I Heard My Husband Plan My Replacement

I decided to go to the front office. Aside from being Sebastiano's wife, I was also an architect. I told myself it was to drop off the revised schematics for the coastal development project, but deep down, a darker instinct was driving me. I needed to see him in his element. I needed to see if the rot I had discovered in my home had spread to the operation I helped build. I walked through the heavy oak doors of the Dalessio real estate firm, clutching the roll of blueprints like a shield. Usually, my arrival was met with warm smiles and respectful nods. Today, the atmosphere shifted the moment my heels clicked against the marble floor. The front-desk associate, a young girl named Rosa who usually gushed over my outfits, froze mid-typing. Her eyes widened, darting from me to the private elevator and back. Her hand moved instinctively toward the phone, then stopped. She straightened the stapler, then the pen cup, as if the small act of ordering her desk could impose order on the situation unfolding around her. "Mrs. Dalessio," she stammered, half-rising from her chair. "We… we weren't expecting you today." "I'm here to see Sebastiano," I said, forcing a pleasant smile that felt like it might crack my face. "Is he in?" "He's… he's in a sit-down," she lied. I could tell. She was terrible at it. Her gaze kept flickering to the phone, as if she wanted to warn him. "That's fine," I said, breezing past her before she could stop me. "I have a key. I'll wait." I walked toward the private elevator reserved for Family. I reached the top floor. The executive suite was quiet, the plush carpet swallowing the sound of my footsteps. Old photographs of Don Dalessio with senators and cardinals lined the hallway walls, watching me pass. I approached Sebastiano's office, the heavy mahogany double doors looming at the end of the hall. I was about to knock when I heard it. It was faint at first, muffled by the wood, but unmistakable. A low, guttural groan. Then, a giggle. My hand hovered inches from the wood. "Sssh, quiet down," Sebastiano's voice came through, strained and breathless. "Someone might hear us." "Let them hear," Catalina's voice purred, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the desk. "I'm tired of being quiet, Sebastiano. You're the Boss's heir. You can do what you want." "Not yet, baby. Not yet. Just… turn around." The sounds that followed, the wet, rhythmic friction of skin on skin, the stifled moans, tore through me sharper than any scalpel. I couldn't breathe. The hallway seemed to spin. I wanted to kick the door down. I wanted to scream until my throat bled. But the humiliation was a heavy, suffocating blanket. If I went in there now, I wouldn't just be the betrayed wife; I would be the hysterical, crazy woman. The Castellano name would become a joke whispered from one crew to the next across five boroughs. I backed away. My legs felt like jelly, but I forced them to move. I retreated, not to the elevator, but to the ladies' room down the hall. I pushed into the handicap stall and locked the door, leaning my forehead against the cool metal partition. I gasped for air, trying to steady the violent shaking of my hands. A moment later, the bathroom door opened. The click-clack of heels echoed on the tiles. "Did you see her?" a voice whispered. "I know," another voice replied. "Mrs. Dalessio. She walked right past my desk. She looked… oblivious." "It's so embarrassing," Gianna said, her voice dropping conspiratorially low even though she clearly thought no one else was there. I heard the sound of water running, the pump of soap. "Do you think she knows? About Catalina?" "How could she not? Catalina is practically sitting in his lap during meetings. She walks around here like she owns the place. Wearing those tight skirts, giggling at everything he says." "God, poor wife," Gianna sighed. The pity in her voice was worse than the malice. "She just lost a baby, right? And now her husband is banging his courier in the middle of the workday." "Men are trash," the second woman said. "But honestly? Bianca is kind of… weak, isn't she? I mean, everyone in the office knows. The associates know. The soldiers on the door know. If I were her, I would have burned this place down by now. But she just smiles and brings him lunch." "She's probably in denial. Or maybe she just wants to keep the money." "Should we tell him?" Gianna asked. "That she's here? She might walk in on them." "No way!" the other girl hissed. "Are you crazy? We'd be cut loose by morning. Sebastiano would blame us for letting her up. Let's just wait. After all, Mrs. Dalessio seems weak. She didn't even confront them when she walked past the office earlier. She probably heard them and ran away." They laughed. A cruel, sharp sound that echoed off the tiled walls. The door swung shut. Silence returned. I sat there, staring at the floor. Weak. Oblivious. Everyone knows. The shame burned through my veins, hotter than the grief. I wasn't just a victim; I was a spectacle. My entire life, my tragedy, was water-cooler gossip for the associates I worked alongside. They were laughing at me. They were betting on how long it would take for me to break. I stood