Alessia POV:

I stood outside the hotel, waiting for the valet to bring my car. The cool air did little to calm the fire in my veins.

“Leaving so soon?”

Sofia’s voice was a knife in my back. I didn’t turn around. She came to stand beside me, holding out a single, perfect white rose. “A parting gift.”

I stared at it, then met her gaze. “I don’t want anything from you.”

She laughed, a sound like shattering glass. “Oh, but you’ve already taken so much from me, Alessia. Four years of Rico’s time. But don’t worry. I’m taking it all back now. He’s mine. He was always mine.”

“Then you can have him,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m done.”

“Are you?” she purred, her eyes glittering with malice. “You’ll never be done with us.”

A sudden, deafening crash erupted from the street. People screamed. A construction scaffold on the building across the way had collapsed, sending metal poles and wooden planks raining down onto the chaos below.

Rico burst out of the hotel doors, his face pale with panic. His eyes scanned the crowd, not for me, but for her. “Fia!”

He saw her standing beside me, her eyes wide with something that looked more like excitement than fear. A heavy steel beam teetered precariously on the edge of the broken scaffold, directly above her.

“Fia, move!” he screamed.

He didn’t hesitate. He launched himself forward, shoving her out of the way, wrapping his body around hers as they tumbled to the ground. He protected her.

I didn’t even have time to scream. A smaller piece of metal, a pipe, broke free from the tangled wreckage. It arced through the air, unseen in the panic.

And then there was only pain. A white-hot agony in my leg as it struck me, buckling my knee and sending me crumpling to the pavement.

The world went dark, but the last thing I saw was Rico, his arms wrapped tightly around a trembling Sofia, whispering words of comfort to her as I lay bleeding just a few feet away.

I woke up in a hospital room. The sharp, sterile smell of antiseptic filled my nose. My leg was encased in a heavy cast, elevated on a pile of pillows, a dull, throbbing ache radiating from my shattered bone.

Rico was there, sitting in a chair by the window. He was trying to look concerned, but it was a poorly rehearsed performance. His eyes kept darting to his phone.

He saw I was awake and rushed to my side, taking my hand. “Ally. Thank god. You’re okay.”

I pulled my hand away. The touch of his skin felt like a brand.

My voice came out as a dry rasp. “Is she okay?”

The question was automatic, a reflex honed by four years of putting her needs first.

“She’s fine,” he said, relief washing over his face. “Just a few scratches. She was really shaken up, though.”

“Go to her,” I said, turning my face away from him. “She needs you.”

He hesitated for a moment, a flicker of something—guilt, maybe—in his eyes. But it passed as quickly as it came. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised.

I knew he wouldn’t.

I closed my eyes, feigning sleep until he left. The silence he left behind was a relief.

He returned hours later with a bouquet of roses that were too bright, too cheerful for the sterile white room. His apologies were just as hollow.

He didn’t stay long. His phone buzzed, and he was gone again, leaving the scent of Sofia’s perfume lingering in the air.

A nurse came in to check my vitals. “Your husband is so devoted,” she said with a kind smile. “He was so worried. He hasn’t left the hospital since you were brought in.”

I just nodded, a bitter taste in my mouth. A few minutes later, a message from Angie appeared on my phone. It was a single photo. Rico and Sofia, huddled together in the hospital cafeteria, his arm around her shoulders, her head resting against his chest. He was home. He just wasn’t with me.

A stark, cold clarity washed over me. This pain, this broken bone, it was a gift. It was the final, brutal truth I needed to see.

The doctor came in to review my chart. “We’ll keep you for a few more days, Mrs. Moretti,” he said, his voice gentle.

“It’s Vitale,” I said, my voice surprisingly strong. “Alessia Vitale. We’re divorced.”

The door to my room swung open.

Rico stood there, a paper cup of coffee in his hand, his face frozen in a mask of pure, stunned disbelief.

Rico POV:

“Divorced?” The word felt foreign in my mouth, like a language I didn’t understand. “What are you talking about?”

The doctor, sensing a storm brewing, gave a quick, awkward nod and backed out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

I stepped closer to the bed, my heart pounding a frantic, angry rhythm against my ribs. “Ally, what the hell was that?”

