But the world of made men is never that simple.
Dinner was over.
I saw that one of Lorenzo's so-called soldiers had posted to his feed, and my eyebrows lifted on their own.
The photo of someone trying on a wedding suit didn't show a face, but there it was at the side of the neck, that small red mole.
Lorenzo had one too.
Another shot showed his fingers laced through a woman's, and on his ring finger you could see the faint dent a ring leaves behind.
I knew the watch on his wrist.
It belonged to Vivian Costa.
The caption read: "The moon I lost will always come back, and shine on me one more time."
The words were familiar.
I went into the study, pushed Lorenzo's laptop aside, and found a notebook pressed beneath it.
The moment I opened it, that exact line stared back at me.
Everything pointed to the same thing: this account didn't belong to any soldier. It was Lorenzo's own.
"The trip to Scandinavia."
"The made-up brother getting married, the fake messages."
"Lorenzo, for the sake of fooling me, for the sake of Vivian Costa, you actually dreamed up all these ridiculous tricks."
I murmured it to myself, then picked up my phone and sent a message.
【Keep one of those partner slots open for me.】
【And have your consigliere draw up papers for my break from the Family.】
A few months ago, a man I'd grown up with in the old neighborhood had asked me to build a crew with him in Scandinavia, his own rackets beyond the reach of any home Family. Thirty percent of the take, and I wouldn't have to put in a cent.
The other two backing it agreed, because they valued what I could broker at a sit-down.
But I had a husband and a son, and all I wanted was something steady, so I'd kept turning it down.
It was time to let go and reach for it.
Almost midnight.
Lorenzo came home drunk, no gift in his hands. His collar was undone, and there was a smear of lipstick on it too.
He looked like a mess.
"Babe, why aren't you asleep yet? Waiting up for me? You wicked woman, all you do is wear me out."
He grinned at me, then turned and went straight into the bathroom.
In the old days.
He would have pulled me into a hug first.
The thought sank through me like a stone.
Then I heard a muffled, choking sound, and I hurried to Marco's room.
"What's wrong? Bad dream?"
Marco shook his head and pointed one small finger at a phone screen.
I leaned in to look. It was a post from Vivian Costa's girl, Gemma Vitale, on her feed.
Gemma was sitting at a pink piano, hugging a tablet, beaming.
The caption: 【Thank you to the best dad in the whole world for my limited-edition custom piano.】
"Mom."
"I've seen that piano on Dad's computer. The tablet too."
That one small, wounded sentence nearly broke straight through me.
Now I understood why Marco was crying.
Lorenzo was always saying, "Boys should be raised lean, or they'll grow up to waste the name."
So he was hard on Marco. When the boy wanted a toy, he almost never bought it.
Even this phone was my old one, passed down to Marco. And I'd sneak Marco out to have fun.
Every time Lorenzo found out, he'd get angry with me.
That was why he'd used a toy car to buy Marco's silence, his own blood heir bought off like an associate who'd seen too much.
And before he left this morning, he'd said he would bring gifts for Marco and me. He'd come back with empty hands.
Lying to me, deceiving me, fine.
But how could he shower another woman's girl with everything she wanted, and turn around and be so harsh and dishonest with his own son, the only true Falcone blood in this house?
"Sweet boy."
Marco had gone completely still by then, staring down at his own small hands, folding inward the way he did when something cut too deep for tears.
"Mom will buy it for you from now on."
I comforted Marco until he fell asleep, then went back to the living room and sat on the couch.
Waiting for Lorenzo to come out.
I held my anger down and asked, "Didn't you say you were bringing Marco a gift?"
"Forgot, forgot."
Lorenzo gave an awkward laugh, came over and wrapped his arms around me. "I'll get him something next time. Boys should be raised lean anyway."
