Sienna Vitiello POV

The boardroom smelled sharp—a mix of lemon polish and nervous sweat.

My team sat around the mahogany table, their eyes bright with restless anticipation.

They had brought champagne.

It was hidden in the mini-fridge, waiting for the official announcement.

It was an open secret that the directorship was mine.

I had built the International Branch from a rough concept on a napkin to a fully funded initiative.

I had secured the impossible permits in Milan. I had courted the skittish investors in Paris.

"Good luck, Sienna," my assistant whispered, squeezing my hand under the table. "You deserve this."

I forced a smile, but my stomach felt heavy, as if I had swallowed a stone.

The heavy oak doors swung open.

Dante walked in.

He didn't spare me a glance.

He walked to the head of the table, his presence instantly dominating the space, demanding absolute attention.

He was followed by Valeria.

She was wearing a white suit tailored to perfection, yet on her, it looked like a costume. She looked like she was playing dress-up.

She sat in the chair to his right.

My chair.

The room went deadly silent.

Dante placed a single file on the table.

"As you know, we are expanding into Europe," he began, his voice a smooth baritone that used to make my knees weak.

Now, it just made me nauseous.

"This expansion requires a vision that aligns with the future of the Moretti family."

He paused, finally flicking his gaze to me.

His eyes were blank. Strictly business.

"Therefore, I am appointing Valeria Rossi as the new Director of the International Branch."

A collective gasp rippled around the table.

My assistant dropped her pen.

It clattered loudly against the floor—a gunshot in the quiet room.

Valeria smiled, a modest, practiced tilt of her head.

"Thank you, Dante," she said softly. "I look forward to bringing my European expertise to the team."

Expertise?

She had spent the last five years shopping in Milan, not working.

"But... Mr. Moretti," one of the senior architects spoke up, his voice trembling. "Sienna has led this project for two years. She knows every detail."

Dante’s gaze snapped to the architect.

"Valeria has the aesthetic vision we need," he said coldly. "Sienna is... efficient. But we need inspiration."

Efficient.

He had reduced seven years of my life—my passion, my sweat, and my blood—into a word used for a household appliance.

I looked at Valeria.

She was beaming at him, her hand resting possessively on his arm.

She didn't want the job. She wanted the title. She wanted to take the one thing I had left outside of him.

I stood up.

The chair scraped harshly against the floor.

Dante looked at me, a challenge in his eyes.

"Sit down, Sienna," he ordered. "We aren't finished."

I didn't sit.

I picked up the folder in front of me. The one containing the strategy for the next quarter.

I walked to the head of the table.

I placed the folder gently in front of Valeria.

"Good luck," I said.

My voice was steady. Too steady.

"You’ll need to know the zoning laws for the warehouse district by Friday. They change every month."

Valeria blinked, looking at the folder like it was a bomb.

"Sienna," Dante warned, his voice dropping dangerously.

I turned to him.

I looked at the man who had promised to protect me, only to feed me to the wolves.

"I’m happy for you, Dante," I said. "You finally found someone who matches your level of competence."

I turned and walked out.

I heard him call my name.

I didn't stop.

I walked past the hidden champagne.

I hoped they drank it. And I hoped it tasted like vinegar.

Sienna Vitiello POV

I didn't go home to cry.

I went straight to my office and packed a single box.

My degree. A framed photo of my parents. The small, resilient cactus Giulia had given me.

I left the files. I left the contact lists. I left the solutions to the problems I knew Valeria would create within the week.

I typed my formal resignation letter on my phone while waiting for the elevator.

It was two sentences long.

With the digital trail established, I marched back to Dante’s office.

His secretary tried to stop me, half-rising from her chair.

"He is in a meeting with Ms. Rossi," she stammered.

I pushed past her and shoved the door open.

Valeria was perched on the edge of his desk, laughing.

They stopped the moment I entered.

Dante looked annoyed, irritation flickering across his features.

"We are discussing strategy, Sienna."

I walked up to the desk and placed my phone down, showing him the email I had just sent.

"I resign."

Dante rolled his eyes. He picked up a pen and twirled it between his fingers, bored.

"Stop the drama, Sienna. You’re upset about the promotion. Take a week off. Go to the spa."

He didn't believe me.

He thought I was a fixture. A lamp that could be moved but never removed.

"I’m not upset," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I’m done."

I pulled the hard copy I had prepared earlier from my pocket.

"Sign it."

He looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time that day.

He saw the lack of emotion in my eyes. He saw the void where his loyal assistant used to be.

He snatched the paper, signed it with a sharp, angry scrawl, and shoved it back across the mahogany.

