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.

Paris was a study in charcoal and rain, but it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

I rented a small apartment in the Marais.

I walked by the Seine.

I drank coffee that finally didn't taste like ashes.

For three weeks, I was just Kelsey.

And then, he found me.

I shouldn't have been surprised.

You don't just walk away from the Underboss.

I was coming back from the bakery, a baguette under my arm, when I saw him standing at my building's entrance.

He held a massive bouquet of white roses.

He looked violently out of place, his sharp Italian suit cutting a stark silhouette against the worn stone of the Parisian street.

"Kelsey," he said.

He looked relieved.

He looked like he thought this was the climax of a romantic movie.

"How did you find me?" I asked, not moving to take the flowers.

"I have resources," he said. "Why did you run? I was worried sick."

"Were you?"

"Of course. You're my wife." He stepped closer. "I know I've been... distracted. The business with the Russos took everything out of me. But I'm here now. I came to bring you home."

"I am home," I said.

He laughed, a dismissive sound. "This isn't home. This is a shoebox. Come on. I have a surprise for you."

He grabbed my hand.

I let him lead me.

I wanted to see how far the delusion went.

He took me to the river.

There was a private boat waiting at the quay.

It was decked out in lights and flowers.

Champagne on ice.

Violinists.

It was excessive.

It was Bennett.

"I want to start over," he said, pouring two glasses. "Just us. No business. No family. Just us."

He sounded sincere.

For a second, just a split second, my heart cracked.

Maybe he did care.

Maybe the near-death experience had changed him.

And then, the cabin door opened.

Aria stepped out.

She was wearing a white dress that looked aggressively bridal.

She held a glass of champagne.

"Surprise!" she squealed.

Bennett froze.

I looked at him.

He didn't look angry.

He looked... impressed.

"You planned this?" he asked her.

"Every detail," Aria said, walking over to wrap her arm around his waist. "I told you we needed to come get her. We need to be a family, Bennett. All of us. She needs to understand her place."

She looked at me with a sugary, venomous smile.

"I picked the flowers. I picked the boat. I even picked the music. Bennett just paid the bill."

My blood ran cold.

"You brought her?" I whispered to Bennett.

"She insisted," Bennett said, shrugging. "She wanted to make peace. She said you'd like the gesture."

"She planned your romantic gesture to win back your wife?"

"She has good taste," Bennett said defensively. "Kelsey, stop being difficult. Look at the effort she put in."

He was insane.

He was completely, utterly broken inside.

He didn't see a problem with his mistress planning his reconciliation with his wife.

"Look," Aria said, pulling a piece of paper from her clutch. "I even wrote your apology speech for you, Bennett. You always fumble with words."

She handed it to him.

He took it.

He smiled at her. "Thank you, baby. You always look out for me."

I felt the boat rock beneath my feet.

The violinists started playing a waltz.

Fireworks exploded over the Eiffel Tower.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Aria asked, leaning her head on Bennett's shoulder. "I did good."

"You did perfect," Bennett said.

He kissed the top of her head.

Then he looked at me, waiting for me to be grateful.

Waiting for me to fall in line.

I looked at the fireworks reflecting in the dark water.

I realized then that I wasn't fighting for my marriage anymore.

I was fighting for my sanity.