Scarlett didn't return to Carmela's room. She took a cab straight to the wing of the manor she shared with Julian.
When Julian pushed open the door that evening, Scarlett had just finished packing a suitcase she kept hidden in the back of her closet.
She didn't look up. "Mamma smashed three more of your mother's porcelain figurines today. She said I'm not nearly as considerate as Isabella."
Julian loosened his tie, his voice edged with impatience. "Her heart's been weak for two years, of course she's irritable. Just humor her. What's the big deal?"
"Humor her?" Scarlett let out a sharp, humorless laugh. She held up the dress that had been stained that morning. "She did this deliberately."
"That's enough!" Julian snatched the dress from her and tossed it onto the bed. "Scarlett, you never used to be like this!"
"Like what?" Scarlett shot to her feet, her eyes blazing. "Like waking up at five every morning to prepare her special low-sodium breakfast? Or like kneeling on the floor to scrub the carpet clean while she screams that I'm a curse on this family?"
Julian swallowed hard, turning his face away. "You know why Mamma's heart is the way it is."
A dead, heavy silence filled the room.
Scarlett's fingernails dug into her palms.
That assassination.
Two years ago, on the night they had just shared a rare, intimate moment, Carmela had called, claiming something felt wrong with her car.
"Ignore her," Scarlett had murmured, standing barefoot on the carpet, her arms wrapped around his waist. "Tonight is our anniversary..."
Julian hesitated, then bent to kiss her. "Just a minute."
"You always say that!" Scarlett said sharply, snatching the phone and throwing it to the floor. "How many times has she cried wolf? If you go running to her tonight, we are over!"
She remembered the look in his eyes then. Shock, helplessness, and finally, weary compromise.
He sighed, retrieving the phone only to set it aside. Then he pulled her into his arms. "Okay, I'll stay."
But the next day, the truth came crashing down. Because no one had inspected the car, the window to thwart the assassination attempt was lost. The attack by their rivals left Carmela with "severe heart damage."
"Yes, I owe her," Scarlett admitted, her voice hoarse. "So for two years, I have served her like a goddamn slave. But does that mean I deserve to have hot soup thrown at me? To be treated like Isabella's personal maid?"
Julian ran a hand through his hair, a mask of frustration on his face. "Isabella is moving in tomorrow."
"What?"
"Mamma likes having her around." Julian's tone softened, as if he were coaxing a child. "It's just for a few months. Once her condition stabilizes, Isabella will leave."
Scarlett cut him off, her voice quiet. "Julian, I went to see the family lawyer today."
His entire body went rigid.
"The lawyer told me our marriage is being annulled. It's final in seven days." She watched his expression tighten. "The document you had me sign last month... was that the annulment agreement?"
"So you know." Julian grabbed her wrist. "But Mamma forced my hand. I was just trying to appease her!"
"Couldn't you have told me?" Scarlett ripped her hand free. "After two years of marriage, I don't even have the right to know?"
Julian exploded. "Can you stop being so damn aggressive? Do you have any idea how hard this is for me, being caught in the middle of this?"
Scarlett froze.
She remembered the first time he brought her home. His mother had flung a glass of red wine on her, right in front of him. "The matriarch of the Valachi family will always be a high-born Principessa."
That night, Julian had held her on the balcony, his voice full of apologies. "My Mamma has a temper, please, just bear with her. It's so hard for me, being stuck in the middle."
When Carmela refused to attend their wedding, he held her hand and pleaded, "She just can't accept it yet. Give her time."
When Carmela suffered her "heart damage," he had knelt before her, begging her to quit her job as an art restorer to care for his mother. "Scarlett, you're the only one who can help me."
And every single time, she had been the one to compromise.
"Julian," Scarlett felt a tidal wave of exhaustion wash over her. "Do you still love me?"
Julian hesitated for a fraction of a second, then blurted, "Of course I do!"
"Scarlett, don't make this any harder for me."
She sighed. Just seven more days. She could let him have this.
She gave a silent, weary nod.
"Isabella will be in the guest room," Julian said, awkwardly changing the subject. "You should get some rest."
The moment the door clicked shut, Scarlett collapsed onto the bed.
Moonlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating a dusty photo frame on the nightstand.
In the picture, Julian was giving her a piggyback ride on a beach in Sicily. The waves had soaked her dress, and he had turned his head, his smile radiant. "Hold on tight, Mrs. Valachi!"
Two years of love felt as fleeting and unreal as a dream.
She took out her phone and sent a message: [Pick me up in seven days. The plan is on.]
Just as she hit send, a commotion erupted from downstairs.
