He Forged a Pardon for My Mother's Killer,So I got divorced.

The Falcone soldiers walked me to the gate of the Mancini estate and left me on the wrong side of it.

It was two hours before Lorenzo finally texted me.

"Bianca just got out, after all, and she's not stable right now. Don't hold it against her. Making you apologize today was only for the Mancinis to see."

"Once I've smoothed this over, I'll come home tonight and make it up to you, all right? I told you I had something for you. Don't be upset, okay?"

But I knew the show wasn't for the Mancinis at all.

It was for me.

He'd faked this devotion for three years.

And now it was time for it to end.

I sat at home with the dissolution of the alliance, waiting until past midnight.

He still didn't come.

All that surfaced through the Family's channels was the talk of Don Falcone flying into a rage at the hospital for the sake of the woman he loved.

Bianca had nothing more than a scratch, and he'd summoned every specialist money could buy in the city to look at her.

He'd burned through a fortune in laundered cash to do it.

In the photographs that found their way to me, he held Bianca in his arms.

In his eyes was a tenderness, a softness, I had never once seen.

When dawn broke, I called him.

He didn't speak. He was busy giving orders to Marco.

"Don Falcone, you truly mean to sign the overseas hotel over to Miss Conti? That front clears hundreds of millions through the Family. Hundreds of millions, gone from our hands."

"Perhaps you should weigh this more carefully?"

"No need. Do as I say. This is the tribute I promised her. And on top of that, draw up another pact transferring half the Family's shares to Bianca."

Only after Marco had gone did Lorenzo remember the open line.

"Adriana? Sorry, I kept you waiting. I'll be home soon. Right, did you call about something?"

I looked down at the dissolution papers in my hand.

"It's nothing. You go handle your work. I won't keep you."

"Okay. Be good and wait at home for me. I'll be back soon."

I didn't keep waiting.

I signed my name on the severance of the union.

Then I took my luggage and left the house.

I went to the Feds' precinct and had them pull that written pardon for me.

I made a copy and sent it to Lorenzo.

By my count, he'd hold it in his hands right as I boarded my flight.

A full day and night, and I didn't go home.

He didn't go back either.

The countdown on my phone ran out.

The moment I boarded the plane.

That was when he finally texted.

"Adriana, I had one of my men leave the gift at the house. Why won't you open the door?"

"Are you still angry?"

"Stop sulking. Be good. Your husband will be home soon."

I looked at Bianca's latest post, just tagged at the hospital.

In the photo, a man gently spooned broth to her lips.

I didn't reply again.

After the word came through that my papers had been severed and my old name buried, I deleted every one of his contacts.

At the hospital, Marco crossed the floor fast, the forged pardon trembling in his hands, his lips pressed white before he could get the words out, his face ashen.

"Don Falcone, this is bad. Your wife has found the absolution you forged three years ago. And I can't reach her anywhere."