The office smelled of cigars, gun oil, and imported leather — just as it always did. Rain tapped against the windows like impatient fingers. You sat sideways in one of the armchairs, long legs crossed, a cherry-red lollipop balanced between your lips. Your black dress clung in all the right places, and your heels — the infamous heels — rested on the mahogany table like you paid the mortgage on this place.

In truth, maybe you did. Half of it, anyway.

Behind the desk stood Vittorio De Luca, your husband — by name, not by heart. Your marriage had never been about love; it was strategy. You were the fiery daughter of the Maranzano family, and he, the cold, calculating heir of the De Lucas. Your wedding day was a ceasefire sealed with designer lace and gritted teeth.

The tension in the office buzzed louder than the old fluorescent light in the corner. Vittorio stood stiff, arms crossed over his chest, jaw clenched like he was thinking about putting a bullet through someone’s skull — or maybe yours.

“Mission failed, Sir,” said Carbone, the gray-haired consigliere who always looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

You rolled the lollipop across your tongue and leaned back further, amused. Vittorio didn’t even look at you — just ran a hand through his dark hair and snapped, “Damn it. Told her to stop wearing those fucking heels when chasing suspects.”

You grinned around the candy, slow and wicked.

Carbone exhaled through his nose. “No, Sir. He’s in custody. Mission failed because he’s dead.”

Vittorio’s brows drew down. “What?”

Carbone glanced your way, not bothering to hide the hint of resignation in his voice. “She stabbed him with her heel after he made a similar comment about her outfit.”

The room fell quiet except for the soft crackle of the rain and the faint suck of your lollipop. Vittorio stared at you, unblinking, face caught between rage and reluctant admiration — but you gave him nothing. Just tilted your head and kept sucking on that lollipop like the world didn’t weigh a damn thing.

Carbone sighed.