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.

“Lorenzo, it hurts so much,” Sabina whimpered, her voice soft and frail, her weight folding against him on the cobblestones outside the theater the Family kept as a front.

He hesitated, torn between reaching for her and the fact that I was standing right there. His expression twisted into an uncomfortable mix of guilt and indecision.

I spoke first, breaking the silence. “If it hurts that badly, you should take her to a doctor. You wouldn’t want it to turn into something serious.”

My words surprised him. He wasn’t expecting me to be so calm, so understanding.

Lorenzo’s eyes softened as he reached for my hand. “I’ll take her to the clinic our people use and come back for you. Wait for me at the entrance, okay?”

“Sure,” I replied lightly.

He looked at me a moment longer, as though searching my face for anger, for reproach, for some crack he could pour his guilt into. But I stayed composed and gave him nothing. Finally he released my hand, scooped Sabina up into his arms, and walked off.

I didn’t wait. I wasn’t going to play the fool this time.

As I was leaving, my phone buzzed. Carla, my young associate from the operation.

“Vitale Adriana,” she said, the name spoken low the way the rules demanded, “we’ve got something gone wrong on one of the jobs and nobody can read it. Could you come look?”

Without hesitation, I went.

The hours moved fast while we worked the problem, and the sky was already paling when we traced the broken thread and stitched it clean.

The younger ones showered me with praise. “You’re a genius.”

And then, reluctant to let me go again, “Are you really leaving for the Council’s operation?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“But what about the wedding?” one of them asked carefully.

“Are you really okay with leaving?”

I paused. Then I smiled. “The Council’s work matters more.”

What I didn’t say was that, for Lorenzo, my presence or absence no longer seemed to matter at all.

This world keeps spinning, with or without me.

Dragging my exhausted body home, I opened the door and she was there again.

Sabina Greco.

She was wearing one of Lorenzo’s shirts, her bare legs beneath it as she came out of the master bedroom.

When she saw me, she didn’t even flinch. “Don’t misunderstand, Adriana,” she said easily. “By the time we left the clinic it was so late. I didn’t want to go home with my parents out of the city. Lorenzo was just being considerate. He didn’t want me alone while I’m hurt.”

Before I could answer, Lorenzo stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp from a shower. When he saw me, bracing for me to come apart again, his brow drew tight, readying himself for another fight.

“Adriana,” he sighed, “I don’t want to do this with you first thing in the morning.”

“She’s coming to work with me today and had nothing to wear, so I lent her a shirt.” His fingers found his glass on the counter and tapped against it, a low restless rhythm.

“It’s fine,” I cut in.

They both froze, thrown by how calm I sounded.

Lorenzo stared at me, disbelieving, as if my composure was harder to face than any accusation.

“She slept in the guest room,” he said quickly, getting ahead of it. “Don’t read into things.”

I interrupted again, my voice steady. “I’m not reading into anything. You two grew up under the same roof. The Greco house took you in. You’ve always seen her as a sister. You told me yourself the guest room is practically hers, open to her any time, that she doesn’t need my say to come by. I remember.”

Lorenzo faltered, the fight draining out of him. When he spoke again, his voice had gone softer.

“I’m glad you can see it that way. I really want you and Sabina to get along.”

Before I could answer, the bell rang. The courier I’d arranged.

Lorenzo finally noticed the boxes stacked clean and neat across the front room.

His expression darkened as he crossed to them.

“Adriana, what is this?” he demanded, his voice tight. “You don’t want any of the things I gave you?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but he reached into one of the boxes and lifted out a small music box. Inside, a tiny figurine turned. A bride in a white gown.

His hand trembled slightly as he held it up, and I saw his eyes redden.

“You’re throwing this away too?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

That music box was from years ago, back when we had nothing, back before he’d clawed his way up through the rackets to the rank he wore now. He couldn’t afford a grand gesture or a ring then. He’d given me that little box and promised, “One day, I will make you my bride.”

I had believed him. But reality gave me a slap across the face.

Love doesn’t work when there are three people standing in it. It was too crowded.

And I didn’t want to stay anymore.

To avoid stirring anything I'd have to clean up later, I kept my voice soft. "You're reading shadows where there aren't any. I'm not throwing these things out. I'm only letting the right people handle the restoration. How could I not want them?"

