Chapter 3

Serena POV

I took the heavy pot of expensive, slow-cooked soup in both hands. I carried it to the sink and emptied the entire contents down the drain. (I had already done this, but now I did it again—a ritual of erasure.) The thick liquid and tender meat vanished into the grinding disposal. I turned on the cold water. I washed away every trace of my domestic efforts.

I dried my hands on a linen towel. I stepped into my home office and opened my secure email.

There was a message there from the Syndicate's European division. It was the confirmation I had requested months ago, back when I thought Julian and I might need to expand our territory. Now, it was simply my exit strategy.

The email confirmed my transfer to oversee the Syndicate's European operations in London. I was approved.

I opened the bottom drawer of my desk and pulled out a heavy piece of parchment paper. It was the formal petition to the Don.

I picked up my fountain pen. I meticulously filled out the request for a dissolution of my blood-oath marriage.

It was an act of ultimate defiance. Women did not leave Made Men. But I was not just any woman. I was the Consigliere's daughter.

My phone buzzed on the desk.

Julian had finally replied on our secure line.

"Warehouse business. Don't wait up."

The phone lay face-down on the mahogany wood, its screen dark. I put it on silent.

I walked into the master bedroom. I pulled my custom Louis Vuitton trunks from the top shelf of the closet. I opened them on the floor and began to pack. I did not fold my clothes with care. I just took what was mine.

Just before dawn, the heavy front doors opened.

Julian walked into the bedroom. His tailored suit was damp from the rain. He stopped short in the doorway when he saw the open trunks.

His authoritative facade cracked instantly.

"What is this?" Julian demanded. His voice was loud, filling the room with his accustomed aggressive energy. "Why are you acting out? Is this about me not coming home for dinner? I told you, I was at the warehouse."

He pointed to my phone sitting on the nightstand. "You didn't even read my message."

I stopped packing. I stood up straight and met his gaze.

"A Capo who has time to stand guard outside an apartment in the rain until dawn certainly has time to check his messages," I said. My voice was completely flat.

Julian's jaw tightened. "What are you talking about?"

I walked over to the nightstand and unlocked my tablet. I opened the video file I had saved from the flash drive. I turned the screen toward him. I pressed play.

The hacked surveillance footage filled the quiet room. The sound of the rain. The sound of Julian's voice begging outside Elena's door.

The muscles in Julian's jaw seized, and his breath caught for half a second. His throat worked, a difficult swallow, as if he were forcing down a mouthful of bloodied spit.

The dangerous, violent aura of a mafia enforcer flared around him. He stepped toward me, his hands curling into fists.

"Who leaked this intel?" Julian demanded. His eyes were wild, searching the shadowed corners of the room as if an assassin were hiding there. "Who is tracking me? Give me a name, Serena."

I looked at the man I had married. He looked like a stranger.

"There is no leak," I informed him with a calm that felt lethal. "The fixer Elena hired to manipulate you, the person she sent all your messages and photos to... was your wife."

Julian froze. His breathing stopped.

He scrambled to maintain Omertà. He desperately tried to pull the hallowed rules of the Famiglia over his betrayal.

"Elena is a civilian," Julian said quickly. He took another step toward me, his hands opening in a placating gesture. "She is just a fallen Soldier's unstable sister. I swore an oath to her brother. It is my duty to protect her. That is all this is, Serena. It's Family duty."

I listened to his excuses. I felt no anger. I felt no jealousy. I only felt a crushing exhaustion.

"You do not stand outside a door in the rain for duty," I said. "You do not buy her medicine and ignore your own wife for duty. You do not promise to make her your 'official woman' for duty."

I turned from him and threw my last pair of shoes into the trunk. I refused to entertain the lies of a man who had broken his vows.

"I am done," I declared. My voice rang with a finality that seemed to vibrate in the air as I snapped the brass locks of the trunk shut. "Your affairs and your life are no longer my concern."