The night I decided to leave Lorenzo Bruno, I made three quiet moves. First, I listed every gift he'd ever pressed into my hands online, the watches, the jewels, the kind of tribute that bought a woman's silence, and I let them go for nothing but the cost of a courier. Second, I sold the safehouse we'd bought for our life together, the one meant to shelter the bride, for a fraction of its worth, and I put a blade through the ten-million-dollar bridal silk I had never once worn. Third, I erased myself from the map, swearing myself to a Council-sanctioned operation that demanded a decade gone dark, every thread to the outside world cut clean. Maybe forever.

By the time Lorenzo had finished arranging his flawless little proposal, I had already vanished from his world. He never noticed. I was quietly dismantling my life through every embrace, every kiss, every night he didn't come home while he played 'wedding' with the girl from the Greco household. I had made myself into the obedient, accommodating woman he swore he adored, only for him to shatter my trust.

One night, he finally lost his composure and asked me, "Why don't you get angry anymore? Do you not love me anymore?"

……

I avoided his gaze, my lips tight. But when I heard the flirtatious voice note from Sabina Greco purr out of his phone, I calmly made the call to confirm my decade in deep cover.

"Adriana Vitale, are you absolutely certain?" Don Marchetti's tone was grave. I heard the soft click of his reading glasses folding shut on the other end of the line. "This operation is bound by Omertà. Ten years. Once you go under, you may never surface again, never reach anyone on the outside."

His voice dropped, gentle and serious. "You are the finest hand I've ever brought up. I have to ask you to think this through carefully."

I stood across the street from a bridal boutique, watching Sabina wear the gown I had spent months designing and commissioning. She stood beside Lorenzo, their faces pressed close as they posed for photographs.

Lorenzo mimicked the lifting of the veil for a kiss, some fashion he'd picked up to flaunt at the Family's gatherings. Then, as if to drive the knife deeper between my ribs, he slid the ring from his own finger, the one meant for me, and pushed it onto hers.

A pang struck my heart, but it passed quickly, leaving behind only numbness.

"I'm sure, Don Marchetti," I said, my voice calm. "You know what I am. An orphan of a fallen bloodline, no family, no attachments. This is an honor. A chance to give the Council what's owed. What more could I ask for?"

A year ago, he had offered me this same place at the table. But back then I had only just accepted Lorenzo's betrothal pact, and I could not bring myself to leave. Now there was nothing left I cared to keep.

Relieved, he said, "I'll arrange everything on my end. But it moves fast. They'll come for you within the week. Use the time to settle your affairs. Leave nothing unresolved."

As I ended the call, Sabina's voice drifted across the street to me. "Lorenzo, you're the best. I love this dress so much."

It was the one I had dreamed of wearing. Made by hand by a master, a single piece that took months, worth ten million dollars. The only one of its kind, and I had never even put it on.

"It's just a dress," Lorenzo said gently, smoothing her hair. "As long as you're happy."

"But what if your bride-to-be sees? Won't she be upset?"

He caught sight of me standing at the entrance. Panic flickered across his face for a single beat before he buried it. He let go of Sabina's arm and said, low, "Be a good girl. Go take it off and let her try it."

Sabina pouted, reluctant to surrender the gown. For half a second the pout flattened into something cold and measuring, then softened again before he could see it. "Just a little longer, please? She can wear it any time she likes. I'll never get the chance again."

"Don't be silly," he said, pinching her cheek with a laugh. "One day you'll find some man of your own, have your own wedding silk to wear."

"But who could ever compare to you, Lorenzo?" she said sweetly.

They laughed and flirted openly, untroubled by my presence, as if the boutique window were neutral ground and I were nobody at all.

Afraid I would confront Sabina, Lorenzo turned to me, impatient, offering a thin excuse. "She's just playing a wedding game, all right? Don't get upset over this. Okay?"

In another life, I would have detonated. Fought, screamed, torn the gown to ribbons so no one else could ever wear it. But with my leaving only a week away, what was the point? Sometimes silence was the loudest answer in the room.

I turned the small ring on my finger once, slowly. For the first time, I wasn't angry. I was free.

