t 3:23 P.M., my premature son died in my arms while my husband, Chicago's most feared mafia boss, was flying home from a vacation with his mistress.

Alessia Romano had expected Damian to call her within twenty-four hours.

When he didn't, she went to the Moretti residence herself.

Vincent met her at the front door.

"He's not receiving visitors."

"I'm not a visitor."

"That is exactly what you are now."

Her face hardened.

"Tell him I'm here."

Vincent did not move.

Alessia pushed past him and entered the hall.

Damian stood at the foot of the stairs, wearing the same black shirt he had worn the previous night. His face looked older. His eyes were bloodshot.

"We need to talk," she said.

"No."

"Damian—"

"You can leave."

She stared at him.

"You can't seriously blame me for what happened."

The silence was absolute.

Then Damian walked toward her.

"I blame myself."

Alessia faltered.

He continued, his voice low and controlled.

"I knew my wife was in labor. I heard her tell me she was scared. I knew she needed me. And I stayed with you."

"You didn't know the baby would—"

"Finish that sentence and you'll never speak to me again."

Her mouth closed.

For months, Alessia had believed Damian's marriage was a formality. He had complained about Claire's quietness, her questions, her refusal to participate in his business dinners. He had told Alessia that his wife understood their arrangement.

He had never said Claire was happy.

Alessia had never asked.

Now she looked toward the staircase and noticed the nursery door standing open.

"Damian, I—"

"Don't."

He turned away.

She tried once more.

"You loved me."

"No," he said. "I wanted the version of myself I could pretend to be around you."

Alessia's eyes filled.

He continued.

"You let me believe that being admired was the same as being loved. I let you believe my marriage didn't matter. We were both comfortable with the lie."

She had no answer.

"Leave, Alessia."

This time, she did.

Damian went into his office and instructed his lawyer to terminate every business arrangement involving her. He did not destroy her career, threaten her, or send men to frighten her.

He simply ended the relationship.

Then he sat at his desk and opened Claire's last message from months earlier.

It was a photograph of a tiny pair of blue socks.

I found these today. They're too big for a newborn, but I couldn't resist.

He had replied with a thumbs-up because he was in a meeting.

He had never looked at the photograph properly.

Now he enlarged it until the little stitches filled the screen.

The socks were still in the nursery.

Damian retrieved them and placed them in the same box as the mobile.

He could not repair the past by punishing Alessia.

He could not make Claire return by suffering loudly enough.