Seven Years of Omertà

The fondness in his voice. The ease of the gesture. I catalogued it the way I'd catalogued a thousand moments like it over seven years, each one a small cut I'd trained myself not to bleed from. But tonight was different. Tonight I was already packed. Tonight I was already gone in every way that mattered.

Watching him, I knew this was my moment. I reached into my bag and pulled out the document I'd been carrying since morning. My formal severance of allegiance, typed on plain paper, stripped of any sentimentality.

"Dominic," I said, stepping forward, "one of my associates has a family emergency and needs to leave. I'll need you to sign off on this."

Technically, the family's internal operations handler should've processed it. But since it was me, the paperwork had been sent back to me directly. Even in bureaucracy, the Sloane household knew whose problems belonged to whom.

The lighting in the room was dim, casting shadows across Dominic's face. He didn't even glance at the letter as he scribbled his signature, his attention focused entirely on the birthday celebrant. The pen moved with the careless authority of a man who signed things that ended careers and began wars with the same flick of his wrist.

He didn't read it. He didn't read it because it came from me, and nothing that came from me had warranted his full attention in years.

Just as I was about to take the letter back, Dominic's hand shot out, grabbing mine. His expression shifted, his brow furrowing as he stared at my hand.

"You… You came here just for this?" he asked, his tone low and unreadable.

I nodded.

His face darkened again, and for a second, I thought he was going to say something. The silver lighter was nowhere in sight, both his hands occupied, one holding my wrist and the other frozen at his side. But then he flinched, pulling his hand back like he'd been burned.

I realized his fingers had brushed the burn marks on my palm, the ones from making the cake. The fondant had required a sugar syrup heated to the point of blistering, and my hands had paid the price for his gesture toward another woman.

He must've been disgusted.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Penelope's eyes light up with sudden interest. She leaned forward, and I caught the motion before the words came. The strand of hair, tucked behind her left ear, slow and deliberate.

"Oh! Olivia! That red bracelet you're wearing… It looks quite familiar," she said, leaning in. Her smile widened. "I just remembered, a few days ago, I saw something just like that in Dominic's trash can."

The room temperature dropped. Not literally, but I felt it in the way two associates near the door exchanged a glance and found somewhere else to look. Penelope had just announced, in a room full of people who understood the significance of symbols, that whatever token bound me to the Don had been discarded like garbage.

I watched Dominic subtly move his hand to cover his wrist, but I pretended not to notice. Keeping my voice calm, I replied, "These bracelets are pretty common. If you like it, I can give this one to you."

Penelope didn't respond.

When I walked out of the room, the man at the door stepped aside again. This time he didn't look at me at all.

I headed straight for the nearest trash can and threw away the bracelet. I'd worn it for the past seven years, but it no longer meant anything. Just trash. The red thread hit the bottom of the bin with no sound at all, which seemed right. Seven years should make a louder noise when they end, but they don't. They just stop.

I turned to the elevator, and while waiting, my phone buzzed. It was my mother calling. "Did you buy your ticket home yet?" she asked.

"Not yet," I replied, my voice steady. "I'll book it in a few days."

Before I could hang up, I heard Dominic's voice behind me. He'd followed me out. The Don, leaving his own party to stand in a hallway.