up. I wiped the tears from my cheeks with a rough paper towel. I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were red, but they were dry. The woman staring back at me didn't look weak anymore. She looked dangerous. My right hand drifted to my bare collarbone, fingers pressing the hollow where my mother's gold crucifix used to rest. I had taken it off the night I discovered the truth, and I had never put it back on. The skin there was smooth, empty, final. I let my hand drop. I didn't go back to Sebastiano's office. I didn't throw a tantrum. I walked out of the bathroom, my spine steel-straight. I walked past the reception desk, ignoring Rosa's panicked look. "Tell Sebastiano I stopped by," I said, my voice calm, devoid of emotion. "Tell him I left the blueprints. And tell him to enjoy his… sit-down." I walked out of the building, into the blinding afternoon sun. I hailed a taxi, giving the driver an address I had looked up weeks ago, back when I thought I was just being paranoid. The consigliere-for-hire kept his office in a glass tower on the other side of the city, far from any territory the Five Families claimed openly. I was ushered into the office of Vincent Palladino, a counselor known for tearing blood-bound alliances apart and making the dissolution stick even when both Families wanted blood. He looked up from his desk, surprised to see me without an appointment. He reached for the pen beside his legal pad, aligned it perfectly parallel to the edge, and left it there. "Mrs. Dalessio," he said, standing up. "This is unexpected. Is everything alright?" I sat down in the leather chair opposite him. I placed my hands on his desk. They weren't shaking anymore. "I want to divorce my husband," I said, the words tasting like freedom. "I don't care about his assets or anything. File the papers now. I just want it done in three days."

The taxi ride home was a blur of city lights and vibrating anxiety. My phone, resting on the seat beside me, had been buzzing incessantly for the last twenty minutes. Sebastiano: Where are you? Sebastiano: Rosa said you came by. Why didn't you come in? Sebastiano: Bianca, answer me. I'm worried. Sebastiano: Are you okay? Call me. I watched the notifications stack up on the lock screen, each one a measure of his guilt. He wasn't worried about my safety; he was worried about his exposure. He was terrified that I had stood outside that door and heard the sounds of his betrayal. He was calculating the damage, wondering if his carefully constructed house of cards was about to collapse. I didn't reply. I simply reached over, held the power button, and watched the screen go black. I leaned my head back against the seat, closing my eyes. I needed to think. I needed to calibrate my performance. I had set the wheels in motion with the consigliere-for-hire, but I still had to play the part of the oblivious, doting wife for just a little longer. I needed to lull him into a false sense of security before I pulled the rug out from under him. When the taxi pulled up to the driveway, I saw Sebastiano's car parked haphazardly near the entrance, as if he had arrived in a rush. Catalina's car was there too, tucked discreetly to the side. Of course she was here. She was like a parasite I couldn't shake. I paid the driver and walked up the steps. The front door was unlocked. As I stepped into the foyer, voices drifted from the living room. They were arguing, their tones hushed but frantic. "So what?" Catalina's voice was sharp, dismissive. "If she heard us, she would have stormed in! She would have screamed! You know her, Sebastiano. She's emotional. She wouldn't just walk away." "You don't know that," Sebastiano hissed back. "She's been acting strange since the miscarriage. Quiet. Detached. What if she's planning something?" "You're being paranoid," Catalina scoffed. "Maybe she just dropped off the papers and left. Maybe she didn't hear anything. So maybe not? Why are you freaking out?" "And what if she did?" Sebastiano's voice rose, cracking with stress. "What if she dissolves the union? Huh? Do you know what happens then? The arrangement with the European partners, the Castellano alliance, it's contingent on this marriage holding. My grandfather will strip me of everything if I cause a breach now. I lose everything, Catalina. Everything!" "So you care more about the Family than us?" "I care about our future! Which requires the Family!" I took a deep breath, plastered a confused smile on my face, and walked into the room. "What is all the commotion?" I asked, my voice light and airy. Both of them jumped. Sebastiano spun around, his face pale, sweat beading on his forehead. Catalina looked like she had swallowed a lemon, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. "Bianca!" Sebastiano breathed out, rushing toward me. He looked like he wanted to grab me, shake me, and hug me all at once. "Oh god, Bianca. I thought something happened to you." He reached for my hands, his grip clammy. "I've been calling and texting you for an hour! Why is your phone off? Where have you been?" I looked at him, widening my eyes in innocent surprise. "My phone? Oh, it must have died. I forgot to charge it last night. I'm sorry, did I worry you?" "Worry