He Forged a Pardon for My Mother's Killer,So I got divorced.
Chapter 2
I waited five hours.
The last light in the building went dark.
And finally, his figure appeared.
The moment he saw me, he took my hand, his face soft with concern.
"Why didn't you come up? How long have you been waiting?"
"Not long, I just got here. I know the Family's been pulling you in every direction, so I made you some soup. Your man Marco said you were in a sit-down, so I came down to wait."
"Don't bother next time. You're not strong, and it kills me to see you wear yourself out."
He pulled me into his arms and pressed a kiss to my forehead.
The same tender, gentle gesture as always.
But I couldn't feel his warmth anymore.
That one person could go this far, for someone else.
He settled me into the passenger seat and spoke as if it had only just occurred to him.
"Oh, right. Bianca's coming home soon. The two of you used to be close, after all, and she's paid her debt. Besides, the Family runs half its rackets through the Mancinis now. So maybe—"
"Mm. It's all in the past. I won't go looking for her. Don't worry."
He let out a breath, the corner of his mouth curving into a smile.
"Thanks for understanding, tesoro. Having you is the luckiest thing in my life."
I turned my head toward the window, watching the dark territory slide by while tears slipped down in silence.
Back at the estate, while he was washing up, I opened his computer.
The password was Bianca's birthday.
The wallpaper was a photo of the Maldives coast.
The place where Bianca had spent these past three years, kept far beyond any vendetta's reach.
I logged into his private account.
The banner was a photo of him and Bianca together.
His following list held exactly one person.
I clicked in, and there it was, nothing but pictures of Bianca and her life overseas.
The jewelry she wore came from the newest line the Falcone fronts moved.
The wrap draped over her shoulders was the latest piece our legitimate houses bankrolled.
Even the villa tagged in her photos was a Falcone hotel property abroad.
A hotel built exactly three years ago.
The only overseas holding the Family had ever taken on.
With shaking hands, I clicked into his transfer records.
There was only one recipient. Bianca.
A million in laundered cash a month, every month, for three years straight.
I scrolled through them one by one, and the cold sank into me an inch at a time.
I thought of the line beneath his name, just a single word.
Wait.
I'd asked him once what it meant.
He'd said it was something he'd jotted down ages ago, no reason.
But now, I think I knew the answer.
Three years of marriage, and apart from the wedding portrait on the wall.
We didn't have a single photo together.
No matter how I cried, no matter how I begged.
He'd only ever said we saw each other every day, so there was no point keeping mementos.
Only now did I understand. It wasn't that there was no point. It was that I was never the point, not to him.
I gave a small, bitter laugh and didn't read any further.
I just bought myself a one-way passage abroad for three days out, to lands beyond the Family's reach.
And filed to cancel every one of my papers, severing every channel that could be traced back.
Three days to say goodbye to three years. That was enough.
I set the countdown as my phone wallpaper, to remind myself every single day.
By the time he came out from washing up, I was already lying in bed.
Thinking I was asleep, he didn't say a word.
I didn't sleep at all that night.
At dawn, I went out to wash up.
My phone rang.
Lorenzo's voice followed, puzzled.
"Adriana, what papers did you cancel?"
I quickly grabbed the phone and explained without missing a beat.
"It's nothing. My documents lapsed, so I set up a meet to have them replaced."
"Don't you have that sit-down with the rackets today? Go on, get to it."
He didn't think twice about it. He just wrapped me up in his arms, nuzzling against my cheek.
"Thank you, tesoro. Marrying a wife as good as you is the luckiest thing in my life."
I smiled, and said nothing.
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