He had never once called me by a nickname, not even in private moments when the world outside didn't matter. Always "Adriana." Polite. Distant. Formal to the point of coldness. Even in bed, he treated it like an obligation, something to be completed efficiently rather than shared. There was never warmth, never closeness.
I had always been the one reaching out.
The one trying.
The one convincing myself that if I just held on a little longer, he would eventually meet me halfway.
For ten years, that was the story of us.
I used to believe he was simply reserved, someone who didn't know how to express emotion. I excused his distance, softened his indifference, turned every absence into something understandable. He was the heir to the Falcone Syndicate. He carried weight no civilian husband carried. I told myself that was enough to explain the silence.
But now, standing outside that door, listening to the tenderness in his voice for someone else, I finally understood.
He wasn't incapable of love.
He just didn't love me.
I bit down hard on my lower lip, the sharp sting grounding me as I stepped forward quietly. Without making a sound, I placed his phone by the office door, setting it down gently as if even that small noise might shatter what little composure I had left.
Then I turned and walked away.
The soldier stationed at the end of the hall glanced at me, then looked away. He had heard everything. In this Family, everyone always heard everything, and no one ever said a word.
By the time I reached the street, it had started to rain.
At first, it was a light drizzle, barely noticeable. But within moments, the sky opened up, rain pouring down in sheets, drenching everything in seconds. The cold water soaked through my clothes, clung to my skin, and still, I felt nothing compared to the storm breaking inside me.
I could barely hold myself together.
My vision blurred, whether from the rain or the tears I couldn't stop, I didn't know.
Distracted. Overwhelmed. Hollow.
I ran a red light.
The truck came out of nowhere.
There was a deafening crash as it slammed into the side of my car, the force of the impact sending everything spinning. Metal crumpled. Glass shattered. The world tilted violently before coming to a sudden, crushing stop.
For a moment, there was nothing but ringing silence.
Then the pain hit.
Sharp. Blinding.