Not everything. I didn't want everything. I wanted my clothes, my mother's rosary, the ultrasound photos from my first trimester that Dante had never asked to see, and the leather journal I'd kept hidden in the lining of my suitcase since the day I started building the dossier. Everything else in this house belonged to the Family. The furniture, the art, the security system, the name on the mailbox. Let them have it.
I was going back to my mother's place.
Just as I was getting ready to leave, my phone rang with an unknown number.
I stared at it. In the world I'd married into, unknown numbers were never casual. They were tests, threats, or summons. My thumb pressed against the bare skin where my wedding ring used to sit. I'd taken it off two days ago and left it on Dante's nightstand, centered on his pillow like a period at the end of a sentence.
I answered.
It was Cara.