"Alright. We need to move if we're going to make the private convoy. Let's go."
Donna Rosaria deposited the remaining bags at my feet with the brisk efficiency of someone handing off cargo to a porter. "Camilla, you'll handle the Family's effects. You're taking the ground transport, so it will be easier for you to manage everything. This way, we won't have to deal with weight restrictions on the flight."
I looked at the eight enormous cases arranged before me. Each one weighed at least fifty pounds. Designer leather, brass-cornered, monogrammed with the Portelli crest. The combined weight of an entire family's wardrobe and personal effects, entrusted to the one member of the household they considered least worthy of the name she carried.
I smiled. "Of course. You all go ahead. I'll catch up."
The moment the front gate closed behind them, I picked up the phone and called a disposal service.
When the workers arrived, the lead man surveyed the line of cases with raised eyebrows. "You sure about this, ma'am? These are in perfect condition. What's inside?"
"Clothes. Household items. Nothing of real value." I kept my voice indifferent, as though I were discussing the weather rather than setting a match to the Portelli family's belongings. "If you find anything useful, keep it. Otherwise, feel free to discard the lot."
I paid the disposal fee in cash. They loaded all eight cases into the back of their truck and drove away. I stood in the empty foyer and watched until the vehicle disappeared around the corner of the estate's long gravel drive.
Then I made two more calls.
The first was to an exit attorney. A rogue consigliere who specialized in the kind of dissolution that powerful families preferred to handle quietly. I gave him the details and told him to draft the agreement immediately.
The second call was to book a private passage on the overnight route. First-class sleeper. One ticket. Just mine.
I had barely settled into the narrow compartment, the rhythm of the rails humming beneath me like a second pulse, when my phone lit up with Rico's name.
I answered on the fourth ring.
"Camilla, the compound can't find our booking. They have no record of any reservation under the Portelli name. Send me the confirmation details."
I let a beat of silence pass. Then another.
"Oh. I almost forgot to mention." I kept my voice light, almost careless. "I canceled it."
The silence on the other end was absolute. I could picture him standing in some grand lobby, surrounded by his family and his precious Mala, the phone pressed to his ear, the blood draining from his face.
Then the storm broke.
"Why would you do that?" His voice cracked with a rage I had never heard directed at anyone but an enemy. "Where are we supposed to stay tonight?"
"Wherever you want." I leaned back against the headrest and watched the dark countryside blur past the window.
"Camilla, have you lost your mind? Why would you sabotage our reservation?" He was roaring now, all pretense of composure abandoned.
I felt something cold and clean settle in my chest. Something that might have been freedom, or might have been the first breath before a very long fall.
"Seriously, Rico? You bring the Contarini daughter on a family retreat, parade her in front of everyone like she's La Sposa instead of me, and you still expect your wife to handle the safe house arrangements?" I let the words land one by one, precise as bullets. "What would the other families think if they knew? What would your father's associates say? That the heir to the Portelli empire can't even book his own lodging without the bride he treats like a house servant?"
