Another pause, longer this time. When he spoke again, his tone was low and intimate, meant for someone who held his heart in her hands.
"Red suits you, cara mia."
The endearment landed like a blade between my ribs.
When the call ended, Giorgio turned back to me, his expression rearranged into the mask of the dutiful betrothed. "I'll have someone bring you medicine. You look unwell."
I nodded, my face as still as marble. "All right."
The moment the heavy oak door closed behind him, I remained where I stood, unmoving as a statue in a mausoleum.
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.