She looked at me, her eyes as cold and gray as the storm outside. “I was just telling the doctor my name.”

I noticed her coat then, draped over the chair in the corner. It wasn’t the one she wore tonight. It was her favorite, the one Sofia always said made her look washed out. Her purse sat beside it, along with a small, neatly packed overnight bag.

“Fia was terrified, Ally,” I said, my voice tight with frustration. “She thought she was going to die. I had to make sure she was okay.”

“I know,” she said, her voice devoid of any emotion. “I’m not your responsibility anymore, Rico. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Of course you’re my responsibility! You’re my wife!” The words felt hollow even as I said them. I was trying to convince myself as much as her.

“Am I?” she asked, a small, bitter smile touching her lips. “Tell me, Rico, what do I like for breakfast? What’s my favorite flower? What was the name of the gallery I poured my soul into for the last two years?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I knew Fia’s favorites. Lilies. Croissants with raspberry jam. She hated modern art. But Ally… Ally was a blank space. A quiet presence I had taken for granted.

A familiar frustration coiled in my gut. I ran a hand through my hair, a gesture I knew annoyed her. “This is because of the accident, isn’t it? I’ll make it up to you. I’ll buy you that bracelet you were looking at. The one with the emeralds.”

Her laugh was a short, sharp sound that cut right through me. “You still don’t get it. You never have.” I remembered her staring at a simple silver locket in that jewelry store, not the gaudy emerald bracelet Sofia had pointed out. I had bought her a new car last year for her birthday, a flashy sports car she never drove. She had wanted a membership to the botanical gardens.

“What do you want from me, Ally?” I asked, desperation creeping into my voice.

“Nothing,” she said, and I knew she meant it. “I want nothing from you.”

I looked at the divorce papers again later that night, the words blurring in front of my eyes. Her signature was neat and precise. Mine was a careless scrawl. I remembered that moment in the gallery, Sofia’s triumphant smile. I had been a fool.

I stayed for a while, talking about things that didn’t matter—the weather, the stock market, the leaky faucet in the guest bathroom. She just listened, her expression unreadable.

Then my phone rang. Fia. Of course.

“I have to take this,” I said, already moving toward the door.

“I know,” she replied, not even looking at me.

I came back with another apology, but she was already gone, moved to a private room on another floor. Her friend, Angie, was there, a formidable guard dog blocking the door. She gave me a look that could curdle milk and told me Alessia was resting and didn’t want to be disturbed.

The next few days were a blur of apologies and unanswered calls. I left flowers, chocolates, magazines. They all remained untouched outside her room.

One afternoon, I got a frantic call from my cousin. "Rico, what have you done? Vinny Salerno is running his mouth all over town, saying you challenged him to a street race for Sofia. The old men are furious. This is a violation of *Omertà*. You’re drawing attention. This is dangerous."

I knew what it was about. It wasn't about the race. It was about honor. It was about proving to everyone, to Sofia, that I was willing to risk everything for her.

I had to see Ally. I had to explain.

I found her in the physical therapy ward, her face tight with pain as she tried to put weight on her injured leg. She was with another patient, a man with a quiet strength about him, his hand gently supporting her elbow. Dante De Luca. Head of the De Luca family. A man whose power and influence dwarfed my own. A man known for his cold ruthlessness and unwavering loyalty. He was a shark in a world of minnows.

He looked up and saw me, his eyes dark and assessing. There was a possessiveness in his gaze as he looked at Alessia that made my blood run cold.

“Ally,” I said, my voice tight.

She looked at me, then back at De Luca, a silent communication passing between them.

Sofia was there, of course. She had appeared like a specter at my side. "Ric, darling, what are you doing here?" she cooed, clinging to my arm. "Look at them. Isn't it pathetic? She’s already found a replacement."

Another woman, one of Sofia’s cronies, sneered. "Some people just can't be alone."

I looked at Alessia, at the determined set of her jaw. And I realized, with a sickening jolt, that Sofia wasn’t the prize. Alessia was. And I had just thrown her away.

I had risked my family's honor, my own life, for a woman who saw me as a trophy. And in doing so, I had lost the one person who had ever truly been on my side.