(Sophie's POV)We cut the trip short. I said I needed to leave for the school.The day I went, he insisted on driving me to the airport.I knew he was watching me. I didn't look back. Not once.—On the morning of my twenty-fifth birthday, half-asleep, someone knocked at my door.I rubbed my eyes and opened it. Dario was standing there.He was in a black suit. Dark grey tie, knotted with care. His hair combed even neater than usual. The sun behind him put a faint gold along his outline."Sophie," he said, his voice lower than usual. "Come on. Let's get the divorce done."I stared at him.No one in the Vellari Famiglia had ever divorced before.Not because the law forbade it. Because tradition forbade it.Wanting a divorce meant going to the Famiglia tribunal.In a hundred years, no one had survived it.So no one ever divorced.The Salvatores were the same. The old Don had said it once: Salvatores don't divorce. Only death dissolves the marriage.Even though I had committed to leaving,
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