Chapter 2

The famiglia's classified archive was three floors underground.

I stood before its reinforced door and completed the identity checks. My highest-level clearance still glowed green on the control terminal.

For eight years, nobody else had been allowed to touch that access. Not even Vittorio.

Revoking it required twelve minutes. I stood at the terminal and confirmed each step.

Every thirty seconds, the system displayed the same warning: [This action cannot be reversed. Confirm?]

Confirm.

Inside the innermost safe lay a dagger engraved with our initials.

We'd exchanged it eight years ago, standing among bodies after a brutal fight. Vittorio had held my bleeding right hand and sworn that if either of us ever betrayed the other, the guilty one would answer to that blade.

I dropped it into the fire place.

Back in our bedroom, I opened drawers and wardrobes, gathering what belonged to me.

It was almost embarrassing how little there was.

The closets overflowed with couture gowns and jewelry he'd bought me. Everything was expensive, dazzling, and utterly unlike anything I would have chosen.

In the end, I packed only a plain silver band my mother had left me before she died.

My phone vibrated.

Vittorio. His usual end-of-day update.

[Finished early. The rat's at the bottom of the sea. I'll be home before nine. Want me to bring you anything?]

Once, I would have sent back a paragraph: a warning about newly positioned lookouts east of the port, a reminder to avoid the old road, an instruction to watch his back.

And a request for tiramisu from our favorite bakery.

Because my injured hand couldn't reliably hold a spoon, he used to feed it to me, bite by bite.

Now I typed only, [Okay.]

A minute later, another message arrived.

[Nothing at all? Don't you want that tiramisu tonight?]

[No, thanks.]

He never replied.

I stared at our silent chat.

There had been a time when one unusually short response from me sent him into a panic. He'd call eight times in a row, then send a helicopter to find me.

Now he didn't ask a single question.

That evening, an email arrived from an anonymous address.

The attached photo showed Vittorio painstakingly painting a young woman's nails. He was bent over her hand, concentrating as if he were working on a masterpiece.

On her finger was his black obsidian signet ring, the symbol of the Don's authority.

The caption read, [He says it looks beautiful on me.]

Last year, I'd jokingly asked to borrow that ring for a day. I wanted to pretend I was the Don and make everyone jump.

Vittorio's expression had hardened immediately.

"Freya, do you understand nothing about our rules?

"That ring is a symbol of power. It isn't a toy for you to play with!"

Not a toy for me, apparently.

But perfectly fine on his new lover's finger, as a cute little plaything.

I saved the email without changing my expression.

Vittorio came home late, looking worn out. He walked up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.

"Something came up. Sorry I didn't call." His breath brushed my ear. "Why are the lights off? Are you angry?"

He produced a velvet box from his jacket and opened it.

Inside was an enormous sapphire necklace.

"Won it at an auction this afternoon. Blue suits you, darling. Consider it my apology."

He lifted the necklace to fasten it around my neck.

I stepped aside.

An hour earlier, the same young woman had posted that very necklace on social media. She'd thrown it onto a cashmere rug and captioned the photo: [So tacky. Looks like something anyone could buy. I'm not wearing that.]

Vittorio had answered almost immediately from his private account.

"Then don't, Amore. I'll have something one of a kind made for you in Belcourt. Tell me whatever you want."

"Vittorio," I said, pushing his hand gently away, "it isn't even my size."

His fingers froze.

A strained silence followed. Then he sighed helplessly and softened his voice to coax me.

"Freya, I skipped a meeting with the capos to buy this for you. I was so eager to bring it home that I didn't have time to get it adjusted. Just try it. If you like it, I'll have someone fix the fit."

I said nothing.

He took my hand.

"There was an emergency at the docks, too. That's why I'm late. We can sort out the size another day. Be reasonable, all right? Don't make a scene."

I withdrew my hand.

"Don't bother. Just leave it there."

I turned and went upstairs. Behind me, he gave a frustrated sigh.

He probably thought I was sulking. In a day or two he'd buy something I actually liked, and everything would go back to normal.

He didn't know I had five days left before I disappeared.