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.

Elena Vitiello POV

The air on South Mountain was thin, stripping the moisture from my lungs with every labored breath.

Dante walked ahead of me. He carried the heavy pack with the ease of a soldier, his muscles shifting beneath his shirt in a rhythmic, hypnotic cadence.

For a few hours, the world felt small. It was just the crunch of gravel under our boots and the synchronized sound of our breathing.

It was a dangerous nostalgia.

It made me remember why I had loved him. He wasn't always the Capo who broke promises. He was the boy who used to bandage my scraped knees with gentle hands.

I stepped on a loose rock. My ankle rolled.

The earth tilted violently as gravity claimed me.

"Elena!"

Dante moved faster than thought. He dropped the gear and lunged, his body hitting the dirt to break my fall before I could strike the jagged stones.

We hit the ground hard. I landed on his chest.

He groaned, a sharp, guttural sound that vibrated against my ribs.

"Are you okay?" His hands were instantly in my hair, checking for blood. His eyes were wide, frantic.

"I'm fine," I whispered. I looked down. His pant leg was torn. Blood was seeping through the denim, staining it black in the twilight. "Your knee."

"It's fine," he gritted out, sitting up. He didn't let go of me.

For a second, we were just us. The history between us hung heavy in the air, a ghost that refused to be exorcised.

He looked at my lips.

I pulled away. I stood up, brushing the dirt from my clothes to hide the tremor in my hands.

"We should go back," I said. "You're bleeding."

"No." Dante stood up, testing his weight. He winced but forced a smile. "I promised you the meteor shower. We're staying."

We set up camp at the summit. The wind whipped at the nylon tent.

The meteors came. Streaks of white fire tearing through the black canvas of the sky.

Dante lay on his back, staring up.

"Make a wish, El," he whispered.

I didn't close my eyes. I stared at the dying stars.

I didn't wish for him anymore. I didn't wish for love.

I wished for the strength to burn everything down to ash.

I fell asleep to the sound of his breathing. It used to be my lullaby. Now it was just noise.

When I woke up, the sleeping bag next to me was cold.

I crawled out of the tent. The sun was bleeding over the horizon, painting the rocks in shades of bruised purple.

Dante wasn't at the campsite.

I heard a voice. Feverish. Loud.

I followed the sound to the cliff edge, where the famous "Lovers' Tree" stood. A chain-link fence wrapped around an old oak, covered in thousands of rusting padlocks.

Dante was there. He was holding his phone up, FaceTime active.

"See?" he said, his voice triumphant. "I told you, baby. It's right here."

He zoomed in on a rusted brass lock. Dante & Sofia Forever.

My stomach dropped. It felt like I had swallowed a stone.

"Oh my god!" Sofia's voice came through tinny and shrill. "I remember! We threw the key off the cliff!"

"Yeah," Dante laughed. He looked relieved. Desperate. "We did. Nothing can break this lock, Sofia. Nothing."

He hadn't climbed the mountain to apologize to me.

He hadn't taken the hit to his knee to keep a promise to me.

He needed to verify a memory for her. He needed to prove his devotion to the ghost he was trying to resurrect.

I was just the excuse. I was the chaperone for his trip down memory lane.

He turned around, still smiling at the screen. Then he saw me.

The smile died.

"I have to go, Sof," he muttered, hanging up.

He shoved the phone in his pocket. He looked guilty. Like a child caught with his hand in the jar.

"She called," he said. "She was panicking."

"You brought me here to find the lock," I said. It wasn't a question.

"No." He stepped toward me. "Elena, don't be like that. The trip was for us. The lock was just... since we were here..."

"I'm going down," I said.

"Wait." He reached for me. "Let me pack the tent. My knee is stiff, I need a minute."

"Pack it yourself," I said.

I turned my back on him.

I walked down the mountain alone.

Every step sent a jolt of pain through my rolled ankle, but I didn't stop. The physical pain was a grounding distraction.

I didn't wait for him at the trailhead. I called a car.

I texted Matteo.

I'm sick.

I turned off my phone.

I didn't want to hear Dante's excuses. I didn't want to hear him tell me that he loved me while he was building shrines to another woman.

He came home four hours later.

He didn't check on me. He assumed I was sulking.

I lay in bed and listened to him whistling in the shower.

He was happy. He had secured his past.

He didn't realize he had just lost his future.