Chapter 6

Gianna POV

The lie hung in the air, tasting of copper-sharp, metallic, and unmistakable.

Franco stood in the foyer, his chest heaving as if he had sprinted a marathon just to get back to me. He held up his phone, displaying a text message I couldn't read from where I stood.

"It's Dante," he said, his voice laced with a practiced panic. "He was in a wreck on the I-95. I have to go handle the police before the press gets wind of it."

I nodded. I didn't ask why his brother, a man who drove like a grandmother, was racing down the interstate at midnight. I just watched Franco grab his keys.

"Go," I said. "Family comes first."

He kissed my forehead. His lips were dry. He smelled of expensive cologne masking the faint, cloying scent of vanilla. Her perfume.

As soon as the elevator doors slid shut, I grabbed my coat.

I didn't take my car. I took the nondescript sedan my father kept in the garage for the cleaning crews. I knew where Franco was going. He wasn't going to the highway. He was going to the safe house in Queens. The one my father had deeded to us for emergencies.

I parked two blocks away and walked. The night air was biting, razor-sharp against my skin, but I couldn't feel the cold. My blood was running too hot.

The lights were on in the living room. The curtains were drawn, but not tight enough.

I stood in the shadows of the alley, watching through the sliver of glass.

Franco was sitting in the leather armchair. Camilla was straddling his lap. She wasn't crying anymore. She was laughing, her head thrown back, her hands tangled in his hair. He was burying his face in her neck, his hands gripping her hips with a desperate hunger he never showed me.

He told me this safe house was for business. For war.

It was. Just not the kind of war I thought.

I felt bile rise in my throat. It wasn't heartbreak. It was revulsion. Physical, violent disgust. I was marrying a man who brought his mistress to the house meant to shelter our future children.

I turned away before I threw up.

The next morning, the news broke. It wasn't a car wreck. It was a brawl outside a diner in Queens. A rising Vitiello captain had beaten a man unconscious.

I drove to the hospital. Franco was in a private room, a bandage over his knuckles.

He looked up when I entered, his eyes widening.

"Gia," he started, trying to sit up.

Then I heard the sob.

Camilla was sitting in the corner chair, holding an ice pack to her cheek. She looked small, fragile.

"Some drunk put his hands on her," Franco said quickly, his voice hard with false righteousness. "I had to step in. It's a matter of honor."

I didn't look at him. I looked at her.

She lowered the ice pack. She looked at me with wide, teary eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward.

She raised her hand to brush a stray hair from her face.

The light caught the jade.

My breath hitched.

On her wrist sat the Vitiello Jade Bracelet. It was a solid, unbroken circle of ancient stone, green as envy. It was an heirloom. My grandmother had worn it. My mother had worn it. It was supposed to be mine on my wedding day. Franco had asked to have it cleaned last week.

He hadn't cleaned it. He had taken a piece of my history and given it to his whore.

My nails dug into my palm, the sharp crescents biting deep enough to draw blood. The sting was a welcome anchor in the roaring sea of my rage. It reminded me to breathe. It reminded me to wait. This humiliation was a drop in the ocean compared to the storm I was about to unleash on our wedding day.

I looked at Franco. He saw my gaze land on the bracelet. The color drained from his face. He moved to stand in front of her, blocking my view.

"Gia, wait," he stammered.

I looked at him. Really looked at him. I saw not a Don, but a common thief, a coward who plundered his own house to adorn another woman.

"I am tired, Franco," I said. My voice was hollow.

I turned and walked out.

"Gia!" he yelled after me.

I didn't stop. I walked out of the hospital, into the gray morning, and for the first time in eight years, I felt no compulsion to look over my shoulder to see if he was following.