me? I was out of my mind!" He searched my face, looking for any sign of anger, any hint that I knew. "Rosa told me you came to the office. Why didn't you come inside? I was… I was in a sit-down, but I would have stepped out for you." "I didn't want to disturb you," I said, shrugging. "Rosa looked so stressed, and I heard you were busy. I just wanted to drop off the blueprints for the development project." "But where did you go after?" he pressed, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You've been gone for hours." I paused. I let the silence stretch for just a second too long, watching his pulse jump in his neck. "Oh, something came up," I said casually. "I needed to go to the counselor for the dissolution papers," I said simply. The room went deathly silent. You could hear a pin drop. Sebastiano looked like he had been punched in the gut. Somewhere deeper in the house, the grandfather clock ticked once, twice, into nothing. "What… what do you mean dissolution?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "Bianca? What? Are you… are you breaking the union?" I watched him squirm. I watched the terror in his eyes, not of losing me, but of losing his standing, his name, his grandfather's protection. It was pathetic. Then, I threw my head back and laughed. "Oh my god, look at your face!" I giggled, slapping his arm playfully. "Do you want a dissolution, Sebastiano? Is that it?" He blinked, confused, his brain struggling to catch up. "What? No! No, of course not! Baby, you're… you're kidding?" "Of course I am!" I said, stepping into his space and wrapping my arms around his neck. I felt his body sag with relief. "Why on earth would I dissolve a blood-bound union with my loving husband? You're the best thing that ever happened to me." I kissed him. It was a performance worthy of an Oscar. I pressed my lips to his, humming contentedly, while staring directly at Catalina over his shoulder. Her face was a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, her knuckles white. I pulled back, smiling up at Sebastiano. "I went to the counselor to update my will, silly. After the accident… it just made me think about things. About protecting us. Making sure the assets are clean, the trusts are in order." "Oh," Sebastiano exhaled, a nervous laugh bubbling up from his chest. "Right. A will. That makes sense. God, Bianca, don't joke like that. You nearly gave me a heart attack." "I would only dissolve the union if you violated it," I said, my voice turning serious for a split second. "Just like the Ferrara family. Did you hear? The husband was sleeping with one of his associates. Can you imagine? Throwing away an alliance, a bloodline, for a cheap fling? His father-in-law sent two men to his office. It's disgusting." Sebastiano stiffened against me. His thumb moved, barely perceptible, rolling the wedding band around his ring finger. "Yeah," he choked out. "Disgusting. I would never do that to you, Bianca. I promise." "I know," I cooed. "You're a good man." I turned my head slightly, locking eyes with Catalina again. "Well," I said, running a hand down Sebastiano's chest. "If you love me so much, how about you show me? Kiss me again." "Bianca, we have company," Sebastiano murmured, though he didn't pull away. He was too relieved, too desperate to keep up the charade. "Catalina doesn't mind," I said, my voice dripping with sweetness. "She's practically family. Right, Catalina?" Catalina didn't answer. She looked like she was about to explode. I pulled Sebastiano down and kissed him again, harder this time, making a show of it. I let my hands wander, staking my claim on the property she thought she had stolen. "Let's go upstairs," I whispered loudly enough for her to hear. "Let's make love. I want to feel you." Sebastiano hesitated, glancing at Catalina, but he was trapped. "Okay," he said. "Okay, baby." I pulled away, patting his cheek. "I'll just go take a shower first. I feel gross from the city. You stay here. Go finish whatever business you have with her." I gestured vaguely at Catalina. "And Catalina," I added, flashing her a bright, venomous smile. "Thanks for keeping him company while I was gone. You can see yourself out, right?" I didn't wait for an answer. I turned and walked toward the stairs, swaying my hips. As I climbed, I glanced back once. Catalina was staring at Sebastiano, her eyes burning with betrayal and humiliation. Sebastiano was rubbing his temples, looking like a man who was drowning. I made it to the bedroom and closed the door. The smile vanished instantly. I rushed to the bathroom and scrubbed my lips with the back of my hand until they burned. I turned on the shower to drown out any noise. I sat on the edge of the tub, my heart pounding. My right hand drifted to my bare collarbone, fingers pressing against the hollow where my mother's gold crucifix used to rest. I held them there until the trembling stopped. My phone, which I had turned back on, buzzed on the counter. I picked it up. A message from Uncle Lorenzo. Uncle Lorenzo: Everything is ready now. The jet is fueled. The transfer is approved. You can leave whenever you want. I stared at the screen. "Soon," I whispered to the empty room. "Just one more act."

