LET HER MAKE THE TOAST. SHE KNOWS WHAT TO SAY.” MY MAFIA HUSBAND HANDED HIS MISTRESS THE CHAMPAGNE AT OUR FIFTEENTH ANNIVERSARY DINNER—BUT HIS 78-YEAR-OLD MOTHER ASKED

“What was supposed to happen to me?”

I kept my voice low. I didn't scream. After fifteen years of living in a mafia household, you learn that the loudest person in the room is usually the weakest.

Roman stared at me.

The silence at the anniversary table was absolute. Twenty-six relatives held their breath.

“Nora,” Roman said, his voice dropping to that calm, terrifying register he used when negotiating territory. “Elise has had too much champagne. Sit down.”

“No,” Elise said. Her hand trembled, sloshing the wine. “Tell her, Roman. Tell your beautiful, dutiful wife why you had Dr. Evans come to the house last Tuesday.”

My stomach turned to ice.

Dr. Evans wasn't a medical doctor. He was a private psychiatrist. Roman had told me he was here to evaluate one of the capos who had suffered a breakdown.

“You signed the papers this morning,” Elise laughed, though there were tears in her eyes. “She’s leaving tonight, isn't she? A private, very discreet facility in upstate New York. For her ‘exhaustion.’”

Teresa gripped my hand so tightly her rings dug into my skin.

“You were going to lock me away?” I whispered.

If he divorced me, I kept half of the legitimate businesses. But if I was declared mentally unfit, Roman retained full control of my family's estate.

“Nora, listen to me,” Roman stepped closer, reaching for my arm. “You’ve been under so much stress. You haven't been thinking clearly.”

“Don't touch me.”

I stepped back, bumping against the table. The silver cake knife clattered against the porcelain plates.

“It’s for your own good,” Roman said, his dark eyes hardening. “The car is already waiting outside. You’re going to pack a bag.”

I looked around the room. Roman’s uncles. His cousins. They were all looking away. They knew. They had all come to this dinner knowing it was my farewell.

Teresa stood up. “My son is a coward,” she said clearly. “But you will not take her tonight.”

“Ma, stay out of this,” Roman warned.

“Or what?” Teresa challenged. “Will you commit me, too?”

Elise smiled triumphantly. She reached into her red silk clutch. “He doesn't need to, Teresa. He already bought the ticket.”

Elise pulled out a thick, folded piece of paper and tossed it onto the table.

It landed right next to my mother’s silver knife.

“A one-way train ticket,” Elise said. “He wanted it done quietly.”

I reached for the paper. My hands were shaking. I unfolded the heavy cardstock.

Roman lunged forward. “Nora, give me that!”

But I had already read the name printed at the top of the boarding pass.

I looked up at Roman, the betrayal in my chest twisting into something entirely different. Complete, utter shock.

I looked at Elise.