Dante actually came home early, something he hadn't done in a long time, supposedly to pick me up. For a brief second, I almost thought he might have remembered something, might have made an effort.
But the moment I stepped outside, that thought vanished.
Liliana was already in the car.
She sat in the front passenger seat, her posture elegant, her appearance flawless as always. When she saw me, she turned slightly and offered a polite, composed smile.
"Good evening, Mrs. Falcone," she greeted softly, her voice gentle and perfectly measured.
"Mr. Falcone, I've already prepared a gift for Don Salvatore," Liliana said softly, her tone gentle yet confident, as if everything was naturally under her control. "And your stomach's been acting up lately. You really shouldn't drink at the feast tonight, okay?"
Every word she said landed exactly where it should have come from me.
From the wife.
From Mrs. Falcone.
So I said nothing.
There was no space left for me to speak anyway.