Chapter 4

At seven in the morning, I zipped up my suitcase.

I'd just reached the door when a black Maybach pulled up in front of me.

The doors opened. Carmine and Bianca stepped out one after the other.

Carmine's face was cold and dark. Bianca trailed behind him, her eyes red-rimmed.

When she saw me, she deliberately shrank back behind his shoulder.

"Claire, everyone in the back room was there yesterday."

Carmine blocked my path, his tone edged with impatience.

"Just because I'm signing off on your requests now doesn't mean you get to humiliate Bianca in front of everyone."

I let go of the handle.

He hadn't even asked where I was going.

Bianca sniffled, her voice catching.

"I only asked her to fix a receipt."

"She tore it up in front of everyone. How am I supposed to keep the other family members in line after that?"

Carmine raised a hand, signaling her not to explain.

He sighed and looked down at me.

"I know you don't like Bianca. But she's only following my orders."

He paused. "Apologize to her, and we'll let this go."

I looked at him. Suddenly it all felt ridiculous.

"The money for my pregnancy was held up. My requests were rejected seven times. Was that your order too?"

Carmine froze. It was obvious he had no idea.

He turned to Bianca.

Bianca's lips trembled. She grabbed Carmine's arm.

"Those requests were missing documents. I reviewed them per your rules. Besides..."

Her voice rose. "She never resubmitted. I assumed she didn't need it anymore."

Carmine's brow twitched. He looked back at me.

"We were in a meeting that day. No one can sit there watching your requests around the clock."

I looked into his eyes and felt suddenly, bone-deep tired.

The first time we met was during Boston's first snowfall that year.

I had no winter coat, yet I felt warm—from the light in his eyes beneath those brows.

Now the snow that drifted through my memories had finally melted away.

I didn't want to argue anymore. I was exhausted.

Carmine's gaze dropped to my pregnant belly. He even smiled.

"Stop being upset. You and the baby are fine now, aren't you?"

I nodded.

The baby and I were fine. He just didn't know what it cost.

Carmine's brow eased a little. He reached out and pinched my cheek.

"Let's drop it. Bianca was out of line too. No apology needed."

Only then did he finally notice my suitcase. His eyebrow lifted.

"Going somewhere to clear your head?"

He reached out to straighten my collar.

I tilted my head away and pulled up my scarf.

His hand hovered, then dropped.

"Go on. Stay somewhere else for a few days. Flights, hotel—put it all on my card."

Carmine squinted, smiling. "Seven years. You've proven you're reliable. No more hassle with requests after this."

Only then did I realize—I'd endured this humiliation for seven years.

Seven years ago, when Carmine held my hand tight in the Old North Church, defying the whole world for me.

I thought he was the dawn.

I didn't know he was the sunset.

And the seven years after were all darkness.

Bianca tugged lightly at his sleeve. "Carmine, we still need to get to Palm Beach."

"I know."

He was still gazing at me tenderly. "You're headed to the airport? I'll drive you."

I let myself fall into those gentle eyes one last time.

"Carmine, I'm not going today to—"

"No time!" Bianca cut me off. "The other side is already waiting."

She turned to me, her voice soft and sweet.

"Claire, just call a car yourself."

"Besides, you don't need to request car fare now. So it's no trouble."

Carmine glanced at his watch.

"That works. Sweetheart, text me when you land. I need to get to this meeting."

He didn't wait for me to finish.

The two of them got back in the car. Bianca's hand stayed hooked through his arm the whole time.

I watched the car pull away.

Wind lifted the dead leaves off the ground, as if finishing the sentence I never got to say.

At eight forty, I arrived at Boston Harbor.

Enzo stood by the gangway and took my suitcase.

"This is a Falcone yacht. Carmine can't track you here."

I gripped the railing, one hand on my belly, and climbed the gangway slowly.

At nine sharp, the mooring lines were cast off.

A message from Carmine popped up on my phone.

"Have fun for a few days, then come back. The end-of-month accounts are waiting on you."

I turned off the screen, blocked Carmine, and walked to the deck.

The figures onshore grew smaller and smaller.

The truth is, life isn't what I lived. It's what I remember.

This time, I chose a life without Carmine.

I chose to leave for good.