I stood in front of the full-length mirror, smoothing the silk of my emerald green gown. It was backless, elegant, and expensive — armor for the battlefield. Sebastiano had booked a private dinner cruise on the harbor, one of the Family's restaurant boats that ran along the waterfront under the guise of a luxury charter service. The kind of vessel where the captain didn't ask questions and the waitstaff had all signed documents they'd never read. It was his way of cementing the lie, of proving to himself and to me that we were the perfect, happy couple he needed for Don Dalessio's approval. I walked downstairs. Sebastiano was waiting in the foyer, checking his watch. He looked dashing in his tuxedo, the very picture of a devoted husband. The two soldiers stationed by the front entrance had already opened the doors of the black sedan idling in the drive. "You look breathtaking," he said, looking up. The admiration in his eyes was real, which only made it more pathetic. He loved the trophy, not the woman. "Thank you," I said, descending the last few steps. "Are we ready to go?" "The car is waiting." He offered me his arm. Just as we were about to step out the door, the click of heels echoed from the hallway. We both turned. Catalina was standing there. She was wearing a dress that was less of a garment and more of a suggestion. It was a shimmering, silver slip that barely covered her thighs, with a neckline that plunged dangerously low. Her makeup was heavy, smoky and seductive, and her lips were painted a dark, bruised crimson. Sebastiano stiffened beside me. His grip on my arm tightened. "Where are you going?" he asked, his voice sharp. Catalina smirked, adjusting the strap of her purse. "Out. It's Friday night, Sebastiano. I'm going to a club." "Like that?" Sebastiano snapped, stepping away from me. "You're practically naked, Catalina. Go upstairs and change." Catalina rolled her eyes, a petulant gesture that grated on my nerves. "Why should I? You're not my boyfriend." The words hung in the air, heavy with double meaning. "I am your boss," Sebastiano countered, his voice rising. "And I am your brother's closest associate. Nico told me to watch over you while you're staying here. What if something happens to you dressed like that? What kind of message are you sending?" "I can take care of myself," Catalina shot back. "Nothing will happen. I'm just going to a party. Maybe find a boyfriend. Someone who actually has time for me." She shot a pointed, venomous look at Sebastiano. I watched them, a silent observer to their twisted dynamic. This wasn't protective concern for a friend's sister. This was jealousy. Pure, green-eyed jealousy. He couldn't stand the thought of another man touching what he considered his property. "You are not going out like that," Sebastiano growled. "Watch me." Catalina turned toward the door. "Stop!" Sebastiano lunged forward, grabbing her arm. He looked frantic. He looked at me, then back at her, his mind racing to find a solution that kept her close and me oblivious. "Just come with us," he blurted out. I blinked. "Excuse me?" Sebastiano turned to me, his smile strained. "Let's just bring her along, Bianca. To the cruise." "No," I said, my voice cold. "Why would she come? It's our date, Sebastiano. A romantic dinner." "Come on, honey," Sebastiano pleaded, sweating slightly. "You know how she is. She's just a kid. If she goes out to a club alone, she'll get into trouble. Nico would kill me if anything happened to her. It's safer if she's with us." "She is a grown woman," I said, crossing my arms. "She can make her own decisions. I don't want a third wheel on our date." "It's okay," Catalina said, pulling her arm from his grip. Her voice was thick with mock hurt. "She doesn't want me there. I get it. I'll just go find some fun elsewhere." She turned to leave again. "Dammit, Bianca!" Sebastiano snapped at me. The mask slipped completely. His eyes were blazing with irrational anger. "Why are you being so difficult? It's just dinner! Why can't you be more understanding?" I stared at him. The audacity was breathtaking. "Why are you getting mad?" I asked calmly. "You're shouting at your wife because she wants to have dinner alone with you? Is that unreasonable?" I stepped closer to him. "Choose, Sebastiano," I said softly. "Between me and her. Do you want a date with your wife, or do you want to babysit your secretary?" Sebastiano looked between us. He looked at Catalina, who was waiting with a smug challenge in her eyes. He looked at me, standing firm. He knew he couldn't choose her without blowing his cover. He clenched his jaw. "Fine. It's you. It's always you, Bianca." He turned to Catalina. "Stay