I let out a light laugh and said to Lorenzo, “It’s just a wedding dress. If she likes it, then let her have it.” Then I left the two of them where they stood. “I’ve got business to see to. I’ll head out now.”

Lorenzo froze, watching me walk away without another word.

Later that evening, Lorenzo came to collect me himself for the first time in months. He brought a small mango cake with him, holding it out like a peace offering.

But the problem? I’m allergic to mango.

It’s Sabina who loved mango, not me. After eight years bound by the pact between us, he still didn’t know the difference.

“I figured you’d forget to eat while you were buried in work, so I brought this for you,” he said, as though a box of pastry could settle a debt. He wanted me to take the bait, to play along the way I always did.

So I did. I smiled brightly, pretending to be touched. “Thank you so much.”

Lorenzo looked surprised that I didn’t argue or complain.

On the drive back through the territory, the city lights sliding past the tinted glass, he glanced over at me. “Adriana, are you angry with me?”

My thoughts were elsewhere. Closing out my affairs, putting my ledgers in order, making sure I left clean instructions for the young associate who came up under me. I didn’t catch his words properly, so I let out an ah.

I offered a small apology. “Sorry. I got lost in thought. What were you saying?”

Perhaps my tone came out too cold.

He braked hard and turned his head to look at me. “Are you still sore about that wedding dress?”

“Hmm?” I blinked, genuinely confused. “Why would I be? No. Of course not.”

Lorenzo studied me for a few seconds, searching my face for anger. But all he found was calm indifference. His hand tightened on the wheel as he eased the car forward again. His voice, though, came out hoarse. “You’ve changed. You’re not like this. Not the way you used to be.”

He wasn’t wrong.

A year ago, after Sabina finished her schooling and came back to our city, both Lorenzo and I changed. We fought without end because of her. He always swore he treated Sabina as nothing more than a little sister and told me to stop being unreasonable.

“She’s like a little sister to me. Stop making something out of nothing!” he’d snap, defending her every single time.

The worst of it was the night he lost his temper completely and leveled a finger at me.

In that moment he said, “Adriana, listen to yourself. If there were anything between me and Sabina, would I still be standing here with you? You came to me with nothing. No name left, no protection, no cash flow of your own. If I cut you loose, how would you even survive?”

We held a cold war for a month after that. In the end, I swallowed my pride and begged his forgiveness.

But love doesn’t die all at once. It fades, bit by bit, like ice melting under the sun. Over the past year, the endless fighting and Sabina’s smug presence drained whatever feeling I had left for him.

Now I couldn’t even summon a reaction.

I smiled faintly. “You’re right. I wasn’t very mature before. But I’ve grown up now. I’ll do better.”

Because soon I won’t be here at all, I thought. I felt the small ring turn once against my knuckle.

Before bed that night, while Lorenzo was in the shower, I saw Sabina’s newest post surface on her feed.

Nine photos.

She wore my wedding dress, smiling radiantly as she clung to the man I was pledged to.

[Marrying the one I love! Xixixi!]

Dozens of their circle liked it. Friends from the clubs, soldiers’ wives, the whole social orbit that revolved around the Family.

Someone even commented, [Wait, isn’t that Lorenzo in the background?]

Sabina’s reply came quick and smug. [Yes! My brother favors me the most!]

I quietly tapped like on the post, set my phone down, and got ready for bed.

I had only just lain down when the mattress dipped beside me. Lorenzo’s cool skin pressed against mine as he slid an arm around my waist.

“Adriana…” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. His hand slipped beneath the hem of my nightgown, fingers trailing along my skin.

I shifted, putting space between us. Then I gently caught his hand and said, “Lorenzo, I’m tired tonight. I don’t want to.”

In all the years bound to him by the pact, I had never once refused him.

In the past, whenever tempers flared, it was almost always settled here, in the dark. Lorenzo loved taking his time, teasing and coaxing me into surrender until I was the one asking. And afterward he would hold me tightly, whispering that everything was fine, asking me not to be jealous anymore.

But tonight, I felt nothing.

It hit me that, with my disappearance into the Council's cover so close, none of this really mattered anymore.

After I turned him down that night, Lorenzo froze for a moment, his body stiff with tension. Perhaps the pride of a capo who'd clawed his way up from the gutter wouldn't allow him to ask why I had rejected him. He just muttered a quiet "Okay" and turned his back to me.

