Dante laughed.

It wasn't a nervous chuckle. It was a full-throated, arrogant bray of amusement that echoed off the high ceilings of the penthouse.

"Matteo's woman?" He wiped a mock tear from his eye. "Elena, honey, you need to work on your lying. Matteo doesn't do relationships. He doesn't do feelings. He has 'associates' and he has enemies. That's it."

He stepped closer again, his confidence restored. "Look, I get it. You're hurt. You want to sting me. But saying you're sleeping with the Don? That's dangerous. If he hears you using his name to get a rise out of me, he'll kill you."

"He knows," I said. I picked up a magazine from the coffee table, flipping a page casually. My heart was hammering against my ribs, but I wouldn't let him see it.

"Sure he does," Dante said, condescendingly. "Just like he knows you're squatting in his guest room. Look, Matteo told the Family he's bringing a fiancée to the gala. Some orphan girl he found in Europe. A nobody. He needs a wife for the optics, a mute decoration who won't ask questions."

My fingers tightened on the glossy paper. An orphan. A nobody. That was the cover story Matteo had created for me?

"He asked me to give the bride away," Dante continued, checking his watch. "Since she has no family. Can you imagine? Me, walking some stranger down the aisle while you sit in the pews pouting."

He didn't know. Matteo hadn't told him the name of the bride.

The cruelty of the irony almost made me smile.

"You should go, Dante," I said. "Sofia is probably wondering where you are."

"Don't be like that," he sighed. "I'm doing this for us. Once she remembers, I can let her down gently. Then we get back to the plan."

"The plan," I repeated flatly.

"Yes. You, me, the wedding. Just... later." He pulled his phone out as it buzzed. His face softened instantly. "I have to go. She's asking for ice cream."

He walked to the door. "Stop this charade, Elena. Go back to your apartment. I'll text you."

He left.

I didn't go back to my apartment.

Instead, I called Luca, Matteo's Consigliere.

"Ms. Vitiello," Luca answered on the first ring.

"I need Matteo's measurements," I said. "And the address of his tailor."

"The Don does not require-"

"I am his fiancée," I cut him off, my voice turning to steel. "I am buying him a suit for the wedding. Unless you want to explain to him why his bride is unhappy?"

A pause. "I will text you the details."

I spent the afternoon at a bespoke atelier in Manhattan, running my hands over Italian wool and charcoal silk. I chose a suit that was sharp, dark, and dangerous. Just like Matteo.

When I returned to the penthouse, my phone pinged with a notification from the security system at my old apartment-the one I shared with Dante, though he rarely slept there.

Motion Detected: Front Gate.

I pulled up the camera feed.

Dante was there. He was tossing garbage bags onto the curb.

My stomach dropped. I zoomed in.

Those were my clothes. My books. The painting I had made for his birthday.

My phone rang. It was Dante.

"I had to clear out the master bedroom," he said, sounding breathless. "Sofia is coming over. If she sees your stuff, it might trigger a confused episode. I just put them in the garage."

"I'm looking at the camera, Dante," I said, staring at the grainy image of my life being treated like refuse. "They are on the curb."

"The garage was full," he lied smoothly. "I'll buy you new stuff. Better stuff. Gucci, Prada, whatever you want."

"Let them rot," I said. "Less baggage."

I hung up.

Two days later, I was walking out of a boutique in the city when a voice called out.

"Sister-in-law!"

I froze.

Sofia was standing there, clinging to Dante's arm. She looked angelic in a white sundress, a bandage still on her temple. She was beaming at me.

Dante looked like he wanted to vomit.

"Elena!" Sofia chirped, dragging Dante over. "Dante told me everything! That you're Matteo's girl! Oh my god, we're going to be family!"

Dante's eyes pleaded with me. Play along. Don't break her.

"Hello, Sofia," I said.

"We were just going to celebrate," she said. "I remembered my favorite color today! It's blue! We're going to that Hot Pot place. You have to come!"

"I don't think-" Dante started.

"Nonsense!" Sofia grabbed my hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong. "Matteo is busy, right? You shouldn't eat alone."

