Chapter 3

Maya POV:

"What do you think of men who cheat, Liam?" I asked, my voice deliberately casual. We were in his armored Escalade, the city lights sliding past the tinted windows.

He looked over at me, a frown creasing his brow-the Don, discussing matters of principle. "They're weak. A man who can't control his own appetites can't be trusted to control anything else. Loyalty, honor-that's the only thing that matters. A man who breaks his vows to his wife will betray his Family."

The hypocrisy was so thick I could have choked on it. He actually believed it; in his mind, his rules simply didn't apply to him.

He squeezed my hand. "You never have to worry about that, Maya."

Ten minutes later, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, his expression flickering. "An emergency. A problem with the port unions. I have to handle it."

He kissed my cheek, a quick, dismissive gesture. "I'll be home late. Don't wait up."

I watched him get out of the car and slide into another black Escalade that had pulled up silently behind us. As it sped away, I leaned forward.

"Frank," I said to our driver. Frank was a quiet man in his fifties, a lower-level soldier who had been with the family for decades. He'd always been kind to me, in a distant, respectful way. "Follow him."

Frank's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. There was no question in them, only a flicker of understanding. He knew. Of course he knew. Everyone knew. He gave a single, almost imperceptible nod and pulled the car into traffic.

We didn't have to go far. Liam's car pulled over a few blocks away, in a dark, industrial stretch under the expressway. A woman stepped out of the shadows. Ava.

She climbed into the back of his Escalade. The interior light flashed on for a moment, just long enough for me to see her throw her arms around his neck. Then it went dark.

Frank and I sat in silence, two hundred feet away, the engine humming softly. We watched the silhouette of the car. We watched as it began to rock-a sordid, frantic rhythm beating in the heart of the sleeping city.

This wasn't a passionate affair. This was cheap. Dirty. A shocking lack of discretion for a man whose life depended on control and projecting an image of untouchable power. This-this was the real Liam. Not the powerful Don, but a weak man sneaking around in the back of his car.

My heart didn't break. It had already been shattered. This was just sweeping up the last of the dust.

After a long time, Frank cleared his throat. He didn't turn around. He just kept his eyes fixed on the scene ahead.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Gallo," he said, his voice rough with an emotion I couldn't place. Pity? Disgust?

That quiet, simple sympathy from a man sworn to Liam's service was the final confirmation. It was a crack in the wall of fear and silence that surrounded my husband.

And a crack was all I needed to bring the whole thing down.