ella

The fire had long died, leaving only cold embers and the lingering, suffocating s

ox. Inside, a diamond necklace caught the meager

hered to remove his hat when he handed me the box. "From the *Capo*," he had mumbled, his

ck my submission, that it could erase the memory of him leaving me

felt sick. The word "jewelry" didn't mean compensation in

e back to a year ago, to the m

s, roasted meats, and the heavy tension of the mafia hierarchy. The prize of the raid was the "Tears of Sicily," an exceptionally rare set of Colombian emeralds.

d the velvet case. With impeccable grace, he presented the emerald ear

He should have turned to me. Instead, he walke

voice carrying through the sudden, deafening silence

lives for my husband. I had sat there, my spine rigid, forcing a stiff smile while my heart was publicly carved out of my chest. That night dest

to smooth things over, the last ripple of my

is morning was a negotiation tactic, a plea for a higher

as heavy, expensive, and utterly worthless. I didn't throw it. I simply dropped i

and I certainly wouldn't take this blood diamond. My escape plan was no longer a

g the estate in an endless sea of white. I pulled my thin shawl tighter a