But I was done. Done with the Volpe Family, done with their politics and their cruelty, done with loving a man who had never learned to love me back.
Washington territory awaited.
And with it, a new life—or at least the ghost of one.
The private flight to America was scheduled for four in the afternoon.
At noon, the courier arrived at my door with the court's dissolution papers—the formal severance of our blood-bound union, stamped and sealed by Giudice Enzo Moretti himself.
From this moment forward, I was no longer bound to the Volpe name.
I was free.
My phone vibrated against the marble countertop, the sound sharp in the silence of the empty safe house.
A message from Nico.
One o'clock. The café beneath the Social Club. We need to talk.
I stared at the screen for a long moment, the blue light casting shadows across my scarred right hand. Then I made my decision.
I would go.