The handwriting on the front of the envelope was Lorenzo's.

"I will clear every thorn from the path of your dreams."

I stared at that line for a long, long time.

Through my mind flashed these five years I'd spent inside the Marchetti walls, tending his parents, washing the linen, setting the Sunday table, keeping a made man's house in the order the famiglia expected.

I thought of the old colleagues I'd run into, the couriers still burning to chase a story, the ones who worked the night through over a dispatch nobody else dared to file, and the envy and the ache that had risen in me each time.

A laugh slipped out of me before I knew it.

So it turned out he knew how to protect someone's dreams too.

I photographed everything and put it all back exactly where it had been, every receipt squared to the edge of the safe. At last I made my decision.

"Hey, Carmela. I heard the network's been looking for someone to go embedded in the Old Country, into the smuggling routes, and no one's put their name down yet."

"If you'll have me, I'm willing to go."

Carmela went quiet for a moment. I heard the soft tap of her fingernail against the rim of a cup, twice, the way she always did before she said something that turned a life on its hinge. Then she said, delighted, "Of course. Back when you asked to step out of the network and marry into the Marchetti name, I thought it was such a waste. This is a rare chance. It's dangerous out there among the warlords, no question. But when you come back, no one in this business will ever speak your name the same way again."

"So get yourself ready. You'll move out in the next few days."

I set down the phone and started packing.

There was nothing left in this house I cared to hold on to.

Except for the sweater my mother knitted for me before she died. That, I was taking with me.

When I was little she'd knitted me plenty of things. Later I grew up, and she grew old, her eyes not what they used to be.

I didn't want her wearing herself out, so I told her to stop knitting.

After I got pregnant, I suddenly couldn't stand the cold.

And she secretly knitted me a sweater anyway, her eyes red and raw from staying up over it, waving it all off like it was nothing.

"Hand-knit's warmer. I picked out good yarn for it."

"You love the baby in your belly. Well, I love my baby too."

It made my heart ache and my chest swell, and I never had the heart to wear it.

But now, that sweater was gone.

I thought back to the scene when I'd gotten home, and I was about to call Lorenzo and ask.

Then I saw Gianna's new post.

"Hehe, I'd just been saying the babies were too cold now that they're newborns, and a certain someone went and brought over a sweater~"

"On the babies' behalf, thank you, Daddy~ And of course, this mama's remodeling skills are no joke either."

So Lorenzo had gone to celebrate those puppies' birthday with her.

In the photo, the two of them had their heads pressed together, their bodies tucked tight against each other.

Each of them cradled three puppies.

And I recognized it in a single glance.

The little "dog outfits" those puppies were wearing had been cut from the sweater my mother knitted for me.

When I pushed open the glass door of the kennel, the front Gianna ran with skimmed Family cash, I walked in just as Lorenzo and Gianna were eating cake off the same spoon.

Lorenzo had a severe revulsion for anything unclean.

At home his bowls and silver had to be scalded and stored apart from everyone else's, and at meals he always reached for the serving fork first.

Once, after I'd worked the house all day and was parched, my throat dry, I took a sip of water from his glass.

He hadn't said anything at the time. That night, the glass turned up in the trash.

Afterward Lorenzo explained it to me, said it was a habit the work bred in him, the same care a fixer takes with everything he touches.

So it depended on the person after all.

When she saw me, Gianna arched a brow and let out a soft, practiced laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear a half-second too fast.

"Oh, big sister Adriana's here? Lorenzo and I have been close since we were kids, never one to draw lines between what's his and mine. Don't take it the wrong way, now."

"Lorenzo, what did I tell you? There's no way she's going to dissolve the union."

"After all, a woman whose standing in this life came to nothing, who can only live on the tribute her husband hands her, what would she raise the children and keep her parents on if she walked away? See, she's chased you all the way here. Clings on awfully tight, doesn't she?"

"Sigh, compared to her, I suppose I'm just too thin-skinned. All I can do is honestly stay an independent woman who makes her own way~"

Lorenzo pinched her nose, doting.

