Mamma fussed over me a little longer, the same gentle reminders she'd been giving me since I was a girl in the old country kitchen.
Then I hung up.
The tears I'd been holding back broke loose, falling one drop at a time onto the tabletop.
For as long as I could remember, Mamma had been the person I admired most.
She'd never had much schooling. The Marchettis were honest people, the kind who kept to the clean edge of the old world, but her thinking was far ahead of her time. She never bought into that old idea of the sons eating first and the mother taking what was left in the pot.
In our house, everyone got to fight for the food they loved.
Mamma taught me, by living it every day, what it meant to love yourself first, and only then love others.
But now, it had been five years since she'd tasted her own favorite goods from the family cellars.
Whenever any came in, she saved it up and shipped it to me.
Just so I could live a little better inside these walls. With a little more dignity.
My fault.
I was the one who'd been stubborn, the one who dragged Mamma into all this fretting and second-guessing too.
At least it was almost over now.
Lorenzo didn't come home until the small hours.
On Gemma's feed, the two of them looked like they'd had a wonderful time.
Not just the spicy poached fish. A private room afterward, wine too, the kind that only came out for made men and the girls they wanted to impress.
From start to finish, not a single word to me. Not even a call to the soldier posted downstairs.
After a stretch of rustling in the dark, he came into the bedroom.
I shut my eyes, lying on the far side of the bed, and spoke again.
"Lorenzo, let's dissolve the alliance."
No answer.
When I heard that familiar tapping, I sat up and looked at him.
Only then did I realize he was busy typing a reply to Gemma. He hadn't heard a word I'd said.
It was a long moment before he even glanced my way.
"Gemma says she feels awful for leaving you behind by accident. She had me bring you home a box of the spicy poached fish."
I froze. He kept going.
"Get up and have a bite. I'll film a little video for her, so I've got something to show her."
Red-eyed, I stared at him, unable to believe it.
"Lorenzo, I told you I'm allergic to chili peppers!"
Lorenzo gave me a helpless look and spread his palms open, one drifting flat against his stomach the way it always did when he was talking himself into something.
"I know. That's why I've got the allergy medicine ready."
"Adriana, be good. Just play along with me, that's all."
His voice was gentle, but his eyes held the quiet pressure of a man used to being obeyed, a pressure that left no room to argue.
He'd seen what it looked like when my allergy hit.
Writhing on the floor, clawing at my own throat, choking like I was about to die.
The day the soldiers carried me back through that door, Lorenzo had clutched my hand and cried until he passed out.
Now, to keep Gemma happy, he was willing to gamble with my life.
Even though I'd already lost every last hope, my heart still tore like it was being ripped apart.
I took the medicine and swallowed it straight down.
Satisfied, Lorenzo lifted his phone.
While he filmed the video for Gemma, I was in the bathroom throwing up until the room spun.
Weakly, I braced myself against the sink. My throat clenched, and up came another mouthful of bile.
Lorenzo knocked on the door.
"That's enough. You took the allergy pill, nothing's going to happen. It's all in your head."
"Gemma's water pipe is broken. I'm going over to fix it for her. Get some rest early."
The sound of the front door closing carried in from outside the bathroom, and with it the low murmur of the enforcer letting him pass into the night.
I lifted my head and looked at myself in the mirror.
Ghost-pale, hair a mess, like a madwoman.
The phone screen said it was two in the morning.
Six hours until the plane took off.
I couldn't wait anymore, I thought.
I wanted, desperately, to get out of here.
I changed my clothes and pulled up the suitcase I'd packed and left by the front door.
Two thirty in the morning, a quiet car carried me toward the airfield, past the last of the Falcone territory and out where the Family's reach thinned to nothing.
By eight, the sky was bright with morning.
When Lorenzo pushed open the door, there was still a flicker of unease in his chest.
It was the first time he'd stayed the night at another woman's place, and he wasn't sure whether Adriana would be jealous.
But then he reconsidered.
Adriana loved him so much. She'd given up her own clinic, her own name among the Families, willingly rolled up her sleeves to cook and keep the house that kept him alive.
As long as he explained it well, Adriana surely wouldn't have the heart to stay angry with him.
At that thought, the corner of his mouth curved up again.
Worst case, that matching pair of trinkets he'd bought a while back, he'd just wear his beside hers.
But Lorenzo made a full round of the house and didn't find any sign of Adriana.
Something was wrong.
Before, even when Adriana stepped out on short notice, she'd always sent word first thing.
Now the message window was as quiet as the rooms. Terrifyingly quiet.
A panic he'd never felt before surged up in Lorenzo, and he couldn't hold back from shouting.
"Adriana? Adriana!"
Just then, Serafina walked in, heels striking the marble like measured shots.
"Stop shouting. She's already on the plane."
She drew off her black lace gloves, finger by finger, folding each one before she set the document on the table.
"I've already got the dissolution of the alliance drawn up. Sign it, now."