The calm on my face did its work. Lorenzo's shoulders eased the way a man's do when he thinks he's just stepped off a tripwire.

"All right," he said. "I'll have someone build a whole new set of cabinets at the house. Somewhere proper to keep them."

I nodded. "Aren't the two of you due somewhere? Go. I need sleep."

With that I turned for the bedroom, and I had the door locked behind me before he could find another word.

When I woke in the afternoon I tore another day off the calendar by the window. Five left.

A message had come from Don Marchetti, my old mentor and protector on the Council, asking me to come see him about the paper that had just surfaced in the journal that mattered. Lorenzo, out of nowhere, called too. I told him I had to go up to the university. He said he was already downstairs and would take me.

Sabina was sitting in the passenger seat by the time I reached the car.

I hesitated for a single second before sliding into the back without a word.

Her laughter broke the quiet first. "Adriana, don't sulk. Lorenzo's always let me ride up front. Back when he used to drive my father's car, I'd sit beside him every time. They say riding in the back makes it feel like you've hired the man at the wheel. Like a chauffeur. Rude, you know? So I got used to it."

I wasn't sulking. I even smiled, and the warmth was real enough. "Sit wherever you like."

Lorenzo's eyes found me in the rearview mirror again and again, hunting for somewhere to land a conversation.

"On the way over," he started, fingers beginning a slow drum against the rim of his coffee cup in the console, "I heard talk about some cleaner working under the name 'Vitale Adriana.' Word is they pulled off something the Council itself can't stop praising. Real value to the whole organization. Funny thing, it's the same line of work as yours."

I said nothing. Vitale Adriana was the cover name I worked beneath, an alias Don Marchetti had bound me to under Omertà for my own safety.

Before Lorenzo could push, Sabina twisted in her seat, voice dipped in honey.

"Adriana, you've spent so many years at this, and I've never once heard your name come up like that." She gasped and pressed a hand to her mouth, theatrical. "Oh, no, I didn't mean it that way. I just say things plain. No offense!"

For half a breath the doe-eyes went flat, something cold and counting underneath. Then she remembered herself and softened it back into a pout.

Even Lorenzo's look had curdled into something close to disdain.

"Adriana," he said, every syllable padded with that patient, lowering tone, "sometimes you have to accept that people are simply built different. You've run yourself ragged for years, and it's all been aimless. After the wedding, why not let it go? I've climbed far enough that you'll never need to work another day."

I gave him nothing he could hold and turned to my phone, answering Don Marchetti. Their words had stopped reaching me a long while ago.

Two blocks from the university, Sabina asked to be let out.

"Thanks for the ride, Lorenzo. Love you!" she chirped, sliding from the car. Then, with a wink aimed squarely at me, "Sister, I'll go on ahead."

I read the name on the gates of the neighborhood and asked it lightly. "Isn't this the address of the safehouse meant for the bride?"

"Oh," Lorenzo said, easy as breathing. "She's probably calling on a friend."

I let it lie.

He felt the silence and reached to fill it. "She's still hurt. I figured I'd drop her on the way. Don't be so petty about it."

My face stayed level. "Of course. Perfectly ordinary, an older brother seeing his little sister home. Isn't it?"

The words snagged in his throat.

When we reached the university, Lorenzo pulled a great armful of flowers from the trunk and pushed them into my hands.

"I know you've been low these past few days," he said, coaxing. "I'm sorry, all right? Let this be me making it right."

"And the wedding dress, you're right, forget it ever happened. I'll have one cut for you fresh by the best designer in the city. How's that?"

His face was full of expectation, as if I owed him gratitude for the effort.

I glanced at his phone, where he was scrolling through one extravagant gown after another, but whatever interest I'd once had for it was long gone.

None of it touched me now. I was leaving soon.

I pushed the phone gently aside and pressed the flowers back into his arms. "Pick whichever you want. My mentor is waiting."

As I turned to go, Lorenzo caught my hand. "Adriana," he said, and there was a tremor in it now. "What's wrong with you? What's really going on?"

For the first time, his face held confusion, and beneath it something that looked very much like panic. Like loss.