The airport terminal spun. I gripped the counter, but my fingers wouldn't hold. "Ma'am? Ma'am, are you---" The woman's voice faded. I looked down. Blood. Pooling between my feet. Red against gray marble. The Don never went to Kotor. The trip was a lie. Franco's words were still burning in my skull, and the photo on my phone—Vittorio, my husband, his arm around Mara, her lips on his cheek—was time-stamped yesterday. I told myself it couldn't be true. I flew twelve hours not just to save him, but to see the truth for myself. To give him one last chance to prove Franco was lying. I'd flown twelve hours to save a man who was never in danger. I'd crossed a warzone for a man who was in another woman's bed. I pressed a hand to my stomach. Three months. Three months of carrying his child. Three months of believing he'd come home to meet them. My knees buckled. Someone caught me. Voices screamed. Through the blur, I saw the photo one more time: Vittorio's grin, Mara's satisfied smile. The first time, three years of lies. One thousand ninety-five days of pretending he loved me. Then I gave him a second chance. And for three more years, he was the man I thought I married. But the past six months... the lies crept back. I stared at the gray sky. Three years. Every morning he kissed me goodbye. Every night he said he loved me. Every moment, he was already someone else's. I dialed the number I'd saved three years ago. Mara answered on the second ring. "Put my husband on." A pause. Then his voice, desperate. "Claudia---" "I know everything. I have the proof. You get nothing. Not my time. Not another second of my life." "Claudia, please---" I hung up. Tomorrow, I'd destroy him.