Chapter 1

Three years of marriage, and Vito never once sat down at the table with me.

I couldn't get through a single meal without fish, but the mere smell of it made him snarl about the stink—and afterward, he'd refuse to speak to me for a full month.

So whenever he ate at home, I took my plate of fish outside the villa.

Three years. Every single day.

Until the afternoon I passed by the seafood market at the docks and saw Vito, with practiced ease, gutting a fish for some young girl—then eating the plate of tuna sashimi she fed him with her own hand.

That was when I finally understood. It wasn't that he couldn't stand the smell of fish. He'd simply been saving his affection for someone else.

...

At noon, the seafood market baked under a punishing sun, giving off a rancid, rotting stench.

A few men in black suits stood watch outside the stalls, telltale bulges at their waists where they carried their guns.

I stood across from Vito, watching this man—the Don whose word was law in the Toronto underworld, who held countless lives in his hand—crouched down and expertly cleaning fish for some little girl who sold them out of buckets.

When he finished, he peeled off the rubber gloves and let out a soft breath.

The girl saw him and hurried over with a tissue, dabbing gently at the sweat on his brow.

They looked at each other and smiled.

Then, when Vito wasn't watching, she rose up on her toes and stole a quick kiss right on his lips.

Vito froze for a beat—but he said nothing.

Something twisted in my chest.

Three years. Three years of hiding outside just to eat my fish. And the moment I walked back through the door, he'd order me to rinse my mouth five times before he would even consider kissing me.

But just now—just now, he'd let that girl press her lips to his, with the taste of fish still fresh on them.

A wave of nausea rolled through me.

The girl spotted me approaching, and reluctantly pulled away from him.

Vito, the instant he recognized me, went white as bone.

I didn't bother reacting to him. I simply pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and spoke to the girl.

"One fish. The bigger, the better."

She clearly didn't know who I was. She glanced back at the tanks and gave me an apologetic look.

"Ma'am, you're too late—we're all sold out. Would you like to reserve one for tomorrow?"

I shook my head, my voice even.

"I'm not late. I got here the moment the market opened."

"Oh—then why are you only buying now, ma'am?"

"You two were busy being intimate. I didn't want to interrupt."

I was speaking to her, but my eyes stayed fixed on Vito.

Beside her, he stiffened again, his brows drawing together.

I changed the subject.

"Isn't there still one fish left?"

The girl turned to look on instinct.

There was one fish floating in the tank—dead, at some unknown point during the morning.

She waved her hands quickly.

"Ma'am, that one's dead. It's not fresh anymore. I can't sell it to you."

I kept smiling.

"It's fine. This fish is only dead. It's not like certain people—clean and respectable on the outside, rotten to the core underneath. Just knock a little off the price."

"After all, today happens to be my birthday."

Vito's head snapped up, his expression darkening further.

A gleam of hidden satisfaction flickered in the girl's eyes as she pretended to hesitate, then nodded.

"Well... all right, then."

"But my friend can't clean it for you. He's been working all morning, he must be exhausted—"

Before I could answer, Vito had already scooped the fish up himself, pulling the gloves on with brisk familiarity.

"It's fine, Gina. I've got it. It's just one more."

The girl called Gina tried to lean in for another kiss. He turned his face away.

She laughed sheepishly.

"Thank you."

The two of them moved around each other with an intimacy that was impossible to miss.

Something lodged itself in my chest, so tight I could barely breathe.

Vito stunned the fish, then asked me:

"How do you want it prepared?"

"Sashimi."

My answer made his hands go still again.

He pressed his lips together, silent for a long moment, before he finally spoke.

"This one isn't fresh. It won't work as sashimi. You'd get sick."

I looked at him, and before I could stop it, a wounded ache rose up in my throat.

"Is this fish only unfresh today? Or has it been rotten for a long time?"

I meant more than I said. On the surface, I was talking about the fish. But I was really asking whether our marriage had gone bad today—or whether it had been decaying for years.

Vito paused. He set down his tools, then dropped the fish back into the tank.

"I'm sorry. I can't sell you this one."

"I always eat fish on my birthday."

The girl finally caught on that something was wrong. She asked hesitantly:

"Vito, do you two... know each other?"

"No."

Vito answered so fast it hurt. Then he shot me a look, silent, insistent.

Eyes red, I gave a soft murmur of agreement, and turned to leave, keeping my dignity intact.

What he didn't know, in that moment—

What I was giving up wasn't just the fish. It was him.