"Fine," he snapped. "If you want to throw a tantrum, go ahead. You’ll be back begging for your job in a month."

I took the paper.

"Thank you," I said.

I turned to leave.

"Oh, and Sienna?" Valeria called out, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Leave your key card on the desk."

I dropped the plastic card on the carpet.

I didn't look back.

I took a cab straight to the penthouse.

I called a real estate agent who specialized in discreet, cash-only transactions for the underworld.

"I want it sold," I told him. "Today."

"But Ms. Vitiello, the market is—"

"I don't care about the price," I interrupted, cutting him off. "I want it gone."

Two hours later, a shell company owned by the Russian Bratva bought it.

They paid twenty percent under market value.

I didn't care.

I packed one suitcase.

Clothes. My passport. The cash from the sale.

My phone buzzed against the countertop.

It was a text from Giulia.

Sienna, please come to the Gala tonight. It’s my birthday. I know you hate him right now, but do it for me. Please.

I looked at the suitcase.

I looked at the empty apartment, stripped of its soul.

One last night.

One last performance.

I would go. I would say goodbye to the only Moretti who had ever treated me like a human being.

And then, I would vanish.

Sienna Vitiello POV

The Moretti Estate blazed against the night sky, a fortress bracing for a coronation.

A parade of luxury cars lined the driveway. The air was heavy with the scent of expensive perfume and roasted meat.

I entered through the servant’s entrance.

I wasn't the future Mrs. Moretti anymore. I was a ghost.

I wore a black dress with long sleeves, a high neck, and a plunging open back.

It looked like mourning attire.

I slipped into the ballroom, sticking to the shadows that clung to the perimeter.

I saw them immediately.

Dante and Valeria.

They were standing near the orchestra, holding court.

Valeria was wearing a red dress that demanded attention. She was laughing, her hand resting possessively on Dante’s chest.

He looked... content.

He looked like a man who had everything he wanted.

My father was there, talking to the Don. They were laughing.

They didn't know yet.

They didn't know the alliance was dead.

I found Giulia near the chocolate fountain.

"Sienna!" she squealed, nearly tackling me in a tight hug. "You came!"

"Happy birthday, G," I whispered, pressing a small velvet box into her hand.

It was a pair of diamond earrings I had designed myself. The last thing I created before I lost my memory.

She opened it and gasped.

"They’re beautiful. But... why do you look like you’re saying goodbye?"

"Because I am."

Her face fell.

"Sienna, don't. Dante is just being an idiot. He’ll come around."

"He won't," I said, my voice hollow. "And I don't want him to."

The noise of the party began to swell, suffocating me.

"I need air," I told her.

I retreated to one of the guest rooms on the second floor. It was quiet here.

I sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the muffled thrum of music from below.

The door creaked open.

I expected Giulia.

It was Valeria.

She slipped inside and turned the lock with a sharp click.

"Hiding?" she asked, her voice mocking.

I stood up.

"Get out, Valeria."

She walked toward me, running her hand along the antique dresser.

"You know," she said, picking up a heavy silver candelabra. "I always hated you. Even when my husband was alive."

"Why?" I asked. "I never did anything to you."

"Because you were perfect," she spat. "The perfect Vitiello princess. And I was just a soldier’s wife."

She stepped closer.

"But now? Now I have everything. I have your job. I have your man."

"He’s not a prize, Valeria," I said calmly. "He’s a job. And you’re welcome to him."

Her eyes narrowed.

"You think you’re better than me?"

"I think I’m free," I said.

She laughed, a harsh, brittle sound.

"You’re nothing. You’re just a failed investment."

She shoved me.

I stumbled back, hitting the heavy curtains.

"Don't touch me," I warned.

She shoved me again, harder.

I grabbed her wrist.

She shrieked and swung the candelabra.

It hit my shoulder with a dull thud of pain.

I pushed her back.

She stumbled, her heels catching on the rug.

She flailed, losing her grip on the heavy silver.

It crashed onto the floor.

The lit candles rolled onto the heavy velvet drapes.

With a terrifying whoosh, the fabric caught fire instantly. The flames licked up the dry material, hungry and fast.

"Fire!" Valeria screamed.

She scrambled toward the door.

It was locked. She fumbled with the latch, panic making her clumsy.

The room filled with acrid smoke.

I coughed, my eyes stinging.

I moved to help her with the door.

She looked at me, her eyes wide with malice.

She shoved me backward, toward the burning curtains.

"Stay there!" she screamed.

She got the door open and slipped through.

Before I could follow, the door slammed shut, and the lock clicked into place.

"Dante!"