Chapter 2

I had once been one of the youngest violinists to reach international acclaim.

Music was the one language I'd never needed words to speak.

Then an accident tore me out of my universe and dropped me into a parallel Calderport. While I waited for the Interdimensional Transit Authority to contact me, I survived by playing violin in a basement bar for whatever the customers tossed my way.

That was where I met Alessio.

The place was deafening that night. Only one man, sitting alone in the corner, listened to my entire performance. When I finished, the other patrons kept drinking and gambling. He applauded quietly.

After that, he came almost every week. Sometimes he listened. Sometimes he simply watched me play.

Soon I received invitations to perform at Calderport's most exclusive private clubs. An influential musician recommended me to people I'd never dreamed of meeting. I didn't realize until much later that Alessio had arranged every one of those opportunities.

I thought our quiet connection might continue forever.

Then, one night, just after my set, someone tried to assassinate him.

An explosion brought the stage rigging down on top of me. I lost consciousness before I hit the floor.

Later, people told me that the famously unshakable Don had lost all control that night. He broke family protocol to take me to their private hospital. Then he knelt in the family chapel and prayed for seventy-two nights.

The doctors suggested that familiar music might reach me.

Alessio brought in the finest composers from overseas and a full symphony orchestra to create a work in the style I loved. He even transformed the family's private opera house into a hospital suite.

Every night, the lights blazed over an orchestra playing for one unconscious woman.

There was only one person in the audience.

Alessio.

They eventually called the piece For Camille.

When I finally opened my eyes, he was the first person I saw. The man who had always been so calm it was almost frightening looked wrecked, his face unshaven, his eyes bloodshot. He held my hand and told me that during those seventy-two nights, he'd asked God for only one thing.

If I woke up, he would give up everything he owned to keep me safe for the rest of my life.

I thought that was the greatest love anyone could offer.

But Alessio kept giving.

When I missed performing, he bought and renovated a private concert hall. When I wanted to play again, he personally sought out the finest teachers and violin makers to find an instrument suited to me.

He patiently explained the complicated rules of Mafia society: which families could be trusted, who must never be offended, what each crest signified, where I should stand at formal dinners. Before meetings, he walked me through the alliances and interests at stake.

When people sneered at my background, he never left me to face them alone.

He would take my hand, lead me into the crowd, and say, "Wherever she stands is exactly where she belongs."

He even had a violin tattooed over his heart, with my name beside its strings.

No one had ever loved me like that. When he proposed, saying yes felt like the most natural thing in the world.

The day before our wedding, however, the Authority finally contacted me. I could return to my original universe.

The thought of living without Alessio terrified me.

I cried until I collapsed, surrendered every privilege I'd accumulated, and begged the Authority to exchange my return passage for permission to stay.

For the first years of our marriage, he remained devoted. He remembered every piece I performed, sat quietly through my concerts, and held my hand through every family gathering.

I thought it would always be that way.

Then Bianca Taviani came into our lives.

Born into the Taviani crime family, she'd attended Mafia dinners and council meetings since childhood. She understood business and negotiations. She could finish Alessio's sentences and stand beside him in discussions that left me lost.

I, meanwhile, usually sat quietly, brewed his coffee, and waited for meetings to end.

Little by little, he spent less time at home.

Perhaps he sensed that something was wrong, because on our anniversary night he was especially affectionate.

Then his phone rang just as our kisses grew heated.

He glanced at the screen and stopped immediately. As if afraid I'd see the caller's name, he got up and moved toward the fireplace.

"What is it?"

A voice answered. I watched him swallow hard.

"Right now?"

"All right. I'm coming."

He ended the call and reached for his jacket without looking at me.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Something came up with the council. I have to handle it."

He paused. "Don't wait up."

The Alessio I'd married would have spent another twenty minutes finding excuses to kiss me goodbye. This Alessio barely glanced back before disappearing into the night.

Most people would believe that the Don was simply busy.

But a lifetime of musical training had made my hearing unusually sharp.

I'd heard the woman on the phone clearly, even from across the room.

"Darling, the baby's kicking again. He misses his daddy so much."

Bianca.

Not long afterward, Instagram notified me that she'd posted another Story. She was taking a lazy selfie in bed, wearing an oversized black shirt.

Alessio had been wearing that very shirt when he left me.

I could still smell its cologne on my skin.

Bianca wanted a fight. She wanted me to know she had him.

What a waste of effort.

In ten days, I would be gone. Every trace of me would vanish, and there would be no wife left to challenge her.

Before I left, though, I had one unforgettable gift planned for Alessio.