The following morning, Bennett walked into our penthouse.

I was perched on the sofa, staring blankly at the panoramic view of the city sprawled out beneath us.

My arm was cradled in a sling, a throbbing reminder of the previous night.

He stopped abruptly when he saw me. For a split second, a flash of guilt fractured his expression, but he quickly plastered over it with his usual veneer of arrogance.

"I came to the hospital, but they said you checked yourself out," he said, his voice tight.

"I took a cab," I replied flatly.

He walked over, placing a long velvet box on the coffee table between us.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," he said, smoothing his suit jacket. "It was chaotic. I had to make sure the heir was safe. You understand."

Heir.

Not child.

Heir.

"Open it," he urged, gesturing to the box.

I didn't move.

"It's a necklace," he said, when I remained silent. "Sapphires. To match your eyes."

"I don't want it," I said.

He frowned, irritation creeping in. "Don't be childish, Kelsey. It cost a fortune."

"I don't want your money, Bennett. And I don't want your apologies."

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I know you're upset. But Aria... she's carrying a Vitale. My father expects me to protect that child above all else."

"And what about your wife?" I asked quietly.

"You are my wife," he said, as if that single fact settled everything. "You have the name. You have the status. Isn't that enough?"

"No."

He glared at me, his patience thinning. "You're being unreasonable. I'm trying to make this work."

"You're trying to buy my silence."

"It's the same thing," he snapped.

He started to say more, but his phone rang.

It was the special ringtone.

The crisis line.

He snatched it out of his pocket instantly.

"What?" he barked into the receiver.

He listened, his face draining of color with every passing second.

"The Russos?" he hissed. "How did they know about the shipment?"

He began to pace the room, his agitation growing.

"If the Don finds out we lost that territory... yes. Yes, I'll handle it."

He hung up, looking frantic.

"I have to go," he said, already moving toward the door. "There's a situation."

"The Russos are moving on the Jersey ports," I said.

He stopped dead, looking at me in surprise. "How did you know?"

"I pay attention, Bennett. Unlike you."

He hesitated, torn between the crisis and me. "Look, this is big. If I don't fix this, my position is at risk. I need you to be supportive right now. I can't deal with drama at home."

"Go," I said, my voice hollow. "Save your empire."

He nodded, relieved to be dismissed. "We'll talk later. I'll make it up to you. I promise. I'll protect us."

He grabbed his keys and rushed out the door.

I waited until the elevator doors dinged shut.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then, I stood up.

I walked to the mantle and picked up the expensive vase he had bought me for our second anniversary.

I held it for a moment, feeling its cold, smooth surface.

Then, I opened my hand.

I dropped it on the floor.

The crash was satisfying, a sharp explosion of sound that signaled the end.

I went to the bedroom and pulled out the boxes I had packed while he was with Aria.

I called the moving company I had scheduled.

"You can come up now," I said.

I looked at my phone.

A text from Bennett: Don't worry. I'll protect us.

I looked at the velvet box on the table.

I laughed.

It was a dry, hollow sound that echoed in the empty apartment.

"There is no us, Bennett," I whispered to the silence.

I took off my wedding ring.

I placed it deliberately on top of the velvet box.

And then I walked out the door, leaving the keys on the counter.

I didn't look back.

Bennett left for the sit-down with the Russos draped in a suit that cost more than my father's annual salary.

He kissed me on the forehead before he walked out the door.

It was a perfunctory press of lips.

A kiss of distraction.

It was the kiss of a man already thinking about the blood he was going to spill.

Or the woman he was doing it for.

His Consigliere had begged him not to go.

He warned him that it was a trap. He insisted the Russos were baiting him, using his ego against him.

But Bennett didn't listen.

He wasn't going to that meeting to secure the ports.

He was going to prove to Aria that he was the king of this concrete jungle, capable of burning down the world just to keep her safe.

I stood by the window, watching his motorcade snake through the rainy streets like a funeral procession.

I felt nothing.

No fear.

No worry.

Just a dull, rhythmic thumping in my chest that reminded me I was still alive.

Aria found me an hour later in the library.

She didn't knock.

She sauntered in, pouring herself a drink from Bennett's crystal decanter as if she already owned the house.

"He's going to kill them all," she said, taking a sip of the amber liquid. "For me."

"He's going to get himself killed," I said, turning a page of my book without reading a single word.

"That's the point, isn't it?"

She sat on the edge of the mahogany desk, swinging her legs with childish delight.

"He loves me enough to die for me, Kelsey. Does he love you that much?"

I looked up at her.

She looked triumphant.

But beneath the gloating, I saw something else.

Calculation.

"You don't love him," I said quietly. "You love what he can do for you."

Aria laughed.

It was a sharp, brittle sound that shattered the quiet of the room.

"Love is for fairy tales and fools," she said. "I love that he pays my brother's debts. I love that no one looks at me like trash anymore because I have the Vitale name protecting me. Bennett is a tool. A very sharp, very useful tool."

She leaned forward, her eyes glittering with malice.

"And I know how to wield him. I cry, he kills. I bleed, he burns cities. What do you do, Kelsey? You just sit there and fade."

