Chapter 2

Clara

Toby finally exhausted himself and fell asleep. I left his room and walked downstairs in the dark.

I sat alone in the living room. I pulled out my phone and logged into a burner account.

Dominic had no idea it existed.

For weeks, he had been working late and taking sudden overnight trips. My gut told me something was wrong.

I brought up Bianca's page. I scrolled through the profile she used to flaunt her new life. The latest post was a photo of a man in a crisp white suit.

The face was cropped out. The jawline wasn't.

A faint, jagged scar rested just below his ear. I knew that scar. I kissed it this morning.

I swiped to the next photo. His hand was locked tightly with hers. A pale tan line marked his ring finger—he had taken off his wedding band for the picture. A platinum Patek Philippe wrapped around his wrist. I bought him that watch for his thirtieth birthday.

Bianca wore it to a cartel gala last month. She flashed it in front of the other wives and loudly bragged she was holding it for someone special.

The caption read: Some promises never expire.

I dropped the phone. I walked straight into Dominic's study.

Under his laptop lay a small mahogany box. He always said it held sensitive cartel flash drives. Out of respect, I never opened it.

Not tonight. I grabbed a steel letter opener and snapped the lock.

There was no cartel data inside. Just an old Polaroid of Bianca. I flipped it over. Scribbled on the back, in his messy handwriting, was the exact same phrase.

I slumped back into his heavy leather chair. I waited for the room to stop spinning.

The sudden "business" trips. The burner account hidden in plain sight. He didn't just slip up. He planned this meticulously. He built a second life in the gaps between our family dinners and syndicate meetings. And he did it while sleeping right next to me.

I picked up my phone. I texted Sarah, my oldest friend and a ruthless corporate fixer.

Is that offshore logistics job in Zurich still open?

Her reply came instantly. For you? Always.

Months ago, she asked me to partner with a Swiss trading firm. She offered a massive stake with no cash buy-in. They just wanted my operational brains. I turned her down because I refused to uproot my family.

Now I typed: I'll take it. I also need a shark of a lawyer. Someone who can file a cross-border divorce. I need to permanently rip a cartel boss's custody rights away. By tomorrow morning.

A heavy pause followed. The typing bubble appeared, then vanished.

Then: I'll call you in five. Are you safe right now?

I stared at the screen. It was the first time in years someone actually worried about my safety.

Dominic walked through the front door at midnight.

His suit jacket was slung over his shoulder, the top buttons of his shirt undone. The sharp smell of expensive bourbon hit me first. Right beneath it was the undeniable, cheap scent of Bianca's floral perfume. A faint smear of red lipstick stained his lapel.

"Still awake?" He flashed a cocky, tired smile. "Waiting up for me? You should know better by now, Clara. The business doesn't punch a clock."

He walked straight past me and headed for the stairs.

Years ago, he would have come to me first. No matter the blood or the stress on his shoulders, he used to bury his face in my neck to ground himself. Now, I was just a piece of furniture.

I stood in the dark hallway. The shower clicked on in the master bath.

A quiet sniffle broke the silence.

Toby was crying.

I pushed his bedroom door open. He sat up against his pillows, clutching the old iPad I let him use for games.

"Bad dream, buddy?" I whispered, sitting on the edge of his bed.

He shook his head hard. He turned the glowing screen toward me.

I looked at it. Another post from Bianca. Her daughter, Chloe, sat at a massive pink grand piano right in the middle of a luxury penthouse. The little girl beamed at the camera.

The caption read: Thank you to the best daddy in the world.

Toby tapped the glass screen. His narrow shoulders shook. "I saw Dad looking at this piano on his phone yesterday," he choked out.

My chest seized.

"Dad always said that game console cost too much," Toby whispered. Tears spilled down his cheeks. "But he bought her a giant piano. Is a piano cheaper?"

"No, sweetheart," I said softly.

"Oh."

That single, hollow word shattered me.

Dominic always preached that a mafia heir had to learn restraint. Toys made boys soft. A future Don needed to know how to go without. When I bought Toby ice cream after a hard day, Dominic accused me of spoiling him. When Toby begged for a cheap set of watercolors last month, Dominic told him to use what he had.

But a fake daughter got a custom piano. She got to call him Daddy.

"Did I ask wrong?" Toby whispered, wiping his nose aggressively. "Is that why he doesn't want to buy me things?"

I grabbed the iPad and tossed it face-down on the nightstand.

"No, baby. You didn't do a single thing wrong."

I laid down next to him. I pulled him tight against my chest and held him until he finally cried himself to sleep.

I left his room and walked into the master bedroom.

Dominic stepped out of the bathroom, roughly toweling his damp hair.

"You promised to bring Toby something," I said. My voice was dead flat.

He winced, waving it off like a minor annoyance.

"Forgot. I'll buy the kid something next time." He dropped onto the edge of the bed and casually reached out, gripping my waist. "Besides, you know how I run things, Clara. The kid needs to learn he doesn't get a prize just for existing."

I stared down at his hand. I didn't argue.

I just calmly pushed his hand right off me.