When I slapped my husband’s mistress, he broke my 3 ribs. He locked me in the basement, telling me to reflect. I called my dad, who was a gangster boss, and said, ‘Dad, don’t let a single one of the family survive.

I stayed still, phone pressed to my ear. Dad’s breathing was steady on the line. “Say nothing,” he murmured.

The lock scraped. Light spilled in as Evan cracked the door open. He held a bottle of water like a peace offering, his other hand behind his back. In that instant I understood: this wasn’t about a mistake or anger. It was about control.