"If you're not strong enough to walk away, then stop pretending to be," he finished. "Just stick to your role as Mrs. Falcone."
He didn't often lose his temper like this.
But when he did, there was nothing restrained about it.
He didn't stop until he had stripped me down to nothing in his eyes, until he had made it clear that without him, without the Falcone name, I was insignificant.
I didn't argue. I didn't defend myself.
I simply turned on the faucet and began washing my hands, the sound of running water filling the silence between us.
Behind me, I could feel his gaze lingering, heavy and unreadable.
Eventually, his tone shifted. Calmer. Colder. Detached.
"Salvatore Salvatore's tribute dinner is next week," he said. "Get something respectable and come with me."
It wasn't a request.
It was an order, delivered no differently than how he would speak to the soldiers who ran his errands.
The day of the tribute dinner arrived before I realized it.
Dante actually came home early, something he hadn't done in a long time, supposedly to pick me up. For a brief second, I almost thought he might have remembered something, might have made an effort.
But the moment I stepped outside, that thought vanished.
Liliana was already in the car.
She sat in the front passenger seat, her posture elegant, her appearance flawless as always. When she saw me, she turned slightly and offered a polite, composed smile.
"Good evening, Mrs. Falcone," she greeted softly, her voice gentle and perfectly measured.
"Mr. Falcone, I've already prepared a gift for Don Salvatore," Liliana said softly, her tone gentle yet confident, as if everything was naturally under her control. "And your stomach's been acting up lately. You really shouldn't drink at the feast tonight, okay?"
Every word she said landed exactly where it should have come from me.
From the wife.
From Mrs. Falcone.
So I said nothing.
There was no space left for me to speak anyway.
When we arrived, the car had barely come to a complete stop before Liliana opened the door and stepped out with effortless grace. Dante's soldier held the door, eyes front, posture rigid. Dante followed right behind her, his attention already on her, as if I didn't exist. I got out last.
She was the first to walk up to Don Salvatore.
"Don Salvatore, happy birthday," she said with a warm smile, her voice carrying just the right amount of affection.