Siena POV

It felt as if an invisible hand were closing around my lungs, slowly pressing the air from them.

I looked up at the immense, dangerous man I called my husband. The faint scent of Valeria’s floral perfume clung to his lapel, a cloying note against the sharper, metallic tang of gunpowder and his expensive cologne.

Dante pushed the strawberry cake aside, the cardboard box scraping harshly against the marble counter.

"I understand your resentment, Siena," Dante said, his tone softening as he tried to bridge the physical gap between us. "I know Valeria’s presence in our territory makes you uncomfortable."

Uncomfortable.

He had reduced the slow disintegration of my marriage and his blatant betrayal to a mere social inconvenience.

"My involvement with Valeria is purely out of sympathy," Dante continued, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intense, unwavering sincerity. "It is my duty to a dead Capo. Her husband died taking a bullet meant for my underboss. I owe her my protection."

He reached out and took my hand, his large, rough fingers enveloping mine. He pressed my palm flat against the solid, warm expanse of his chest, right over his steadily beating heart.

"I will permanently reassign her security detail soon," Dante vowed solemnly. "I will step back. I swear to you, Siena, I will never let my wife or my son suffer again. You are my only priority."

The warmth of his skin seeped through the fabric of his crisp shirt.

For a terrifying second, I was haunted by the memory of our wedding day. I remembered how he had knelt before me, his hands still bearing the traces of his enemies' blood, swearing a sacred oath that his violent world would never touch me. I remembered how he had held Leo in the delivery room, weeping as he had promised to set the world on fire just to keep our son safe.

He actually believed his own lies. That was the true tragedy of it all.

I pulled my hand away from his chest, and the sudden loss of contact made him frown.

I resolved to tell him the truth. I decided to spare him the blindside. I opened my mouth to tell him that the severance papers were real, that the thirty-day window was rapidly closing, and that our extraction was imminent.

"Dante—" I started.

"Where is the replica?" Dante abruptly cut me off.

I blinked, the confession dying on my tongue before it could take shape. "What?"

"Leo’s custom firearm replica," Dante said, his gaze sweeping around the living room. "The one I had my armorer build for him. Where is it?"

"It is in his room," I said slowly, a knot forming in my stomach. "Why?"

Dante checked the platinum timepiece on his wrist. "I need to take it to Mateo."

The casual words struck me with the force of a bucket of ice water.

"Mateo is still crying over the security scare," Dante explained casually, completely oblivious to the fresh wound he was inflicting. "He saw a picture of Leo’s replica on my phone and begged for one. I will just take Leo’s to calm the boy’s nerves tonight and have the armorer make Leo a new one next week."

"That was Leo’s birthday gift," I whispered, my voice trembling with a low, primal rage I could barely contain.

Dante waved a dismissive hand. "Leo is strong. He understands duty. Mateo is fragile."

Before I could say another word, Dante turned, walked down the hall, and entered Leo’s bedroom. He emerged a minute later holding the pristine, custom-engraved replica.

Leo had been waiting for three agonizing weeks for Dante to have a free evening so they could assemble the final pieces together.

"I will be back before midnight," Dante said, grabbing the keys to his armored SUV from the console.

He did not look at me. He did not even look at Leo, who was now standing quietly in the shadows of the hallway, watching his father take his most cherished possession, only to give it to another boy.

The reinforced door clicked shut, its heavy bolts sealing the penthouse like a vault.

I stood frozen in the profound quiet of our home. I looked at the empty space where my husband had just been standing.

"Actually," I whispered to the empty room, finally finishing my interrupted sentence. "Your son and I no longer require you."