I looked at Dante. He was sweating through his shirt.

"Sure," I said, a dark curiosity taking hold. "I love Hot Pot."

The restaurant was a known front for the Triads, but the food was excellent. We got a private room.

Sofia ordered the broth. "Extra spicy! I remember I used to love it when my mouth burned!"

Dante went sheet pale.

Dante had a severe ulcer. Spicy food was liquid razor blades for him. He used to make me cook everything bland.

"Dante loves spicy too, right baby?" Sofia asked, looking at him with wide, adoration-filled eyes.

Dante swallowed hard. "Yeah. Love it."

The pot arrived, bubbling like a cauldron of red oil and chilies.

Sofia piled meat into Dante's bowl. "Eat up!"

Dante ate.

I watched him. I watched the sweat bead on his forehead. I saw his hand clench under the table until his knuckles turned white. I saw the grimace he tried to hide every time he swallowed.

He was poisoning himself to keep her happy. To keep the lie alive.

He looked at me. I was eating from the non-spicy side.

He texted me under the table.

Just playing the part. Don't read into it.

I looked at the text, then at him.

He was in physical pain for her. He wouldn't even endure an awkward conversation for me.

"Oh no!" a waiter tripped near our table.

He was carrying a refill pitcher of boiling spicy broth.

He stumbled. The pitcher flew.

It was heading right between me and Sofia.

Time seemed to slow down into a blur of motion.

I saw Dante's eyes widen. I saw his muscles coil.

He didn't look at me.

He lunged.

The sound of boiling liquid hitting skin is something you never forget. It's a wet, sizzling hiss, immediately followed by the sickly-sweet scent of cooked meat.

Dante moved before I could even blink. He had thrown his body over Sofia, shielding her completely like a human wall.

The pitcher shattered against his back, sending a spray of scalding red oil ricocheting across the table.

"Dante!" Sofia screamed.

He grunted, his face contorted in agony, but his first instinct-his only instinct-was to grab Sofia's face between his hands.

"Are you okay?" he gasped, his eyes scanning her frantically. "Did it touch you?"

"My hand!" she cried, holding up a finger. There was a tiny red splash mark, barely the size of a dime.

"We need a doctor!" Dante roared at the terrified waiter. He scooped Sofia up into his arms, ignoring the steam rising from his own soaked shirt.

He rushed toward the door.

He ran right past me.

I was sitting in the chair, frozen.

My left arm was on fire.

The splash had missed Sofia because Dante blocked it. But the deflection had sent a wave of boiling oil arcing across my forearm and shoulder.

My skin was already blistering, the fabric of my blouse melting into the flesh.

"Dante," I whispered.

The restaurant door swung shut behind him. He hadn't heard me. He was already gone, cooing at Sofia to stay with him.

The pain hit me a second later. It was a white-hot shriek that made my vision tunnel into a pinprick of darkness.

I stood up, my legs shaking. The waiter was crying in the corner.

"Get out of my way," I hissed.

I walked out of the restaurant. I didn't call an ambulance. I didn't call Dante.

I got into my car and drove one-handed to the Family doctor, gritting my teeth so hard I thought they would crack under the pressure.

The doctor, an old man named Dr. Rossi who had stitched up half the mobsters in the city, looked at my arm and cursed softly in Italian.

"Second-degree, bordering on third in some spots," he muttered as he cut the shirt away. "This is going to scar, Elena."

"Do it," I said. I didn't take the painkillers he offered. I wanted to feel it. I needed to remember this.

I went back to the penthouse. Matteo wasn't there.

I sat on the edge of the bed, struggling to adjust the fresh bandages with one hand. The silence of the apartment was heavy, pressing against my ears.

I opened my phone.

Sofia had posted on Instagram ten minutes ago.

A picture of Dante in a hospital bed, lying on his stomach. He looked pale, in pain. Sofia was holding his hand. Her finger had a small band-aid on it.

Caption: My hero. He saved me from the fire. True love is sacrifice. <3

I looked at my arm. The bandages were already seeping blood.

He hadn't even looked back.

