He Never Made Me His Wife in Ten Years,So I Made His Rival King

While the associate under our protection let his hands wander over me, Salvatore Falcone sat across the room, sharing a love-knot toast with his courier.

To keep from insulting a man whose silence we needed, I drank until the liquor turned to poison in me, until I was so sick I could barely breathe.

Salvatore never spared me a single glance. He was too busy picking the cilantro out of her bowl, murmuring for her to be a good girl and finish her food.

When the dinner ended and his courier said she was bored, he had me put out of the car so he could take her somewhere else for the night.

"The poor thing's been running herself ragged. I'm taking her out to unwind."

"You wouldn't understand the kind of thing young people enjoy, so don't tag along."

"And I intend to make sure she has a good night, so the union before the Family can wait another day."

We had held the wedding five years ago, before the whole table of capos and their wives, and this was the ninety-ninth time Salvatore had decided, alone, to put off binding our names in blood before the Family.

I nodded. If he was always this busy, then there truly was no need to bind that name at all.

…

Through the half-lowered window, Vittoria Marchetti stuck out her tongue and offered me her apology.

"So sorry, Adriana! It's just that Salvatore spoils me far too much. When he's back, I'll make him bring you a late-night plate!"

Before I could answer, Salvatore laughed and patted her head.

"Silly girl. Just because you're a greedy little thing, you think the whole world is like you?"

"Don't mind her, cara. The last thing I need is for you to eat something and start crying poison and allergies again. I don't have the patience for that act."

So it wasn't that he hadn't seen how sick I'd been. He had simply assumed, again, that I was faking it out of jealousy.

On any other night, by now I would have broken down sobbing, scrambling to explain myself, clawing at him for an answer.

This time, I said nothing. I left him with one line.

"Fine. Have fun, you two."

Salvatore froze for a beat. His right hand opened and closed once at his side, the hand that had built his whole legend, as if testing whether it still answered to him. Then he slid back into that teasing tone. "Good. As long as you don't make a scene."

The car pulled away. Right before they left, worried Vittoria might feel stuffy, he thoughtfully rolled every window all the way down.

I get carsick easily. Worst of all in Salvatore's car.

But he never once lowered a window for me.

"The wind drags dust through the whole car. Can you stop being so high-maintenance for once?"

It all came clear in my chest, quiet and final. I slipped the wedding band off my finger, the band of a name I was never given, and threw it into the black river below.

Early the next morning, I went to the Greco club to hand off my work.

From the day Salvatore first rose as the prodigy crowned too young, I had stood at his shoulder, the strategist who built the Falcone Family from shadow, the whole way.

"You're walking away from the Family? Does Salvatore know?" The old Don looked stunned. In our world, a thing like that should not be survivable.

"He'll learn soon enough, once his new consigliera arrives."

With that, I walked out of the back office and through the club toward the main hall, soldiers stepping aside as I passed.

I ran straight into Salvatore, in a fresh shirt, the warm scent of soap still clinging to him.

He rolled his wrist between his fingers and looked down at me.

"I had too much to drink last night. It wasn't safe to drive, so I took a room and slept it off alone. That's why I didn't come home."

It was the first time in ten years Salvatore had offered me an explanation without being asked.

I nodded and said nothing.

"You were called in for something this morning?" he asked.

I lifted my eyes to him, remembering how, the morning after every dinner like that, I would be up by five or six, laying out a whole table of broths and tonics to settle his head and his stomach.

It had been that way since he first took his place at eighteen, so I couldn't fault him for being puzzled, coming home to nothing this morning.

I only nodded. "Something like that."

I turned to go, and Salvatore, who had been frowning faintly this whole time, caught my hand, his face going dark.

"Adriana Costa, that's enough already."

"I'm only moving the date for binding our names. It's not as if I'm calling it off. There's no point throwing a fit over this!"