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I should feel grateful. Instead, I feel like a fraud.

The weight of my betrayal grows heavier by the second, darkening the brightness of this beautiful morning, tainting everything he’s done for me.

He sits across from me, pouring himself a cup of coffee, his movements so effortless, so normal. He has no idea.

No idea that the woman sitting across from him—the one he’s trying so hard to help—is a traitor. A selfish, disloyal bitch, a coward who has put his empire in jeopardy.

I pick up a slice of bread, tearing it apart absently, trying to ignore the suffocating guilt. “You’re taking me to all your meetings today?”

He nods. “Only if you want to go. And remember, as my wife, it’s important to me that you understand my world.”

Something about the way he saysmy wifemakes my stomach flip. It’s not cold or calculated, as Marco always spoke about me in relation to Nicolas. He’s just stating it as a fact. No ulterior motive. No hidden agenda.

I try to focus on my food, but my thoughts won’t stop spinning. The weight of everything presses down on me, thick and suffocating. After a while, I realize I need to say something—anything—or I’ll choke on my own silence. And maybe that’s what I deserve.

I clear my throat, forcing my voice to stay light. “Marco once told me that every Mafia has a master plan.”

Nicolas hums in response, reaching for a slice of toast.

“How often do those plans change?” I ask, keeping my tone as casual as possible.

He takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Not so often.”

Good. Everything is going well so far. Just a normal conversation. I shrug. “Well, in my opinion, plans like that should be changed as often as possible.”

That gets his attention. He sets his coffee cup down, one brow arching. “Why?”

I hesitate, gripping my fork tighter as my mind scrambles for the right words. Something neutral. Something that won’t give me away.

But nothing comes.

He leans forward slightly, studying me. “Are you scared I’ll be betrayed?”

Fuck. I’ve just shot myself in the foot. My chest tightens, my pulse hammering against my ribs. I drop my fork, my breath coming faster.

“Nicolas, I?—”

I can’t keep it in anymore. The weight of my betrayal crashes over me, suffocating. The words claw their way out of my throat in a broken whisper.

“I told Marco.”

Silence.

“I told him about your plan.” I force myself to continue, my voice barely audible. “About where your men will be stationed. How you’re taking over the terrain.”

His expression darkens. “And you know all this information how?”

“Because…” My hands clench into fists. “Because I found your master plan.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

My throat burns, and my fingers tremble in my lap. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I thought—I thought he would let me come home.”

Still, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just watches me.

I brace myself for the explosion. For his rage. For the moment he decides what my punishment will be.

But when he finally speaks, his voice is calm.