I realized then that it wasn't just about the past. It wasn't about her memory.

He loved her. He loved her with a desperation that made him blind to everything else.

I was just the safe option. The arranged bride. The duty.

She was the choice.

The next morning, the buzzer rang.

Dante.

He looked terrible. His movement was stiff, his back obviously heavily bandaged under his loose shirt.

"Elena," he said when I opened the door. "I... I realized I didn't check on you."

He saw the bandages on my arm. They went from my elbow up to my neck.

His face crumbled. "Oh my god. Elena."

He stepped inside, reaching for me. "Why didn't you say anything? I thought it missed you."

"You didn't look," I said simply.

"I was panicked," he stammered. "Sofia... she's so fragile. The doctor said shock could reset her memory again. I just reacted."

He pulled out his phone. "I'm calling the best plastic surgeon. We'll fix this. I promise."

He tried to touch my good shoulder.

"Don't." I stepped back, putting distance between us.

"I brought you this." He pulled a velvet box from his pocket and opened it. A diamond necklace glittered inside. "I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you. Next time, I'll protect you."

"Next time?" I laughed, a dry, humorless sound that scraped my throat. "You should save her, Dante. You are her lover."

"Elena, stop."

"I am the Don's woman," I said. "I don't need your protection. And I don't want your guilt diamonds."

I took the box from his hand and threw it into the hallway.

"Get out."

"You're jealous," he said, shaking his head, wincing from the pain in his back. "You're acting irrational because I saved her first. It's instinct, Elena! She's smaller, she's weaker!"

"She's the one you want," I said. "Go to her."

I slammed the door in his face.

I leaned my forehead against the cool wood, breathing in the silence.

My phone buzzed. A text from Matteo.

I heard about the accident. The waiter has been dealt with. Are you burned?

I typed back with one thumb.

I'm fine. Just a scar.

Scars are lessons, he replied. Wear it.

Dante didn't come back. I heard from the grapevine that he spent the next two days at Sofia's bedside, feeding her soup because her finger "hurt too much to hold a spoon."

I sat in the penthouse, watching the city lights, feeling the burn throb in time with my heartbeat.

The indifference was setting in. It was cold and numb, like anesthesia.

I wasn't angry anymore.

I was done.

Sofia's birthday gala was less a celebration and more an exercise in vulgar excess.

Dante hosted the event at the Moretti estate in Long Island. He spared no expense. There were ice sculptures, a live orchestra, and enough champagne to drown the entire borough.

I arrived late.

I had chosen a black dress with long sleeves to cover my bandages. It was backless, severe, and unapologetically elegant. Matteo wasn't back from his trip to Italy yet, so I walked in alone.

The moment I entered, the whispers started.

"That's the ex," someone murmured.

"Poor thing, chasing after a man who clearly doesn't want her."

I took a glass of champagne and stood by a pillar, watching.

Dante was in the center of the room, holding court. Sofia was on his arm, wearing a shimmering pink gown that looked suspiciously like a wedding dress.

He gave her a gift. A rare blue diamond necklace.

The crowd gasped.

"Make a wish!" someone shouted.

Sofia closed her eyes. "I wish... to be with Dante forever."

The room erupted in applause.

Dante looked at her. He looked torn for a split second, his eyes scanning the crowd until they found me.

I raised my glass to him. Go ahead.

He looked back at Sofia, cupped her face, and kissed her.

It wasn't a polite peck. It was deep, possessive.

I turned to leave. I had seen enough.

"Leaving so soon?"

I was blocked by three women. Sofia's clique. Daughters of minor associates who were desperate to climb the social ladder by sucking up to the Capo's girlfriend.

"Move," I said.

"It's pathetic," one of them sneered. "You hanging around. He chose her five years ago, and he's choosing her now. You're just a placeholder, Elena. A warm body."

"And not even a good one," another laughed. "Dante told Sofia you were like a corpse in bed."

That was a lie. Dante and I had never slept together. He wanted to wait until the wedding. Respect, he had called it. Now I knew it was just lack of desire.

"Let me pass," I warned.

