The night before our anniversary, I had finished packing the last of my essentials when I heard them. It was coming from the guest room down the hall. Catalina's room. They probably thought I was already sleeping.
I walked softly down the hallway, my phone already in my hand, the camera app open. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling onto the carpet.
I didn't need to see them to know what they were doing. The sounds were unmistakable, the frantic, desperate rhythm of two people trying to consume each other. But then the noises stopped, replaced by the sharp tone of Catalina's voice.
"I hate it," she spat. "I saw the box, Sebastiano. The necklace you bought for her. Real diamonds. Vintage. You told me you were getting her something cheap!"
"Baby, keep your voice down. She might wake up." Sebastiano soothed, though he sounded breathless. "It's just a prop. It's for appearances. Tomorrow is the Feast. The anniversary. The old man's making the succession announcement. I have to look like the devoted husband. If I put costume jewelry on a Castellano, every Family from here to Sicily will know something's wrong."
"I wanted that necklace," Catalina whined. "You promised me diamonds."
"I'll buy you ten necklaces. Better ones. Once this is over. Once the Don signs the papers and I'm anointed."
I held the phone steady, angling the lens through the crack in the door. I caught them clearly. Sebastiano sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, and Catalina kneeling between his legs, clutching the sheets.
"I'm tired of waiting, Sebastiano," Catalina said, her voice trembling with a mix of lust and fury. "I'm tired of being the secret. I want something that binds us. Something she can't take away."
She looked up at him, her eyes wild.
"Make me pregnant," she demanded. "Right now. Make me pregnant."
Sebastiano hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Cat, we talked about this. The timing…"
"Prove it!" she hissed. "Prove you love me more than her. Put a baby in me, Sebastiano. Make me the mother of your heir."
Sebastiano groaned, his resistance crumbling under her touch. "Okay. Okay, baby. Anything you want."
He pulled her down onto the mattress.
I didn't look away. I didn't feel sick. I felt a cold, clinical satisfaction. I pressed the record button, capturing every word, every promise, every betrayal. I let it run for a full minute, ensuring the audio was crisp, the faces identifiable.
Then I stopped the recording. I saved the file to the cloud, then to a secure folder, then sent a copy to my consigliere.
The next evening, the Grand Ballroom of the Dalessio estate was a sea of tuxedos and designer gowns. Every Family of consequence had sent representatives. Capos, underbosses, their wives glittering like armored saints. It was the event of the season, and everyone in the room understood what it really was: a coronation dressed as a celebration.
I wore the necklace. The diamonds felt heavy and cold against my throat, a collar of ownership I was about to snap.
Sebastiano was at my side, his hand resting possessively on the small of my back. He played the part perfectly, smiling for the photographers, laughing at the right moments, leaning in to whisper endearments that meant nothing.
"You look magnificent, Bianca," he said for the benefit of the photographer flashing bulbs in our faces.
"Happy Anniversary, darling," I replied, my smile dazzling.
We moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations from men who killed for a living and women who pretended not to know. Catalina was there, of course. She was wearing a red dress that clashed with the decor, hovering near the champagne tower, her eyes tracking us with predatory intensity.
Then the music lowered. A spotlight hit the stage.
Don Dalessio slowly walked up to the microphone. He looked frail, but his eyes were sharp. Two soldiers flanked the steps, though they stepped back the moment his hand touched the podium. The room went still the way rooms always went still for him. Not quiet. Still.
"Tonight," the old man wheezed, his voice amplified across the silent room. "We celebrate not just a union, but a legacy. A legacy of family. Stability. Loyalty."
He raised a glass toward us.
"To my grandson, Sebastiano. And to his lovely wife, Bianca. It is because of her strength, her grace, and her unwavering support that I feel confident in handing over the reins of this Family. A man who cannot keep a home cannot keep an empire. But Sebastiano… he has chosen well."
Applause thundered. Sebastiano squeezed my waist, beaming. He thought he had won. He thought the keys to the kingdom were in his pocket.
"I love you," he whispered to me.
"I know," I lied.
The reception began. The crowd swarmed us. I played the dutiful wife for twenty more minutes. Then I felt Sebastiano's hand slip away.
"I need to use the restroom," he muttered, patting his pocket where his phone was vibrating.
I watched him go. He didn't head to the restroom. He headed toward the service corridors, past the kitchen, toward the back of the estate. I glanced toward the bar. Catalina was gone.
They couldn't help themselves. Even on the most important night of his life, with the Don watching, with every Capo in the tri-state area raising glasses to his name, they had to sneak away for a quick thrill. They probably thought they were invincible.
It was perfect.
I didn't hesitate. I didn't say goodbye to anyone. My right hand drifted to my bare collarbone, fingers pressing the hollow where my mother's crucifix used to rest. I held them there for one breath. Two.
Then I dropped my hand. And I simply turned and walked toward the main exit. I moved through the lobby, past the security detail, and out into the cool night air where a black sedan was waiting, engine running, headlights dark.
"To the airfield," I said to the driver. "Step on it."
I was standing at the gate, the boarding pass in my hand, when my phone began to buzz.
I looked at the screen. Hubby.
He must have returned to the ballroom. He must have looked for his trophy wife to stand by his side for the final toast, only to find empty air.
I let it ring.
It stopped, then rang again immediately. Then the texts started pouring in.
Sebastiano: Bianca? Where are you?
Sebastiano: People are asking for you. Grandpa is looking for you.
Sebastiano: Stop playing games. This isn't funny. Come back to the ballroom.
Sebastiano: Bianca! Pick up the damn phone!
I could imagine the panic setting in. The Don, scanning the room. The Capos, watching. The whisper moving table to table like a slow knife: Where is his wife?
I didn't answer the call. Instead, I typed a single message.
To: Hubby
"I'm tired, so I went home. Can you please come home, too? I have your gift here in our room. Happy Anniversary, Sebastiano."
I hit send then blocked his number. I dropped the phone into my bag, picked up my carry-on, and walked down the jet bridge. I didn't look back.
