The moment she answered, a chorus of angry voices filled the line.
"Bianca, as Vittorio's consigliere, it's your duty to correct him when he's wrong!" one of the old-guard capos barked. "You've gone missing for days! And now that woman, Viviana, has turned the whole operation upside down!"
"Do you even care about the Family's reputation anymore?" another snapped.
Their accusations struck like invisible claws, but Bianca had endured far worse. Once, she might have bowed her head and borne their scorn in silence, for the sake of love, for loyalty to her husband. But that Bianca was gone.
"You're all so dissatisfied with Vittorio, right?" she said coldly. "Then why don't you grow a spine and tell him yourselves? You're a disgrace to your titles. Snarling at me when you're too afraid to say a word to his face."
The line went dead silent. Then, one by one, the connections cut off.
Bianca stood by the window, the city's pale light washing over her. The truth was simple: the reason the Barresi Outfit had survived all these years wasn't Vittorio's leadership. It was her.
She had been the one who smoothed over his temper, repaired the broken alliances and appeased the old guard when his pride drove them away. She had done it all silently, believing that love meant sacrifice.
Now, she finally saw the cost.
She opened the hidden safe behind the study's wall, a place Vittorio never touched. Inside lay years of secrets and memories: her signed separation papers, the annulment petition sealed in a notary's envelope, her medical records from the lost child, and a small tin of ashes. Ninety-nine burned love letters.
At the very bottom was the security drive containing the villa's surveillance footage. She keyed in the passcode and the screen flickered, replaying Viviana's confession from three nights ago, how she had drugged herself and set Bianca up from the start.
Bianca copied the footage onto a second drive. "A keepsake for you, Vittorio," she murmured. "May it haunt you when you remember what you destroyed."
Outside, a town car pulled up the drive. At the same time, her phone lit up again with Vittorio's messages.
[Bianca, Viviana ruined several alliances. I need you back. I know you've always hated her, but I'll explain everything tonight.]
When she didn't respond, the tone shifted.
[Don't be childish. You're my wife and my adviser. Keep this up and I'll cut your accounts in half. You'll apologize before the capos.]
A humorless laugh escaped her lips. "Still trying to command me, even now."
She blocked every number tied to his name and deleted every contact connecting her to the Barresi network. Then she walked through the house one last time, erasing her presence room by room, like she had never existed there at all.
When she stepped outside, the black sedan awaited.
Lorenzo stood beside it, wearing a dark suit cut close at the shoulders, the Valente crest pinned to his lapel. In his hand, he held a bouquet of white tulips, their stems wrapped in silk.
The morning light filtered through the mist as he looked at her, eyes steady and soft.
"Bianca," he said quietly, "I've come to take you home."