One of them, a girl named Gia, stumbled forward. Her glass of red wine tipped.

It splashed all over the front of my dress.

"Oops," she smirked. "Clumsy me."

The disrespect was blatant. In our world, this was a declaration of war.

We were standing near the edge of the terrace. Below us was the ornamental lake, dark and deep.

"You look like trash," Gia said. She shoved me.

It was harder than I expected. My heels slipped on the wet stone.

I went over the railing.

I hit the water hard. The cold was a shock to my system.

I couldn't swim.

I thrashed, the heavy fabric of my gown pulling me down like an anchor. The water filled my nose, my mouth.

"Elena!"

I heard Dante scream my name. It sounded terrified.

I broke the surface, gasping.

I saw him on the terrace. He had shoved the girls aside and was climbing over the railing. He was coming for me.

For a second, hope flared. A stupid, pathetic spark.

Then I heard a shriek.

"Dante! Help!"

Sofia.

She was on the other side of the terrace, near the shallow steps. She had "slipped" on the wet pavement. She was sitting on the ground, clutching her ankle.

"Dante! It hurts!"

Dante froze on the railing.

He looked at me, struggling in the deep water, sinking.

He looked at Sofia, sitting safely on the ground.

He hesitated.

Then he turned around.

He climbed back onto the terrace and ran to Sofia.

"I've got you, baby," I heard him say as the water closed over my head.

The darkness took me.

It was peaceful down there. No lies. No pain. Just the heavy silence of the water.

I saw his back as he ran away. That was the image that burned into my retinas as my lungs screamed for air.

He was letting me drown.

Strong hands grabbed me. I was hauled up, coughing and retching, onto the grass.

It was the security chief, a massive man named Rocco.

"Breathe, Donna Elena," he commanded, pounding my back.

I vomited lake water onto the pristine lawn.

I looked up.

Dante was carrying Sofia into the house. He was cooing at her. He didn't even look back to see if I was alive.

"Take me home, Rocco," I rasped.

"To the hospital, Donna."

"No," I said. "Take me to Matteo."

I passed out in the car.

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed, but it wasn't a normal room. It was the private suite in the Obsidian Tower.

My throat felt like I had swallowed glass.

The door opened.

Sofia walked in. She wasn't limping.

"Oh, you're awake!" she said brightly. "Dante was so worried. He wanted to come, but I had a panic attack about the accident, so he stayed to calm me down."

"Get out," I whispered.

"It was just a prank," she said, pouting. "Gia didn't mean to push you that hard. Can't you take a joke?"

She walked to the bed. Her eyes were sharp, calculating. The amnesia mask slipped for a second.

"So," she said. "Tell me about Matteo."

"Why?"

"Because once I marry Dante, we'll be family. I need to know what the Don is like. Is he... aggressive?"

"He is a monster," I said. "He eats little girls like you for breakfast."

She giggled. "Dante says he's just lonely."

She sighed, looking out the window. "I wish I could remember. Dante says we were so in love. He chased me for years. Where was I going when I crashed? Do you know?"

She was looking at me, testing me.

I knew exactly where she was going. She was coming to the church to stop my wedding. She was coming to ruin my life.

"You were-"

The door banged open.

Dante rushed in. He looked frantic.

"Sofia! I told you to wait in the car!"

He grabbed her arm. He looked at me, his eyes wide with panic. He was terrified I would tell her the truth.

"I was just asking Elena about her engagement!" Sofia said innocently. "She's marrying Matteo, right?"

Dante looked at me. He was begging silently. Don't blow this.

"Yes," I said. "I am marrying Matteo."

"Soon?" Sofia asked.

"Very soon," I said.

Dante dragged her toward the door. "We have to go. Elena needs rest."

"Bye, Sister-in-law!" Sofia waved.

They left.

I lay in the dark.

I checked my phone.

Sofia had posted a new photo. Dante kissing her forehead.

Caption: He treats me like a queen. Blessed

Dante had commented: My love. Always.

I liked the photo.

It was the first time I had engaged with her social media.

It was a message.

Keep him. He's yours.