Upon arriving at the private airport, sleek black vans waited in formation like soldiers. We said goodbye to the Lucchese family—Don Antonio and Ilaria’s warmth lingering longer than I expected—and then they went their separate ways, leaving me in the awkward company of my husband.
It was strange, how comforting the flight had been. Ilaria’s words, her presence, even the children’s affection had made me feel… human. Almost normal. But that illusion dissolved the second we touched ground.
As expected, Enzo didn’t speak to me once during the drive. He filled the silence with his presence alone—rigid shoulders, unreadable profile, hands clasped like iron on his lap. I stared out the tinted window, distracting myself with the city that I loved. New York. My city. I prayed this marriage would