"Fine, fine, you're the cleverest one. Always were a little sprite, even as a kid."

Then he looked over at me, the way you'd forgive a child who didn't know any better.

"Enough, Adriana. Since you came crawling here to smooth things over, I'll pretend I never heard the word divorce leave your mouth."

"Go home and put the apartment in order. These puppies were just whelped, things are still delicate, so I need to stay and keep an eye on them with Gianna a few more days."

Listening to the two of them stand there in that laundered little front of hers, I found it almost laughable.

One played the kept woman without an ounce of shame.

The other dressed up his dishonor as something noble, something a made man could be proud of.

I didn't waste breath on Lorenzo. I only gave a thin, mocking smile.

"Since Miss Russo is so resourceful, stealing another woman's husband apparently wasn't enough for her. She had to team up with my husband to steal my clothes too?"

"May I ask, this self-made woman of her own means, does that mean she made herself in the kept-woman trade?"

A few women picking through the grooming shelves nearby turned to stare at Gianna, startled.

"Wait, miss, so this handsome one isn't actually your man? But the two of you were eating off the same spoon. That's not exactly proper, is it?"

"Right. A minute ago I said you two made a darling couple and you didn't deny it. He's had a wife this whole time?"

Gianna let out a soft, practiced laugh and tucked a strand of hair behind one ear, but the laugh came a half-second too fast, and there was nothing behind it. Her face had gone crimson, and she had no comeback.

Seeing her like that, the women curled their lips in disdain, set down the things they'd already chosen, and hurried out into the street.

The rims of Gianna's eyes went red. She turned to Lorenzo, the very picture of wronged innocence.

"Lorenzo, did Adriana come here on purpose to ruin my shop?"

"I only thought that sweater was warm and soft, perfect for the puppies. She's already spent so much of your money. What kind of clothes doesn't she own? Why would she smear me like this?"

"Those were some of my regular customers. How am I supposed to face them now? How am I supposed to run a business?"

Lorenzo wiped her tears away, aching for her, then turned and fixed me with a look that could have buried a man.

"Adriana, I took the sweater. What are you taking it out on Gianna for? It wasn't worth anything. When did you turn so petty?"

"You're only going to get bigger as the months go on, won't even be able to wear it. Just have your mother knit you another. Problem solved."

"It's not some treasure stitched by a world-famous hand. Why carry on like it's precious?"

Looking at that lofty expression of his, at the contempt sitting cold in his eyes.

I slapped him across the face, unable to hold it back, and the scream tore out of me.

"Yes, what my mother made is precious! Because she can never knit me anything again!"

"While you and your little childhood sweetheart were cooing over each other, while you'd sooner sit through her dog whelping than pick up my emergency call, my parents were already dead!"

Lorenzo's eyes flew wide, and his hands let go of Gianna on instinct.

"What did you say? How could your mother and father possibly—"

Before he could finish, Gianna shoved me hard.

"What gives you the right to put your hands on people?"

"It's just a ratty old sweater, isn't it? Like anyone wants the thing. Here. Take it back!"

She tore the sweater off the puppies and hurled it into the litter box the clerk was carrying toward the door.

"Going on about your parents dying. I ran into your aunt and uncle at the market just this morning!"

"I can't stand women like you, using a pregnancy to lie and play helpless, throwing fits, doing whatever it takes to bend your husband to your will. A parasite. You're a disgrace to every woman in this city."

The litter box hadn't been emptied yet.

Clumps of filth clung to the wool, giving off a foul stench.

My mother's love, in the end, was ruined past all recognition.

"I, I didn't mean to, I didn't know it was the boss's—"

The clerk, terrified by the bloodshot look in my eyes, stood frozen, at a loss.

Rage and hatred scorched my insides until everything burned. My thumb pressed hard against the inside of my bare ring finger, the place a wedding band used to sit, pressing until it hurt, pressing until I was a breath from doing something there would be no walking back from.

