He reached into his jacket and produced a document, thick with legal seals, and gestured for me to sign.
I looked down. A property deed. The safe house we had called home for three years—the elegant brownstone in Volpe territory where I had built a life around his absences and his silences.
This is your compensation.
A sharp ringtone shattered the moment. I watched his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly as he lifted the phone to his ear.
The device had excellent sound insulation. I couldn't hear the voice on the other end.
But then he spoke.
"I'm on my way."
Two words. Spoken aloud. For her.
Massima.
I already knew.
I didn't hesitate. My fingers found my phone, navigating to the court filing system with the precision of someone who had rehearsed this moment in the darkest hours of too many sleepless nights.
Petition for dissolution of blood-bound marriage. Personal information for both parties. Marriage certificate. Under "proof of separation," I uploaded the property transfer document—evidence that the Young Don of the Volpe Family was already dividing our assets. I selected "decline mediation."