So this was what I had become in Dante's world. Not his wife. Not his partner. Just the pitiful, laughable slut they whispered about behind closed doors, in back rooms where men smoked and settled debts and talked about women the way they talked about territory.
They always said the Falcone heir was distant, refined, and perfectly composed. A man who never let his emotions slip, who wore his civility like armor, the way his father wore authority. I hadn't believed it before. I thought I knew him better than that. But now, standing here with humiliation still clinging to my skin, I finally saw the truth with painful clarity.
I drew in a slow breath, forcing my shaking body to steady. I swallowed down the bitterness clawing up my throat, pushed aside the sting in my chest, and reached for the door. When I opened it, the murmur of voices inside cut off instantly, as if someone had snapped a thread.
Dante and his friend both turned to look at me.
Dante met my eyes without hesitation. His expression was calm, almost indifferent, as if nothing had happened at all. "Sorry for the trouble," he said, his tone even and detached.
He was always like this with me. Polite. Controlled. In public, people often praised him for how well he treated his wife, how respectful he seemed, how he kept a ward-turned-bride beside him with such visible grace. I used to believe those words, to hold onto them like proof that what we had was real.
But now, after everything, I finally understood.
It wasn't respect.
It was exhaustion.
Exhaustion disguised as courtesy. Distance masked as restraint.
His friend gave me a polite nod as we stepped out of the precinct together, his smile easy and unaffected. "Thanks for the trouble, Sis!" he said casually, as if this were nothing more than a minor inconvenience, as if bailing a Falcone out of a holding cell was just another Sunday.
I returned the gesture with a small nod, my lips barely curving, then followed the desk sergeant to complete the remaining paperwork. My movements were mechanical, my mind distant. I was his wife. Handling things like this, cleaning up after him, standing beside him no matter what. That was what I was supposed to do. That was the unspoken arrangement sealed the day I took the Falcone name.