Eventually, I walked to the window and looked out at the rain-slicked streets of the Corleone compound. The cobblestones gleamed like polished onyx under the gas lamps. Below, someone hurried past beneath a black umbrella—one of the soldiers, perhaps, returning from whatever dark errand the Family required. In the distance, children's laughter echoed from the servants' quarters, bright and incongruous against the night.
I found myself smiling.
Not from relief. Not from joy. But because I had finally confirmed what I had long suspected.
I no longer belonged here.
And this time, I would not turn back.
Outside, the sound of children playing continued to drift through the compound, their laughter unusually bright against the darkness. I lay on the silk sheets of the bed that had never felt like mine, sleep as distant as mercy in this world of blood oaths and arranged alliances.
That kind of unburdened joy felt foreign here—a reminder of a life I had never been permitted to live. I released a soft breath and realized that when I finally disappeared, what I might miss would not be the people, but those sounds. The echo of innocence in a place built on sin.
Giorgio was good with children. Everyone in both Families said so. The soldiers' wives whispered about what a fine father he would make, how the next generation of Corleone heirs would be raised with both strength and tenderness.
But I knew with absolute clarity that he would never be the father of my child. Not because he lacked the capability, but because his heart had long since been claimed by another. And in this world, a man whose loyalty was divided was more dangerous than one with none at all.
A knock interrupted my thoughts—sharp and precise, the sound of someone trained to announce their presence without requesting permission.
The door opened before I could respond.
Two young women entered, each carrying a towering stack of gowns. The fabric caught the candlelight with a cold, expensive sheen—ivory silk, silver-gray satin, midnight velvet. Each piece was perfectly tailored, clearly prepared for the union ceremony that loomed two days hence. The ceremony that would bind me to the Corleone Family with chains stronger than steel.
I glanced at the gowns once, then looked away.