That night, the space between us in the dark felt as far as the Milky Way.

The following day, Lorenzo was gone before I woke up. I don't know if he was afraid I would resent the parade of favor he kept showing Sabina at the Family's clubs.

But a surprise was waiting on the kitchen table. A plate of slightly burnt toast, a fried egg, and a glass of milk. A rare gesture from a man whose hands knew guns better than skillets.

Beside the plate was a note in his blunt scrawl: "For my wife. Enjoy."

My phone buzzed with a message from him.

Lorenzo: [Honey, I've left the bridal silk in the study. Try it on and send me a photo. I know you'll be the most beautiful.]

I finished the toast, charred but edible, and walked to a stationer two blocks from the safehouse, where I bought a countdown calendar. Back home, I tore off the first page. There were six days left.

Then I got to work packing.

I started in the den, clearing away framed photos, the books we'd shared, all the papers and small things we'd gathered together over eight years. As I set the last item in a box, something slipped out. A diary.

Flipping through it, I saw pages filled with our happy memories. Dates, the day the pact was sealed, little notes about the foolish things we'd done back when neither of us had anything but each other.

The paper had yellowed slightly, but the memories were still vivid. I hesitated, then decided to leave it behind. Let it stay with the man who'd already forgotten how to read it.

But that bridal silk? It mocked me, hanging there as if nothing had changed. I couldn't resist reaching for a pair of scissors. I slashed the dress to shreds in a few swift, emotionless motions.

It felt oddly satisfying.

I took it a step further. Quietly, through channels only I could trace, I listed every expensive gift Lorenzo had ever given me. Free to anyone willing to cover the courier. By the time I'd finished packing, almost everything was gone. I arranged for a man to come collect the rest the next day, every thread severed clean.

That evening, my phone buzzed, reminding me of the seven o'clock immersive play. A popular one, sold out for weeks. I'd booked the seats long ago, back when I thought Lorenzo and I would go together.

I didn't bother asking whether he still intended to come. He'd long forgotten. Just before the show, he texted that business was keeping him, and I shouldn't wait on him for dinner.

I rolled my eyes and went alone. The front rows were beyond reach by then, so my seat sat in the right aisle, set back from the stage. The play was extraordinary. A heart-wrenching love story about life and death. By the end, I was moved to tears.

As the play drew to a close, the actors came down to mingle with the audience. A great screen lit overhead, announcing a randomly chosen member of the crowd. The screen showed Lorenzo, seated beside Sabina.

So. The business that kept him had been her. And they'd even managed the front row, the privileged seats a capo's cash flow could always buy. The spotlight found them, and they looked perfect together. Lorenzo, sharp and handsome. Sabina, radiant and poised.

The actors asked if they were a couple. Sabina giggled and leaned into Lorenzo's arm, not even waiting for his answer. The crowd roared with cheers and teasing.

The actor asked if they were moved. To cherish the people beside them, and above all the fate that bound two lovers together, would they kiss deeply, the way the play's final scene demanded?

Frozen only a moment, Sabina smiled, tilted her head, and kissed him, her lips brushing his in full view of everyone.

Whatever came over him, Lorenzo flinched and pushed her away abruptly. He stood, his expression unreadable, and turned his head slightly.

Our eyes met across the theatre.

I felt nothing. No anger, no sadness, just a faint sense of relief. I broke the gaze, grabbed my bag, and left.

As I reached the exit, I heard hurried footsteps behind me. Lorenzo chased after me, his hair dishevelled from running. Perhaps because he'd seen that I'd been calm from the very start.

Different from before, he began to explain. "Adriana. Seriously." He panted, trying to catch his breath. "Listen, it's not what it looked like. There were so many people watching. I couldn't embarrass her. Or myself."

I nodded, smiling lightly. "Uh-huh. I understand."

He stared at me, confused. "Wait. Are you saying that, or are you just being sarcastic because you're jealous?"

I laughed softly. "Lorenzo, what's there to be jealous about?"

At that moment Sabina hurried out after us too, but in her high heels she stumbled, and just as she reached us her ankle gave way beneath her.