By noon the next day, Lorenzo still hadn't come home to the compound.
I set the signed dissolution of the blood union on the table, then arranged for a recorded testimony to send itself, addressed to Lorenzo, when the hour came.
Once that was done, I picked up my luggage and slipped out toward the airport, past the soldier at the gate who only nodded, knowing better than to ask the Don's wife where she was going.
I'd barely arrived when Lorenzo called again.
"I'm sorry, Adriana. A few associates from out of town showed up at the couture house with no warning, wanting to go over the line for next season. I truly can't get away."
"I'll have my courier collect you and take you to the hotel. You've always wanted me to design a dress for you, haven't you? Well, I already have. Put it on later. You'll look stunning."
"Mm. Fine."
I hung up, my gaze drifting to two girls standing nearby.
They were huddled over a phone, scrolling through photos, sighing with envy.
"Dio, who knew the Don was this gorgeous and could cut maternity gowns this beautiful? It almost makes me want to get pregnant."
"You think being pregnant would even get you these? Every piece at today's showing was made by Don Falcone himself, just for his expecting wife. Each one's one of a kind, the most expensive fabrics the Family money can buy. There've got to be hundreds. The kid will be grown before she runs out of dresses. I'm so jealous."
"I heard the Don didn't want to overwhelm his wife, so the showing was closed to everyone outside the Family. Lucky thing your boyfriend runs a floor at the couture house and could pass us these inside photos. Otherwise we wouldn't even get to see the lovebirds."
On the screen, Gioia had her arm looped through Lorenzo's, drifting through the gowns made just for her, one hand resting low and easy on her belly, laughing with that loose, unbothered delight.
The Falcone house dressed half the city behind its laundered books, and Lorenzo's hand with a needle stood far above any tailor the Family had ever owned.
Once, I'd coaxed him too, begging him to design a single dress for me.
He always said he was busy. That he simply couldn't spare the time.
Yet for Gioia he'd designed hundreds.
Remembering how he'd just told me he'd made me one dress as a surprise, that little note of fishing for praise in his voice, I almost laughed at the bitter joke of it. My thumb found the thin gold band, the christening ring I'd never given away, and turned it once before I let my hand fall still.
Boarding time came. I switched off my phone and took my seat on a flight bound for a country where Omertà held no power.
Once Lorenzo finished helping Gioia pick out her gowns, he went to the hotel for the Family feast.
He pictured Adriana stepping in wearing that dress, lovely as an angel.
But Adriana never came. All that arrived was his courier, pale and frantic, threading through the soldiers at the door.
"Don Falcone, something's wrong. Your wife is gone."
