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When Mam finally sends us home, Brioni rushes out. It’s like she’s fleeing from me. I have to chase her down the back hall and out into the night.

“Brioni, wait,” I call. “Please.”

She turns around at the mouth of the alleyway. I jog to catch up with her, my breath white puffs in the chill.

“I’m sorry.” There’s a weak, pleading edge to my voice, but I don’t care.

I’ll beg if I have to. I don’t hesitate. This woman means too much to me. I lower myself to my knees. Sharp asphalt pokes my skin through my pants. I ignore the physical pain and raise my clasped hands.

“Please forgive me,” I say, but she shakes her head.

“Stand up, Liam.” She’s harsh in a way I’ve never heard from my sweet Brioni before. “You’re a leader. The words I’m sorry are no longer in your vocabulary, remember?”

“Yes, but for you, I⁠—”

She raises her eyebrows at me, and I feel conviction solidify within me. Since it’s what she wants, I push myself to my feet. If she won’t let me apologize, then I’m still going to explain myself.

“I shouldn’t have broken my promise to you,” I say.

“I shouldn’t have asked it of you in the first place. I should’ve known you couldn’t keep a vow like that.” Her voice is colder than the city’s windchill. “A good mafia wife won’t force you to make stupid childhood promises.”

As if our history means nothing anymore.

Brioni’s acting like all of it was foolish, our countless vows to each other over the years. Some of them were enormous, but most of them were about the small things: a promise to be on time, a guarantee to bring her cookies from the corner store. Each one was still sacred to us.

And I was the one to destroy all of our promises’ sanctity.

“Look, if…” I run my hand through my hair. “If you really want me to marry someone else and have us go back to being friends, then I will. It’s your choice.”

She pulls her coat tighter around herself. Her liquid brown eyes are no longer flat, but shiny with fear. I want to kiss all of her doubt away. To hold her face between my palms so she can’t shake her head no. The way she’s doing now.

“I can’t marry you, Liam.”

It’s as if the brick buildings surrounding us have collapsed onto my chest. I can’t breathe. I do my best to gasp in the freezing air, but it burns my lungs.

“If that’s what you want,” I manage. “I respect your wishes.”

All I care about is that Brioni feels safe and secure. And if this is how I achieve that for her, so be it.

“I’m going back to my house tonight.” She starts to turn around, ready to walk away.

“I’ll drive you,” I blurt, but she shakes her head.

“I don’t need you to drive me anywhere anymore.”

Such simple words, and so devastating.

“You’re right,” I tell her.

With my heart in my throat, I pull my keys from my pocket and hand them to her. She accepts them without seeming to realize it. Then she glances down, the fob resting on her palm. She takes a moment, as if her decision will count for more than a few minutes’ drive through the night.

When she folds her fingers over the keys, I want to think of it as a victory. She can’t deny that I’m appreciating her new skill. Something she’s been learning so she’d make a better mafia wife. For me.

But Brioni acknowledges none of this as she adjusts the driver’s seat while I get in beside her. She drives us the few agonizing blocks in silence. It’s a skill she learned so she could stay at my side.

And now, she’s using it to leave me.

When she pulls up, I rush out of the car to open her door. But she’s already rounding the hood, handing back my keys before I can protest. Her stride’s so determined I have to jog up the sidewalk behind her. After she unlocks her front door, she barely looks at me as she closes the cruel slab of wood between us.