The Don’s 999 Roses Couldn’t Buy My Freedom

Eight years into my blood-bound union, the Don of the Falcone family sent me nine hundred and ninety-nine roses.

I'd just come off the surgeon's table when I called him and, perfectly calm, asked to be released from the bloodline.

On the other end, his young confidante's tearful apology came through:

"Donna Russo, it's all my fault, I went ahead without asking. Please don't take it out on Don Falcone."

Lorenzo Falcone murmured to soothe her for a long while, then said only to me: "As you wish."

By the time I saw him again, half a month had passed.