But the very next second, voices drifted from a neighboring room—and shattered every last illusion.
"The Young Don of the Volpe Family is so devoted." A nurse's voice, hushed with awe. "To save Signorina Gallo from any awkwardness after her return from Europe, he sent flowers to every room in the clinic and completely redecorated this entire floor for her."
"Must cost tens of thousands a day. The Volpe Family really does romance differently."
"Shh, keep it down—the Young Don's blood-bound wife is recovering here too."
I braced myself against the wall, my face drained of color.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips.
Of course.
The flowers had never been for me.
They were for her. For Massima. To spare her the embarrassment of being seen as the other woman while his wife lay broken in the same building.
Every rose was a declaration.
Every petal was a knife.
Excited murmurs rose from downstairs, echoing through the marble lobby like the roar of a crowd at a blood sport.
I leaned over the railing instinctively to look.