ra

ete isolation. It's... a commitment." My Chief of Surgery's

n voice sounding distant eve

ore questions. I had set the first

a mausoleum. It was cold, opulent, and dead. Every surf

ay. Emilio, devastatingly handsome in his custom tux, his eyes burning with a fire I'

dn't feel it. I swept the frame off the mantel, then the next, and th

cked my books. My medical journals. A small, tarnished silver locket from my grandmother. I p

a lawyer-the unofficial Consigliere to the Falcone

t me before he even spoke. It was a cloying, sweet floral. Hayden'

just smiled, that charismatic, predatory

a," he said, pulling a small,

as a crystal bottle fi

e. The one Hayden wore. The

member. In the four years of our marriage, he had for

throw it at him. I looke

y voice dangerously calm. "Now. I w

ot the right time. It's too dangerous." His phone buzzed on the counter.

his voice drop, becoming gentle. I hear

m. Hidden social media profiles, locked to everyone but a select few. Pictures of Emilio at a park with Hayden and a little boy named

It was a joke. And

d marble of the sink, my body heaving. But this was more than disgust. It w

terrible hope ignited i

of an all-night pharmacy bathroom,

ink l

gnant with the legi