Alessia POV:

Dante strode into my infirmary room carrying a basket of fruit and flowers, what passed for a "get-well" gesture in his world. I was on my phone, texting Luca's contact to confirm the final details of my transport.

Falcone territory. Ten days. All set.

Dante's shadow fell over me. "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded, his voice low and laced with the suspicion of a man who'd missed nothing.

I slowly looked up from my phone, schooling my features into a mask of indifference. "That is no longer within your purview, my Don," I said, my tone formal and cold.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. He hated this. He hated that I wasn't fighting, screaming, begging. He dropped the basket on the bedside table with a sharp thud. "Physical therapy," he grunted. "I'll take you."

He pushed my wheelchair through the halls, the silence between us thick and suffocating. He was expecting me to break, to say something, but I remained silent, playing the part of a compliant doll in his possession.

We rounded a corner into the main hall, and then he saw her.

Isabella was standing near the entrance, wringing her hands and looking artfully distressed. Dante released my wheelchair without a second thought, rushing to her side. "What is it? Are you hurt?"

I watched as the wheelchair-which he had left at the top of a subtle ramp leading down to the main floor-began to roll, picking up speed. It was heading directly for a large, decorative stone fountain. A collision would be agonizing for my shattered leg. I had no choice.

I threw myself from the chair, landing hard on the rough stone floor. A fresh wave of searing pain shot up my leg as fresh blood bloomed through the bandages.

Isabella looked down at me, a flicker of triumph in her eyes before she masked it with false sympathy. "Oh, Dante, you should carry her," she suggested sweetly.

Dante didn't even glance at me. "My arms are reserved for my woman," he stated, his voice flat. He turned his back on me, leading Isabella away and leaving me struggling on the cold floor.

As they passed, Isabella leaned down, her voice a triumphant whisper only I could hear. "He chose me. Now tell me, did you overhear our plan?"

I didn't answer. I just stared at her, letting my silence be its own reply. Frustration flashed across her face before she straightened up and took a deliberate step back, her heel catching on nothing at all. With a theatrical gasp and a wild flail of her arms, she tumbled backward into the icy water of the hydrotherapy pool nearby.

"She pushed me!" Isabella shrieked, sputtering.

Rage, pure and black, contorted Dante's face. He hauled a dripping Isabella from the pool, his eyes burning with a terrifying fire. Then he turned on me.

He grabbed me by the hair, dragging me to the edge of the pool. My heart hammered against my ribs, a wild bird trapped in a cage of bone.

"You want to play in the water?" he snarled.

He shoved my head under the freezing surface, the shock of the cold stealing the air from my lungs. Panic clawed at my throat as he held me down, his hand a vice on the back of my neck. He loomed over me, his face a mask of cold fury.

"Touch her again," he growled, his voice a Don's command that vibrated through the water, through my very soul. "And I'll strip you of your name. You'll be a ghost. No family, no protection. You'll belong to no one."

My eyes were wide with terror and disbelief, the world a distorted, watery blur. Then, he pushed me deeper, and I sank, the last of my air escaping in a frantic stream of bubbles.

Alessia POV:

I came to with a roar of voices ringing in my ears. I was back in the infirmary. My clothes were still soaked, clinging to my skin, and a violent, uncontrollable shivering seized my body. The voices-raw, furious-were coming from the hallway.

It was Luca and Dante.

"You tried to murder her!" Luca roared, his voice cracking with a raw fury I'd never heard from him before. "You held her under, Dante! I saw you! You tried to drown my sister!"

"She deserved it," Dante's voice was as cold and unyielding as ice. "She put her hands on my woman. She's obsessed, pathetic... and disgusting."

Disgusting.

The word struck me harder than the fall, harder than the crushing weight of the water. My eight years of devotion, of a love I thought was pure and unwavering, was disgusting to him.

A sickening thud, followed by a grunt of pain. Luca had broken the unspoken rule: he had struck his Don.

I had to stop him.

A surge of pure adrenaline shot through me. I threw back the blankets and stumbled out of the room, my injured leg sending a fresh bolt of agony up my side. I shoved myself between them, my small frame a trembling but resolute shield.

"Stop," I whispered, looking at my brother. "Please, Luca. For me."

The fury in his eyes fractured, replaced by a wave of pain as he took in my desperate expression. He released his fistful of Dante's shirt and guided me back toward my room, his arm a solid, protective wall around my shoulders.

A moment later, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was a text from Dante. Not a call. Not the decency of a final, face-to-face command. Just cold words on a screen.

Stop this pathetic act. Stay away from Isabella.

That was it. The final, cowardly blow. The carefully constructed fortress I'd built around my heart didn't just crack; it detonated. A single, ragged sob tore from my chest. I collapsed into Luca's arms, the full weight of my shattered world finally crushing me.

"He thinks my love is disgusting," I wept, the words tearing from my throat.

Luca held me tight, his own body trembling with a violence he was barely holding back. "I'm so sorry, Alessia," he choked out. "God, I'm so sorry."

"Sorry for what?" I sobbed into his chest. "That I'm disgusting? That I've wasted years on a man who hates me?"

"No," he said, his voice thick with pain. He pulled back just enough to look at me, his expression tortured. "That's not it. It was never about you. Not really. For a decade, he's been obsessed... but not with her. With a scent. He thought it was yours, Alessia. All this time, he's been chasing a ghost."

He pulled back fully, his hands framing my face, his own eyes burning with a fierce, unwavering loyalty that eclipsed everything else. "I don't care about him. I don't care about the Moretti Family," he swore, his voice thick with raw emotion. "I care about you. If you want to leave, I'll get you out. If you want to fight, I will burn this entire family to the ground for you. I am with you, Alessia. Always. Unconditionally."

I stared at my brother-the one person in this world who had never, ever failed me. And in his promise, I saw his death sentence. A war with his Don. A war he would lose.

I couldn't let that happen.

My tears stopped as if a faucet had been shut off. In their place, something cold and hard settled in my chest. Resolve. As unbreakable as steel.

"We're leaving," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "I have to get you out of here."