I spun toward the one who had started all of it and raised my hand high.

Only the slap never landed on Gianna's face.

Lorenzo's hand cracked across mine first.

In the silent shop, it rang out sharp and clear.

I staggered, my right cheek burning, a ringing in my ears.

I lifted my head in disbelief.

Lorenzo seemed startled by what he'd done too, his eyes wide and stunned as he looked at me. A made man who'd ordered worse without flinching, frozen by the print of his own hand on his wife's face.

But out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Gianna's reddened eyes.

And that shock curdled into disappointment and disgust.

"Adriana, what right do you have to lay a hand on Gianna, just because she exposed your lies? And to think you used to be a reporter who made it her mission to chase the truth."

"You'd even curse your own parents? Aren't you afraid of what's coming to you? Save up some good karma for the baby in your belly, at least!"

"Either you apologize, or you take your trash and get out. Make one more scene and I'll have the Feds at that door before you reach the curb."

By the time I made it back to the estate in a daze, clutching that heap of fabric, I was soaked through from the downpour.

Shaking with cold.

The rain had spread the filth across the fabric until it was unrecognizable, like a dirty rag.

It was supposed to keep me warm in my mother's place.

I sat still through the night, and when the grey light came up over the territory, I tore up the dissolution papers I'd meant to use to part on good terms.

Lorenzo was right. A reporter's duty is to show the world the truth.

So how could I let him down?

Deep in the night, a cool, herbal-scented touch spread across my cheek.

I opened my eyes. Lorenzo stood there with the ointment, the Family's own fixer come to dress a wound he'd made, looking at me with guilt.

"Adriana, does it still hurt?"

"I'm sorry. I lost my temper today. But you shouldn't have said those things about Gianna in front of the customers."

"She's an unmarried girl, and she runs that grooming parlor out in the open. That kind of talk is bad for her standing."

I brushed his hand away, my voice flat.

"And so?"

Lorenzo pressed his lips together, testing the waters.

"So could you apologize to her publicly? Just say the pregnancy got to you, that you weren't in your right mind, that none of it was true."

"The day after tomorrow is the second anniversary of Gianna's kennel opening. Don't you know half the people who decide what stories run? You could put a good word out for her place while you're at it."

For a moment, that ointment smelled more revolting than soiled cat litter.

"Lorenzo, I'll only ask this once. Are you sure?"

He dropped his eyes, not daring to look at me, yet his voice was strangely firm. In the silence the only sound was the slow crack of his right knuckles, one at a time, the way he settled a matter already beneath him.

"Gianna's been crying so hard. Just think of it as making it up to her. Think of it as banking some good fortune for our baby, too."

"As long as you agree, I promise I'll come with you to every checkup the Surgeon sets from now on. I'll be twice as good to you and the baby in the future."

I gazed quietly at this face.

I couldn't find a trace of the man he used to be.

After a long silence, I smiled.

"Fine."

Lorenzo, delighted, moved to pull me into his arms, but his phone kept buzzing against the nightstand.

I didn't have to look to know who it was.

Sure enough, once again he chose to run to Gianna.

But I wasn't sad anymore.

A few minutes later, Gianna called.

"Adriana, you're shameless, you know that?"

"Pregnant and still can't sit still, playing the pitiful little wife to lure dear Lorenzo over to see you. And how'd that turn out? One crook of my finger and he came scurrying right back to me."

"If it weren't for that thing in your belly, he'd have cut you loose ages ago!"

In the past, I would have hung up on the spot.

But this time, I pressed my thumb against the bare place where my ring used to sit, touched my empty stomach, and let out a scornful laugh.

"Right. So you do know I'm carrying his child. The Marchettis value a whole, intact bloodline, and he cares about saving face in front of the Family."

"And if I'm not mistaken, you two always use protection when you sleep together, don't you?"

Gianna fell silent in an instant, confirming everything I'd guessed.

"Then you should know that as long as I have this child, there's no way he severs the union for you."

"Men. No matter how much fun they have out there, in the end they always come home."