I called for a car to take me back to the Salvatore compound. It was almost dawn when Xavier stumbled through the front door in a delirious state, reeking of whiskey and something else. The unsteady rhythm of his shoes against the marble foyer pulled me from the thin, restless sleep I had barely managed. When he pushed open the bedroom door and saw me wide awake, propped against the headboard with swollen eyes, he froze. I watched the gears turn behind his handsome face as he scrambled for an excuse.
Rather than explain himself, he went on the offensive. "Where were you the past three days? I came home and the house was empty."
I simply turned my body away from him, facing the wall.
"Are you pretending to be angry with me now?" His voice softened, edged with the careful charm he used when he sensed he was losing ground.
"No espresso for me tonight? You always make it when I come home late."
"I'm tired."
The cold finality of those two words made him pause. He sighed, and after a moment I heard the rustle of fabric as he adjusted the duvet over my shoulders, tucking it around me with a gentleness that might have moved me once.
"You're carrying our child, Mia. You should rest well." He settled onto the edge of the bed, and the scent hit me like a slap. Fruity. Sweet. A woman's perfume that was not mine, clinging to the collar of his shirt, woven into the threads of his jacket. It filled the room, suffocating and obscene.
I sat up. Without a word, I gathered my pillow and the blanket and moved toward the door.
"Mia?"
"I don't feel comfortable here." I pulled the door shut behind me before he could see the tears spilling down my cheeks.
Through the closed door, I could picture him staring at the empty space beside him in bewildered silence.
The next morning I left the compound before the first light had fully broken, before Xavier stirred from whatever guilty sleep had claimed him. I drove myself to the Salvatore family's legitimate front, the import-export firm that laundered the Jade Quarter's revenue through shipping manifests and customs paperwork. My desk was in the back office, far from the gilded conference rooms where the real deals were made, and that suited me fine.