home. Please." "Whatever," Catalina scoffed. She turned on her heel and stormed back upstairs. The cruise should have been romantic. The city skyline glittered against the dark water, the food was exquisite, and a violinist played softly in the corner. Beyond the polished railing, the harbor lights of the Dalessio-controlled waterfront stretched south, every pier and warehouse a piece of the empire Sebastiano was supposed to inherit. But Sebastiano wasn't there. Physically, he sat across from me. Mentally, he was miles away. He barely touched his wine. His leg bounced nervously under the table. Every two minutes, he checked his phone, hiding the screen under the tablecloth. His thumb drifted to his wedding band, turning it once, twice, though for once I doubted it was me he was thinking about. "Is everything okay?" I asked, cutting into my steak. "What? Yes. Yes, fine. Just… work messages," he muttered, not looking up. I knew who he was texting. I knew he was tracking her, pleading with her, probably promising her the moon to keep her from going out. Suddenly, his phone buzzed loudly on the table. He snatched it up. His face went white. He stood up so abruptly his chair screeched against the deck. "I have to go," he said. "What?" I put down my fork. "Sebastiano, we haven't even had dessert. What is it?" "It's Catalina," he said, panic making his voice shrill. "She went out. She's at a bar downtown. She… she says some guys are harassing her. She's scared." "Call someone then," I said, taking a sip of my wine. "You have an entire crew at your disposal." "No! I have to go get her. She's hysterical." He was already moving, buttoning his jacket with trembling hands. "I'm sorry, Bianca. I'll make it up to you. I promise. Just… finish dinner. The driver will take you home." He didn't wait for my answer. He didn't kiss me goodbye. He turned and ran toward the exit, desperate to save his mistress, leaving his wife alone in the middle of the harbor. I watched him go. I didn't cry. I didn't feel a thing. I finished my wine slowly, savoring the rich, oaky flavor. I signaled the waiter. "Check, please," I said. "And pack the dessert to go." When I got home, the house was empty. The soldiers at the gate had let me through without a word, and the hallway was dark. They were probably together now, him comforting her, her gloating that she had won. But it was okay because in two days I'd be gone, and he'd receive the best anniversary gift ever.

The night before our anniversary, I had finished packing the last of my essentials when I heard them. It was coming from the guest room down the hall. Catalina's room. They probably thought I was already sleeping. I walked softly down the hallway, my phone already in my hand, the camera app open. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling onto the carpet. I didn't need to see them to know what they were doing. The sounds were unmistakable, the frantic, desperate rhythm of two people trying to consume each other. But then the noises stopped, replaced by the sharp tone of Catalina's voice. "I hate it," she spat. "I saw the box, Sebastiano. The necklace you bought for her. Real diamonds. Vintage. You told me you were getting her something cheap!" "Baby, keep your voice down. She might wake up." Sebastiano soothed, though he sounded breathless. "It's just a prop. It's for appearances. Tomorrow is the Feast. The anniversary. The old man's making the succession announcement. I have to look like the devoted husband. If I put costume jewelry on a Castellano, every Family from here to Sicily will know something's wrong." "I wanted that necklace," Catalina whined. "You promised me diamonds." "I'll buy you ten necklaces. Better ones. Once this is over. Once the Don signs the papers and I'm anointed." I held the phone steady, angling the lens through the crack in the door. I caught them clearly. Sebastiano sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, and Catalina kneeling between his legs, clutching the sheets. "I'm tired of waiting, Sebastiano," Catalina said, her voice trembling with a mix of lust and fury. "I'm tired of being the secret. I want something that binds us. Something she can't take away." She looked up at him, her eyes wild. "Make me pregnant," she demanded. "Right now. Make me pregnant." Sebastiano hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Cat, we talked about this. The timing…" "Prove it!" she hissed. "Prove you love me more than her. Put a baby in me, Sebastiano. Make me the mother of your heir." Sebastiano groaned, his resistance crumbling under her touch. "Okay. Okay, baby. Anything you want." He pulled her down onto the mattress. I didn't look away. I didn't feel