I close my eyes and force myself toward sleep, though I know it will be a long time coming.
Tomorrow, I'll go to the port. Run operations with the competence I've spent years developing. Be myself, at least for a few hours, before I have to go back to being the woman everyone expects me to be.
The woman I'm not sure I recognize anymore.
Chapter 18: Santino
Liana is pulling away from me, and I don’t know how to stop it.
The question that keeps circling through my mind is why. And the answer I keep coming back to—the one I don't want to consider, the one that makes my hands tighten into fists—is one that terrifies me more than I want to admit.
But I can't stop thinking about it.
I pull up our text thread and scroll through the messages from the last few days, analyzing them like they're encoded intelligence reports. Her responses have gotten progressively shorter, more distant, stripped of personality. The exclamation points that used to punctuate every sentence are gone. The heart emojis she used to add to everything are gone.
Everything that made her texts distinctly Liana—all of it gone, erased as thoroughly as she erased her presence from my apartment.
My door opens without warning. Bruno walks in without bothering to knock, which means he's worried about something.
"Boss, we need to discuss the Benedetti situation. It's escalating and—"
"Not now." I don't look up from my phone.
He stops mid-stride. "It's important. They're making moves—"
"I said, not now." The sharpness in my voice cuts through the room.
He's quiet for a moment, and I can feel him studying me with that perceptive gaze that's kept him alive in this business. "What's going on with you?"
"Nothing's going on."
"You've been distracted for days now. Snapping at everyone who talks to you. Staring at your phone like it owes you money." He crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. "This is about her."
"It's not—"
"Don't lie to me, boss. I've known you too long for that." He moves further into the office and sits down across from me without invitation. "What happened between you two?"
I set down my phone with more force than necessary. "She's different now."
"Different how?"
"Quiet. Distant. Completely withdrawn. She took all her things out of my apartment without explanation. She barely looks at me during family dinners anymore. She won't answer my calls or respond to my texts with anything more than one-word answers." I lean back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. "It's like she's checked out completely from this entire arrangement."
"Maybe she's just tired. You said she's been busy with something—"
"Busy with what?" I stand abruptly, needing to move, to pace. "She won't tell me what she's doing. Just says 'things' and immediately changes the subject whenever I ask."
"Ask her directly. Demand answers."
"I tried that. At dinner last night. She deflected every single question I asked. Spent the whole evening talking to ourmothers about wedding flowers and seating charts and other meaningless details."
"Maybe she doesn't care about the specifics—"
"She agreed to everything they suggested. Didn't have a single opinion about her own wedding." I stop at my window, looking out at the city below. "Not one opinion, Bruno. About anything."
"Maybe she doesn't give a shit about flowers."
"She cares about everything—that's who she is as a person. She has strong opinions about pasta sauce and the correct color of dish towels. But her own wedding? Nothing. Complete indifference."
