"I've already had someone rebook the photo studio. Day after tomorrow, in the afternoon."
Lorenzo crouched down in front of his son, lowering himself in a way the Don of the Moretti Family rarely did before any man.
"This time Daddy promises. I won't break it. I swear."
The boy's hands paused over his model, mid-piece.
He lifted his head slowly, glanced at Lorenzo, and something hesitant flickered in his eyes.
But in the end he was only seven.
No matter how many times he'd been let down, the moment his father made a promise, the hope rose in him all the same.
He couldn't help looking over at me.
In those clear, wide eyes was a careful, cautious question, and a wanting.
Something in my chest gave.
After a few seconds of silence, I nodded anyway.
"Okay."
Call it granting the child one last wish.
The instant he had my answer, his eyes lit up.
He scooped the supercar model into his arms and bolted back to his room in his slippers, even the back of him glowing with a happiness I hadn't seen in a long time.
The living room went quiet again.
I went on folding the clothes into the suitcase.
Lorenzo stood where he was, watching me for a long while, and then, as if he'd finally worked up the nerve, came over.
"Adriana."
His voice dropped low, the way it did when he gave an order no one in his crew dared question.
"About Matteo calling me Uncle Lorenzo today…"
My hands stilled for a moment, and I looked up at him.
He was quiet for a beat, then set the cake down on the table, took my hand, and pressed it gently to his chest.
Through the expensive fabric of his suit, I could feel his heartbeat, a little quick. Beneath it, two fingers' breadth from where my palm lay, was the old scar he carried for a dead man.
"I know you've been angry with me lately."
"Angry that I've put too much into Gianna and Nico, that I've neglected you and our son."
He said it earnestly. There was even a rare tiredness in his eyes.
"But Adriana, there's nothing else between Gianna and me. I swear it."
"Her brother took a bullet meant for me. I owe that family a blood debt."
"All these years, a woman raising a child on her own, it hasn't been easy. I can't just wash my hands of them."
"Give me a little more time. Once I've got them settled, I promise I'll put my family first again. I'll never let you and our son feel slighted again."
I looked at him quietly.
At this face that had once made my heart turn over more times than I could count.
For a strange moment, I couldn't even remember the last time he'd looked at me this intently.
Was it the night of our union, when the two bloodlines were joined and he stood beneath the lit terrace of the Castellano estate and made his vows to me?
Or the night our son was born, when he kissed my forehead with red-rimmed eyes?
Those promises I'd once believed without a shred of doubt had worn away, disappointment by disappointment, until there was nothing left.
I looked at him, and all at once I wanted to say everything.
To tell him the dissolution of the alliance had three days left.
To tell him I'd already booked the flight to Los Angeles, to my own people, where Castellano steel would shut every door behind me.
To tell him that what he was about to lose was never one argument, but the whole family.
"Lorenzo, the truth is, I—"
I didn't get to finish. He cut me off.
As if he'd just remembered something important.
His eyes brightened, and he said quickly,
"Oh, right, where's that Bugatti model of Matteo's? The limited-edition factory one?"
I went still for a second.
Lorenzo was already going on,
"Nico's been begging for one these past couple days."
"Gianna's tried everything to settle him down, but nothing works."
"I'll just take it over and let him play with it for a few days. I'll bring it back later."
The air seemed to freeze in that instant.
I didn't even get the chance to speak.
His hand had already left my chest, the scar forgotten, and he'd turned for the study.
In under a minute he came back out with it, the model my son had treasured for three whole months, the one he wouldn't even let anyone bend the packaging on.
He grabbed his keys and hurried for the door.
"I'm heading over."
"Don't forget to remind me about the photos the day after tomorrow."
The next second.
"Bang—"
The heavy door slammed shut in front of me, solid as the gate of a safe house.
The living room fell silent again.
I stood there, and for a long time I didn't move.
So all of it just now, the tenderness, the guilt, the promises.
In the end, none of it could outweigh one word of need from Gianna and her son.
A long while later, looking at the empty entryway, I finally finished, softly, the words I hadn't gotten to say.
"Lorenzo."
"The truth is, our son and I don't want you anymore."
The cooling-off period had three days left.
And our marriage, too, had only three days left.
Midnight.
After I finished the last of my work, I rubbed my aching temples and lay down alone on the empty bed.
Matteo was already asleep.
The whole villa was so quiet there was nothing but the ticking of the clock.
Just then my phone lit up.
A message from Lorenzo.
"Nico loves the model."
"I spent the whole evening building it with him. Gianna wanted me to make sure to thank you."
I stared at those few lines for a long time.
And found it suddenly absurd.
My husband. The Don men straightened their backs for.
Building a model late into the night with another woman's child.
A model that had belonged to his own son.
Without so much as an apology.
The corner of my mouth twitched.
Even anger felt like a waste of energy.
Some people don't simply fail to see it.
They only pretend not to.
I tapped the screen and replied calmly.
"It's fine. No need to thank me."
A few seconds later, I sent a second message.
"But it wasn't from me."
"That Bugatti model was the gift Matteo wanted most for his seventh birthday."
"He waited three whole months."
"He'd wanted to wait and build it together with his dad."
The message went through.
I didn't wait for a reply.
I turned the phone off then and there.
Closed my eyes.
And let this marriage, already in pieces, run down its final countdown.
