My husband had registered someone else under his account, leaving me out to dry. As if I had never existed inside that house. As if the years I spent in the Russo compound, cooking their Sunday dinners, pressing his shirts before sit-downs, waiting up past midnight while he conducted Family business, had simply never happened.
"How do you intend to pay for your bills, Miss?" the nurse asked impatiently.
I gulped softly. "Credit."
She glared at me and nodded. Immediately she left, I grabbed my phone ready to call Giacomo and yell at him, but I thought against it.
If he didn't see me as his wife, then I would end this sham of a marriage.
I limped out of the clinic despite the doctor and nurses protesting for me to rest and recover. I hailed a cab on the avenue outside Russo territory and went straight to a consigliere's office downtown, a man who handled civil matters for families outside the old law.
I sat down in the reception area, patiently waiting for the consigliere to call me in. The office was quiet, wood-paneled, the kind of place where men came to dissolve things legally that could never be dissolved any other way.