sick. I felt a cold, clinical satisfaction. I pressed the record button, capturing every word, every promise, every betrayal. I let it run for a full minute, ensuring the audio was crisp, the faces identifiable. Then I stopped the recording. I saved the file to the cloud, then to a secure folder, then sent a copy to my consigliere. The next evening, the Grand Ballroom of the Dalessio estate was a sea of tuxedos and designer gowns. Every Family of consequence had sent representatives. Capos, underbosses, their wives glittering like armored saints. It was the event of the season, and everyone in the room understood what it really was: a coronation dressed as a celebration. I wore the necklace. The diamonds felt heavy and cold against my throat, a collar of ownership I was about to snap. Sebastiano was at my side, his hand resting possessively on the small of my back. He played the part perfectly, smiling for the photographers, laughing at the right moments, leaning in to whisper endearments that meant nothing. "You look magnificent, Bianca," he said for the benefit of the photographer flashing bulbs in our faces. "Happy Anniversary, darling," I replied, my smile dazzling. We moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations from men who killed for a living and women who pretended not to know. Catalina was there, of course. She was wearing a red dress that clashed with the decor, hovering near the champagne tower, her eyes tracking us with predatory intensity. Then the music lowered. A spotlight hit the stage. Don Dalessio slowly walked up to the microphone. He looked frail, but his eyes were sharp. Two soldiers flanked the steps, though they stepped back the moment his hand touched the podium. The room went still the way rooms always went still for him. Not quiet. Still. "Tonight," the old man wheezed, his voice amplified across the silent room. "We celebrate not just a union, but a legacy. A legacy of family. Stability. Loyalty." He raised a glass toward us. "To my grandson, Sebastiano. And to his lovely wife, Bianca. It is because of her strength, her grace, and her unwavering support that I feel confident in handing over the reins of this Family. A man who cannot keep a home cannot keep an empire. But Sebastiano… he has chosen well." Applause thundered. Sebastiano squeezed my waist, beaming. He thought he had won. He thought the keys to the kingdom were in his pocket. "I love you," he whispered to me. "I know," I lied. The reception began. The crowd swarmed us. I played the dutiful wife for twenty more minutes. Then I felt Sebastiano's hand slip away. "I need to use the restroom," he muttered, patting his pocket where his phone was vibrating. I watched him go. He didn't head to the restroom. He headed toward the service corridors, past the kitchen, toward the back of the estate. I glanced toward the bar. Catalina was gone. They couldn't help themselves. Even on the most important night of his life, with the Don watching, with every Capo in the tri-state area raising glasses to his name, they had to sneak away for a quick thrill. They probably thought they were invincible. It was perfect. I didn't hesitate. I didn't say goodbye to anyone. My right hand drifted to my bare collarbone, fingers pressing the hollow where my mother's crucifix used to rest. I held them there for one breath. Two. Then I dropped my hand. And I simply turned and walked toward the main exit. I moved through the lobby, past the security detail, and out into the cool night air where a black sedan was waiting, engine running, headlights dark. "To the airfield," I said to the driver. "Step on it." I was standing at the gate, the boarding pass in my hand, when my phone began to buzz. I looked at the screen. Hubby. He must have returned to the ballroom. He must have looked for his trophy wife to stand by his side for the final toast, only to find empty air. I let it ring. It stopped, then rang again immediately. Then the texts started pouring in. Sebastiano: Bianca? Where are you? Sebastiano: People are asking for you. Grandpa is looking for you. Sebastiano: Stop playing games. This isn't funny. Come back to the ballroom. Sebastiano: Bianca! Pick up the damn phone! I could imagine the panic setting in. The Don, scanning the room. The Capos, watching. The whisper moving table to table like a slow knife: Where is his wife? I didn't answer the call. Instead, I typed a single message. To: Hubby "I'm tired, so I went home. Can you please come home, too? I have your gift here in our room. Happy Anniversary, Sebastiano." I hit send then blocked his number. I dropped the phone into my bag, picked up my carry-on, and walked down the jet bridge. I didn't look back.