We left early, allowing the younger generation to relax and enjoy the night.

As soon as I got into my bulletproof Maserati, I noticed the passenger seat had been disturbed.

Tucked into the crease of the passenger seat, I found a cross bracelet reeking of cheap perfume.

No one but me dared to make Lester Falcone their chauffeur, and no one was foolish enough to claim my seat.

It didn't take a genius to know who had been there.

A white-hot rage ripped through me.

I hated to admit it, but in that moment, I was so enraged my scalp prickled, all reason abandoning me.

Even learning Lester gave Bianca the necklace had only felt like mourning a lost antique.

But her leaving a trace of herself in *my* space—that was a declaration of war.

In five years of our alliance, I had never been this furious.

I wanted to slap Lester, kick him out of the car, and then find Bianca and tear her pretty face to shreds.

Just as I was about to confront him, his phone rang.

Lester, completely oblivious to my icy expression, calmly answered Bianca's call.

I clenched the tacky bracelet in my fist as I heard him say:

"Okay, don't worry. I'll be right there."

My hand froze. I slowly looked up at him.

Lester frowned slightly.

"Some guys are harassing Bianca at a bar. Her security isn't with her. I have to go."

"Rania, I'll call a driver to pick you up. You go home first."

My voice was laced with disbelief.

"You're leaving me on a dark suburban road for *this*?"

"Rania, don't make this difficult. She's just a girl. After what happened tonight, she was a wreck. Now she's in trouble."

"Is she *really* in trouble, or is this just another performance for your benefit? Can't she call her own people to handle it?"

Lester pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"Rania, do you enjoy bullying a newcomer?"

"When did you become so cruel? This isn't you."

The towering rage from moments before vanished, replaced by a cold wave of disappointment.

Suddenly, the whole situation felt laughable.

"I'm cruel?"

"Lester Falcone, you have never defended another woman in front of me. Not even your own mother. This is the first time."

A look of incomprehension crossed Lester's stern face.

"When we formed this alliance, we made a vow. For the honor of the Moretti and Falcone families, you wouldn't stray, and I wouldn't seek another. Are you breaking that vow for her?"

Lester's gaze was deep and cold.

After a long pause, he dialed for a driver anyway.

Finally, he leaned over, his hand hovering near my seatbelt, his tone deceptively calm.

"Rania, you're always so strong-willed… Can't you, just once, put the families aside? Try to be like other wives—rely on me, be a little softer?"

"After I deal with Bianca's situation, I'll stay at the Falcone estate for the night. We both need to cool down."

So that's how it was.

He was eager to play the hero for another woman.

But he used to say he admired my decisive, cutthroat style.

He was tired of it. Bored. Fine.

Why bother with some flimsy excuse and try to pin the blame on me?

I took the hint and got out of the car, watching the black sedan disappear from view.

I'd given him a chance. He'd thrown it away.

I picked up my phone and dialed my consigliere.

"Get the separation papers ready."

I had never wanted to take this step with Lester.

The elders of the Moretti and Falcone families were old friends, and Lester and I were childhood sweethearts.

But he was sent to headquarters in Italy for training, and we lost contact for ten years.

We met again at a banquet where our two families were planning to solidify their alliance.

He was polite and refined, effortlessly fielding the elders' questions.

And over the years, besides managing my family's legitimate businesses, I was no stranger to the world of flashing steel and back-alley deals.

I thought that after so many years apart, we would be distant.

To my surprise, when we were alone, I found a humorous and witty soul beneath his cold exterior.

It instantly rekindled the familiarity of our youth.

We were both ascending in our families, we respected each other's ambition, and we were engaged and married in short order.

After our marriage, our powers complemented each other, and the alliance between the Moretti and Falcone families became stronger than ever.

That was why dividing our power after dissolving the alliance would be an extremely messy affair.

When I got home, I showered, drank a glass of warm milk, and prepared for bed.

I received a goodnight text from Lester.

A kissing emoji.

Even when we were giving each other the cold shoulder, he always kept up appearances.

The next morning, as I headed to my art gallery, a young punk named Nico nearly bowled me over at the entrance.

My limited-edition crocodile skin handbag slammed to the ground, getting scuffed.

The coffee he was holding went flying, splashing across the hem of my bespoke coat.

