Five years of marriage, and I had never once considered it. Five years of quietly channeling the Valente name, the Valente connections, the Valente protection into the foundation of his syndicate, watching him rise from a mid-tier operator to a Don who commanded respect at every sit-down on the Eastern Seaboard. And not once, through all of it, had the word divorce crossed my mind. But the first time the thought came, it came with a force that nearly knocked me sideways.
Not paperwork. Not a legal filing. In this world, dissolving a marriage meant severing a blood-alliance. It meant the Valente Family formally withdrawing its protection from the Rossetti operation. Every alliance Tomasso believed he'd built on his own, every territory he held, every time the Feds had looked the other way. All of it traced back to my bloodline. And the moment that protection was gone, every enemy he'd ever made would know it within the hour.
The thought should have terrified me. Instead, it settled into my chest like the first breath after drowning.