After I buried my mother the way the Falcone dead were always buried, quiet, guarded, no names spoken aloud, I went back to the Family’s clinic like it was any other day. Grief clung to me like a second skin, but I kept moving, kept stitching soldiers back together, because, really, what else was there to do?
It didn’t take long before Rosaria Marchetti, the elder who’d taught me everything about mending men who could never be brought to a real hospital, came by the back room where I worked. She didn’t waste time getting to the point.
“Adriana,” she said, her brow furrowing. “I heard you put your name in for the medical mission across the water. Are you sure about this? The territory they’re sending people to is still contested ground, held under a ceasefire that could break any hour. You’ll be facing gunfire, danger, every single day.”
I met her gaze, steady and unwavering. “I’ve thought this through, Rosaria. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. Just… never found the right moment.”
In the past, I couldn’t leave. I had my mother to care for. And I had Salvatore.
But now?
My mother was gone. And the Salvatore I once loved, the one who once loved me, was long gone too. I had no real reason to stay bound to this house anymore.
It didn’t matter where I was. If I could go somewhere untouchable by the families back home and make a difference, even a small one, that was enough for me.
Rosaria studied me for a long moment. Then she reached up, drew her reading glasses from her nose, and folded them slowly in her hand before she spoke. She knew there was no talking me out of it.
“All right,” she said finally. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
I gave her a small smile. “I will.”
She left soon after, and I turned back to the desk, sorting through supply lists when the door swung open.
And there he was. Salvatore.
His timing was impeccable.
He looked at me with those familiar furrowed brows. “Where did you say you were going just now?”
I froze for half a second, then slowly looked up, keeping my face neutral. No need to give the Don the satisfaction of seeing how much his presence still moved the air in the room.
“I was talking about taking a trip,” I said, my voice smooth and calm as I went on organizing the desk. “Since I started this work, I’ve barely had time to see anything beyond these walls.”
Before all of it, back when the Falcone name still meant something, I used to plan trips. I loved seeing new places, walking streets no one in the Family controlled. Salvatore knew that about me.
And just like that, any suspicion in his expression faded.
“That’s good,” he said, nodding, his thumb rolling the heavy signet ring at his finger once before it stilled. “It’s good for you to get away for a while.”
Then, without missing a beat, he added, “By the way, Gemma’s coming in for a check-up. Can you see that she’s taken care of?”
So that was why he’d come.
No pretenses anymore. No hollow concern.
My fingers tightened around the file in my hands, a dull ache settling deep in my chest.
He was so pleased about their child. The heir he’d wanted so badly he’d let it rot everything between us.
Did he ever stop to think about the one we lost?
For a split second, I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to ask if he ever remembered. If he ever thought about the child we never got to hold, the one I’d lost the night he made me drink to prove my loyalty at a sit-down.
But I swallowed it down.
The past was buried. No point digging up what was already in the ground.
Or maybe… he had forgotten a long time ago.
I forced my voice to stay calm and steady. “The house doctors here are more than capable. She can wait her turn like anyone else under this roof.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, the door opened again.
Gemma Ricci.
Her belly was unmistakable as she walked in and threaded her arm through Salvatore’s. She looked up at him, her voice soft, almost pitiful.
“Salvatore, does Adriana not want to help us?” she murmured. Her free hand drifted to her belly, a half-second too late. “It’s my fault for not sending word ahead. I didn’t mean to waste your time.”
Salvatore didn’t pull away from her touch. Instead he reached out and pinched her cheek.
“I have time,” he said, his voice gentle, too gentle for a man whose gentleness I’d watched die years ago. “If she doesn’t want to help, it’s fine. I’ll wait with you.”
Then, as if that weren’t enough, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and whispered something meant only for her.
The warmth between them was suffocating.
I didn’t know what hurt more, the fact that he had never been this gentle with me, or the fact that I once believed he could be.
There was a time when he would go out of his way to make me smile. When he was still nothing, still climbing out of the gutter, he’d spend his last dollar on a thin chain I’d admired, promising me that whatever any woman in any family had, I’d have it too.
He used to come home worn from the work of building his name from nothing, his body spent. But no matter how tired he was, he’d always make time for me. He’d still talk to me, still listen.
He used to tell me those late-night hours with me were the only thing that made him feel alive.
And now?
Now we barely exchanged words.
I tore my gaze away from them, forcing myself not to linger on something that had already crumbled.
Just as I turned back to the desk, Salvatore spoke again, casual as ever.
“That business the last time… it was Gemma’s fault,” he said like he was talking about the weather. “I had someone send over something fine. I’ll have it brought to your mother, to make peace.”
I froze. Make peace? With my mother?
My jaw tightened, my nails digging into my palm. Beneath the desk, out of sight, I turned my mother’s thin gold ring twice around my finger.
She was gone.
What was the point of making peace now?