Seeing this, the two bodyguards at the door rushed over.

They berated him for not watching where he was going.

The startled punk panicked. He picked up my bag and handed it to me, then pulled out a tissue to wipe at the stain on my coat.

When he saw it wouldn't come off, he grew so desperate he dropped to his knees, begging for my forgiveness.

He wore only a thin jacket and sunglasses against the late autumn chill, but they couldn't quite hide the bruises under his eyes.

I ignored the stain on my coat, my heart aching as I frowned and tenderly wiped at the scuff on my bag.

And that very scene was witnessed by Lester, who always left for work at the same time I did.

The Falcone family headquarters was just across the street from my gallery.

He stood on the other side, watching, his face cold and serious.

For the first time, I saw disgust in his eyes.

From his perspective, my aloof posture must have looked like I was bullying the weak.

I ignored his judgmental stare, taking two steps back and raising a hand to stop my approaching bodyguards before grabbing the punk’s arm and hauling him to his feet.

"A man never kneels. You can lose everything, but not your pride. It's the only thing that's truly yours."

The punk kept apologizing and thanking me as he cleaned up the mess on the ground.

Finally, he scurried away.

At the corner of the gallery, he turned back, a conspiratorial smirk on his lips.

I returned to my office and sat at my desk, carefully examining the damaged bag.

The scuff wasn't large; you couldn't see it if you didn't look closely.

But once a piece is flawed, it can never be perfect again.

And because it was so precious, even a trivial flaw was nearly impossible to repair.

Even harder to repair was my marriage to Lester.

The look he gave me this morning still felt like an icicle piercing my heart.

Lester and I always had lunch together. The Falcone family kitchen would prepare it and deliver it to my office, and he would come over to eat with me.

Today, I waited until one, figuring he wouldn't come.

But just as I opened the lunchbox, he arrived.

And trailing behind him was Bianca.

Her eyes were red and swollen. Head bowed, she looked meek, delicate, and utterly deferential.

I set down my fork and watched them.

Lester sat beside me and sighed.

"Bianca's being ostracized by everyone in the family because of last night."

I picked up my spoon and ladled some soup for myself, not even glancing up.

"What's the problem? She's the Don's assistant. Can't she handle something so minor?"

"I need you to call off your people. Stop them from making things difficult for her."

Due to an unwritten rule among mafia families, we each had our own people planted in the other's territory.

Lester was implying my people were targeting Bianca to defend my honor.

Last night's gala was co-hosted by both our families, with almost all core members present.

It was inevitable that Bianca's actions would be criticized.

I stirred my soup and took a sip.

"First, I haven't ordered anyone to target your assistant. You know that's not my style."

"Second, this is her own damn fault. She has no sense of propriety, no boundaries."

"You still don't understand people, Lester. Your indulgence, your tolerance of her—that's what's making her enemies. You're the one hurting her, not me."

Bianca, who had been silent, suddenly took two steps forward and spoke anxiously.

"It has nothing to do with Don Falcone."

"Rania, I admit I was thoughtless yesterday. It was the first time I'd received such an expensive gift, and I was overcome with excitement. I offended you, and I apologize."

I paused, then laughed.

"Lester, your assistant is quite a piece of work. Doesn't seem to grasp the conversation, yet she's fiercely protective of you."

I didn't accept Bianca's insincere apology, nor did I stop my people from targeting her.

Bianca's tears and supposed grievances grated on Lester's nerves.

He lost control. To defend Bianca, he raised his voice at me for the first time, smashing a crystal glass at my feet.

He even told me to apologize to Bianca.

I had done nothing wrong. Why should I apologize?

The lunch ended in ruins.

That afternoon, Lester took Bianca and flew to Chicago for family business.

That night, while drinking with my best friend, she complained I was too much of a queen.

That was why, she said, a girl like Bianca—who knew how to play the doe-eyed victim—had caught Lester's eye.

My mother passed away when I was young, and my father never remarried.

I was groomed from a young age to be a leader of the Moretti family, to shoulder the weight of our entire clan.

Feminine weakness was a liability I couldn't afford.

I could stick to my principles for thirty years without wavering.

Why couldn't Lester Falcone?

In the end, the love had just… dissipated.

And I had no use for divided loyalty.