“Mrs. Marchetti,” she asked, her hand hovering over the receiver. “should I call the Capo?” 

I calmly reached out and pressed the receiver down. “There’s no need,” I said flatly. “I’ll go back myself.” 

Returning to the estate, I went upstairs to the bedroom, picked out a few simple outfits from the closet, and placed them into a small suitcase. 

My phone screen lit up. Mia had updated her social media status. 

In the photo, she was wrapped in Julian’s dark gray suit jacket, her head resting on his chest. The caption read, “He is my only safe haven in this dangerous world.” 

Stone-faced, I swiped past the glaring photo, tapped her profile picture, and hit “Block.” 

Outside the main gates, the car I had hired in advance was already waiting. 

I grabbed my suitcase, got into the back, and gave the driver the address. “Central Station. The night train to San Celano.” 

The engine rumbled as the car slowly drove out through the iron gates of the estate. 

Just as we turned onto the main road, a convoy of black sedans came from the opposite direction, brushing right past us. 

The rear window of the lead car was rolled halfway down. Julian had his head turned, speaking softly to the person beside him. 

Mia leaned against his shoulder, a sweet, bird-like smile on her face. 

The two vehicles sped away in completely opposite directions. 

In the rearview mirror, the white estate I had lived in for six years shrank until it was swallowed by the night. 

At seventeen, I followed him over the iron gates of the orphanage. 

At twenty, I stood by him with a baseball bat, fighting for our first piece of turf on the streets. 

At twenty-two, we exchanged rings in that small chapel in the South Side. 

At twenty-eight, I watched him come home time and time again reeking of perfumes that didn’t belong to me. 

All these memories were like the streetlights outside the window, left behind one by one. 

I lifted my hand and slid the pigeon-blood ruby ring from my finger. 

I rolled down the window and held out my hand, watching the ring trace a glittering arc before it disappeared into the dark water of the gutter. 

It was truly over. 

Outside the window, the neon lights of Porthaven remained blinding. Laughter drifted from the bars and casinos, like a grand feast that had absolutely nothing to do with me. 

I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes. 

Now, I was going home. Back to the estate carved with my father’s name, to claim the high-backed mahogany chair that has waited for twenty years. 

To go back to the beginning.