This life, I personally orchestrated every single time Lorenzo Moretti and I would miss each other.

He remained in the heart of Chicago’s power, while I went to the depths of the Nevada desert.

He chased me to the desert, so I locked myself away in a secret federal facility.

As I lay dying, he knelt outside the reinforced glass of my hospital room, screaming, begging to see me one last time.

I ignored him. With my last ounce of strength, I wrote the final decryption algorithm on a whiteboard and drew my last breath.

He stood before my grave, his hair turning white overnight.

"Vivian," he whispered, "why didn't you want me in this life?"

…

I was an orphan from the South Side slums of Chicago. He was the brilliant young heir to the Moretti crime family. Our lives should never have crossed.

But they did, because my father, a low-level soldier in his family, took a fatal bullet meant for his father, the old Godfather Antonio Moretti. My marriage into the Moretti family was their way of repaying a blood debt.

On our wedding day, Isabella Ricci's husband, Marco—Lorenzo's most trusted capo—went to handle a dangerous deal in his place. Marco was killed in an ambush. Lorenzo swore an oath to take care of Isabella and her daughter for the rest of his life. It was a matter of Moretti family honor.

That's what Lorenzo always told me…

I gave up my chance to attend MIT, trapping myself in the Moretti estate to play the part of a proper, silent wife, raising a family and caring for the home.

I spent over a decade caring for my mother-in-law, Sofia Moretti, after a stroke left her paralyzed. On her deathbed, she told me, "Vivian, you've held Lorenzo back for decades. The Moretti family's debt has been paid. Let him go."

Even my own daughter said to me, "Mom, you're not good enough for Dad. Your arranged marriage is some old-school Sicilian tradition. You should step aside and let Dad be with Aunt Isabella. They're the real king and queen."

All my sacrifices, all my devotion, were worthless in their eyes.

After both elders passed away, I filed for divorce.

With graying hair, I returned alone to my old apartment on the South Side.

That night, a storm raged, and the dilapidated building collapsed.

I was crushed under the rubble, ending a completely meaningless life.