My throat felt tight.

Not with tears, but with the sheer weight of the truth.

She was right.

I was fading.

And Bennett was letting it happen because he was too busy being her weapon.

The phone on the desk rang.

It was the secure line.

Aria's face lit up. She snatched the receiver before I could even shift in my chair.

"Bennett?" she breathed.

She listened for a second, and then her smile twisted into something cruel.

She looked at me.

"Oh," she said. "Oh, no."

She hung up the phone.

She didn't look sad.

She looked excited, fueled by the sudden rush of chaos.

"That was a soldier," she said. "Bennett walked into an ambush. They say he's down. Critical."

My cell phone started ringing in my pocket.

It was Bennett's personal number.

Probably a soldier calling the next of kin.

Calling the wife.

Aria watched me, challenging me to break, to scream, to rush to the hospital and play the grieving widow.

I looked at the screen.

"Husband" flashing in white letters against a black background.

I thought about the contract hidden in the archives.

I thought about the scarf left in the lounge.

I thought about Aria's words. He is a tool.

I pressed the red button.

I declined the call.

Aria's eyes widened in genuine shock.

"He might be dying," she whispered.

"I know," I said.

I placed the phone face down on the table.

"If he dies, he dies for you, Aria. You can go hold his hand."

I walked out of the library, leaving the silence heavy and suffocating behind me.

For the first time in years, I felt light.

He didn't die.

Of course he didn't.

Bennett Vitale was far too stubborn to succumb to death, and certainly too angry to let the devil claim him just yet.

He returned a week later, not just as a survivor, but as a myth.

The papers were already calling him the "Bloodied Underboss."

He had taken three bullets to the chest and still managed to drive a knife through the Russo Capo's throat.

In one night, he had secured the ports.

He had secured the family legacy.

And, most importantly to him, he had secured Aria.

I heard the whispered stories from the maids as they dusted the hallways.

They spoke of how he had crawled, bleeding out, fueled by sheer will just to ensure Aria was moved to a safe house in the Hamptons.

How he had refused life-saving surgery until he heard her voice on the phone.

While the world celebrated his immortality, I sat in the penthouse, French audio lessons playing through my noise-canceling headphones.

Je voudrais un billet pour Paris, s'il vous plaît.

I repeated the words until the syllables tasted like freedom.

I packed my life into two modest suitcases.

Not the couture he had bought me.

Not the heavy jewels that felt like shackles.

Just my books, my sketches, and the few pieces of clothing I had purchased with my own money before I became Mrs. Vitale.

When Bennett finally came home, it was the night of the Victory Dinner.

He walked in, limping heavily, a polished cane in his hand.

He looked rugged.

Dangerous.

The sterile white bandages peeking out from his collar only added to the dark allure that seemed to make women weak in the knees.

Aria was with him, of course.

She was beaming, clutching his good arm as if she were the battery source of his power.

"Kelsey," Bennett said.

He sounded exhausted.

He sounded like a man expecting a dutiful welcome home kiss.

I stood by the stairs, my face a carefully constructed mask.

"You're alive," I stated flatly.

"Is that all?" He frowned, wincing as he shifted his weight on the cane. "I bought you something."

He signaled to an enforcer, who hauled a wooden crate into the foyer.

They pried it open with a groan of timber.

It was a statue.

A marble angel, likely looted from a villa in Tuscany during his raids.

"For the gallery," he said, gesturing vaguely. "To replace the one that broke."

He was trying to buy forgiveness with stolen art.

He was trying to patch a bullet hole with a band-aid.

"Thank you," I said. "Put it in the hall."

Bennett looked annoyed at my lack of enthusiasm. "I almost died, Kelsey. A little warmth wouldn't kill you."

"I'm not feeling well," I replied.

It was the excuse I had used for months.

Usually, he ignored it.

"Still?" He rolled his eyes, his patience thinning. "You need to see a doctor. You're always sick lately."

He didn't ask what was wrong.

He didn't cross the room to touch my forehead or check for a fever.

Instead, he turned to Aria. "Help me with my tie. My shoulder is stiff."

Aria smirked at me over his shoulder as she reached up, her fingers deft and intimate against the column of his neck.

"I'll take care of you, Bennett," she cooed, her voice dripping with syrup. "Since your wife is evidently too fragile."

I watched them.

I watched the way he leaned into her touch, seeking comfort I no longer had to give.

I watched the way he completely forgot I was even in the room.

"I'm going to bed," I lied.

"Fine," Bennett said, not bothering to look back. "We have the dinner to get to. Don't wait up."

I went upstairs.

I waited until I heard the heavy thud of the front door closing.

I waited until the purr of the limousine engine faded down the street.

Then, I called a car.

I took my two suitcases.

I walked out of the penthouse that had been my gilded cage for four long years.

The doorman looked at the luggage, then up at me, confusion knitting his brow.

"Going on a trip, Mrs. Vitale?"

"Yes," I said, stepping out into the cool, biting night air. "A very long one."

I didn't leave a note.

Notes were for people who expected to be found.