The Trophy Husband Who Lost Everything

Bianca's face had gone an ugly shade of green. She planted her hands on her hips and flipped her hair back, lifting her chin at me.

"So, sister-in-law, you really don't plan on giving us back our tribute lines."

"Fine. You'd better not regret it!"

I didn't so much as lift an eyelid.

Regret?

The one who should regret anything had never been me.

The next morning, I was woken by the clattering downstairs.

Pots and pans banging together, on and on, until the whole estate was in an uproar.

I've always been a light sleeper.

The house staff all knew it. The soldiers posted at the doors walked softly, and not one of them would dream of making this kind of racket at dawn.

Frowning, I went downstairs.

I'd barely reached the dining room when I saw the whole Vitale family already seated around the long table, the kind of table where alliances were made and broken over Sunday gravy.

And in the kitchen, a familiar figure bustled back and forth in an apron.

Carmela.

The moment she saw me, she broke into a sweet smile.

"Good morning, Mrs. Vitale."

"Breakfast will be ready in just a minute."

As if this were her house. As if she sat at the head of it.

My brow tightened.

Before I could say a word, Bianca had already strolled over, arms crossed.

"Sister-in-law, you really ought to learn something from Carmela."

"Look how devoted she is, up at the crack of dawn making my brother his breakfast."

I gave her a flat glance.

"Your brother keeps her on the payroll."

"Does he keep me on one?"

Bianca choked on it.

"You—"

Just then Carmela came out of the kitchen carrying a big bowl of soup.

She set it gently on the table, her smile soft and harmless.

"Mrs. Vitale, really, it's no shame not knowing how to cook."

"If you'd like, I'd be happy to teach you."

"After all, once a woman is married, the most important thing is taking good care of her husband."

Then her gaze drifted to the Phantom waiting out in the courtyard, flanked by two of my men.

"That Phantom is yours, isn't it?"

"Mr. Vitale is so good to you, buying you a car that expensive."

Just the right amount of envy surfaced in her eyes.

"I really do envy you."

"Not like me. I have to work for everything myself."

Bianca jumped right in.

"Exactly!"

"Sister-in-law's been married into this family three years, and we've never once eaten a meal she cooked."

Rosaria set her fork down and folded her hands with deliberate precision.

"Adriana, it's not that I want to lecture you."

"But as a daughter-in-law, you really haven't done enough."

At last I smiled.

"Oh?"

"And who does Mamma think has done well?"

"Carmela?"

The dining room went silent in an instant.

I walked unhurriedly to the table, my eyes moving over each member of the Vitale bloodline.

"True enough."

"She gets up early to make breakfast, she does whatever you tell her, she keeps you all happy and smiling."

"But here's the thing."

"Can she hand each of you an unlimited tribute line?"

"Can she put you up in a compound worth more than a billion?"

"Can she buy you cars and put a driver in every one, so not one of you ever has to walk a step on your own?"

"Can she?"

Question after question came down on them.

Rosaria was struck speechless.

Bianca sat there with her mouth open, nothing coming out, her chin sagging from the height she'd been holding it.

Even Carmela froze with the plate in her hands.

I stepped up to her and bent down slightly.

"And one more thing."

"I'm not the kind of kept wife you imagine, living off a man."

"If you'd spent any time at all looking into the Falcone name, you'd never have said what you just did."

The color drained a little from Carmela's face.

Clearly, she'd never seriously looked into me.

Or rather.

No one in this family had ever told her what the Falcone name meant. That the money keeping every Vitale soldier fed came out of a Falcone vault.

It was right then that Vincenzo brought his cane down twice against the floor, then slammed his hand on the table.

The teacups jumped.

"Adriana Falcone!"

"What kind of attitude is this?"

"You make it sound like the whole Vitale family lives off of you!"

I turned to look at him.

My voice was calm to the point of indifference.

"Papà."

"Since you feel you don't need to rely on me."

"Then it works out perfectly."

"From now on, you can stop drawing on the Falcone line too."

One sentence.

It turned Vincenzo's face an iron gray. His cane found no room to silence anyone now.

I couldn't be bothered with them any longer. I sat straight down, picked up a breakfast roll, and took a bite.

I set it back on the plate the moment I'd tasted it.

"Mediocre."

"Nowhere near what our chef makes."

I pulled out a napkin and wiped my hands. As I did, I slid my wedding ring a quarter-turn around my finger.

"Since you all enjoy the breakfast Carmela makes."

"Let her make it every day from now on."

"As for our chef, going forward he only needs to cook for me."

Bianca let out a cold laugh.

"Sister-in-law, you really have no sense of danger, do you."

"Carmela's younger than you, prettier than you, and more devoted than you."

"Keep acting up like this and you'll find my brother doesn't want you anymore."

I looked straight at Salvatore.

"You want to dissolve the alliance?"

"Fine."

"Bring the papers."

"I'll sign them right now."

The air went still. The kind of stillness that falls over a room when men reach for what's under their jackets.

Salvatore's face changed at once.

He shot Bianca a vicious glare.

"Shut up!"

Then he hurried around behind me and started kneading my shoulders on his own.

His voice went soft.

"Sweetheart, Bianca just talks too fast."

"Don't lower yourself to her level."

"We're all one famiglia. There's no need to blow this up."

That said, he immediately called out to the others, laughing one beat too long and clapping a heavy hand on his father's shoulder.

"All right, everyone, eat up."

"Any longer and it'll go cold."

Only then did they reluctantly sit.

They'd barely picked up their forks.

When Carmela suddenly lowered her head, eyes reddening.

Her voice was so pitiful she sounded ready to cry the next second.

"Mr. Vitale."

"I'm so sorry about wrecking Mrs. Vitale's car last time."

"My driving is just terrible."

"How could I be so clumsy…"

With that, she bit her lip in distress.

That helpless, pitiable picture would have softened anyone's heart.

But I found myself smiling.

Three cars.

One into a tree.

One driven into a river.

One totaled outright.

A track record like that.

You couldn't call it bad driving anymore.

You'd have to call it precision work. The kind a soldier gets paid for.