Elena Rossi's POV:

I moved through the penthouse like a ghost, quietly packing my things into boxes whenever Dante wasn't paying attention.

He interpreted my silence as sulking. He thought I had finally "accepted my place."

I was in the hallway, my hand hovering over the study door, when I suddenly heard his voice and froze.

"She's calmed down, Mother," Dante said, his tone casual. "Yes, I know she's going on a trip. She thinks it's a vacation."

I froze.

"Isabella," he continued, "Elena has agreed to stay at the villa in Tuscany for a few weeks. Just until the wedding fever dies down."

He was lying to his mother. Or maybe, Isabella had lied to him.

"She signed the papers, Dante," Isabella's voice came through the speakerphone. "She's taking the money and leaving forever..."

My heart hammered violently in my chest.

If he knew I had already signed the agreement...

Dante laughed. "She signed an NDA for pocket change, Mom. She isn't going anywhere. She's obsessed with me. She'll never leave."

He actually believed that.

His arrogance became my shield.

I retreated into the shadows, dead silent.

That night, he hosted a gala.

"For you," he said, shoving a velvet box into my hands. It held a pair of diamond earrings. "A birthday present. I know I missed it."

My birthday was last week—the exact day he left me stranded on the side of the road.

The estate's ballroom was suffocating.

When I walked in, people whispered.

The mistress. The kept woman. The charity case.

Dante kept his hand pressed to the small of my back, as if branding me.

Then, the double doors swung open.

Sofia walked in.

She wore a light blue silk gown embroidered with delicate silver vines that shimmered under the chandeliers.

It was a custom design.

I knew that because I had seen Dante sketch it.

Three years ago, when his sight was just starting to return—when he couldn't see anything but me—he drew it on a cocktail napkin.

"For you," he promised as he traced the lines. "When I can see again, I want to see you in this."

Now, Sofia was wearing it.

She glided across the room, the crowd parting for her like the Red Sea.

She walked straight toward us.

"Happy birthday, Elena," she chirped, her tone dripping with fake sweetness. "Dante told me he designed this dress. It's beautiful, isn't it? A bit tight around the bust, but I pull it off quite well."

She flashed a smile.

Dante shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my eyes.

"I brought a gift, too," Sofia announced.

She snapped her manicured fingers.

A servant stepped forward, carrying a wicker basket.

Inside was a puppy—a German Shepherd.

Its ears perked up, its teeth sharp and white.

I jerked backward, gasping.

When I was ten, the head of security's dogs got into the servants' quarters. One of them tore open my calf. I still bore the scars to this day.

I was terrified of dogs.

Dante knew this.

He knew.

"His name is Ali," Sofia said, shoving the basket against my chest. "Take him. He's a protector."

The puppy barked, a sharp, piercing sound.

I flinched violently, bumping into a passing waiter.

"Take it, Elena," Sofia urged, her eyes gleaming. "Don't be rude."

"I... I can't," I stammered, my palms sweating.

"Dante," Sofia pouted, turning to look at him. "She's rejecting my gift."

Dante looked around. The crowd was watching, waiting to see if the mistress would defy the future Donna.

"Elena," Dante said, a tense warning in his tone. "Take the dog. It's a peace offering."

"Dante, please," I whispered, begging him to remember. "You know."

"Take the damn dog!" he snapped.

Trembling, I reached out my hands.

Sensing my fear, the puppy lunged.

It didn't bite, but it scrambled frantically out of the basket.

It bolted.

It crashed straight into a towering pyramid of champagne glasses.

Crash.

The sound of hundreds of shattering glasses was deafening.

Dante sprang into action instantly.

He threw himself over Sofia, shielding her from the falling shards.

Glass rained down like hail.

A large shard sliced my forearm. Another grazed my cheek.

I stood there, blood welling up on my skin, watching him hold her.

He checked her face, her arms, her hair.

"Are you okay?" he asked her anxiously.

"I'm scared," she whimpered, burying her face in his chest.

Only then did he look at me.

He saw the blood running down my arm, dripping onto the marble floor.

For a fleeting second, a flash of regret crossed his eyes.

But then the crowd began to murmur.

"Get her to the ER!" Dante barked at a nearby soldier. "And clean this mess up."

He turned his attention back to Sofia.

"Come on," he said softly to her. "Let's get you out of here."

He escorted her out.

Again.

I stood amid the ruins of the party, covered in blood, while the guests covered their mouths to hide their laughter.

"Miss Rossi," the soldier said quietly. "The car is out front."

I looked at the blood pooling at my feet. It was the exact same color as the wine Dante drank when he was blind.

"I don't need the car," I said.

I turned and walked toward the exit.

I didn't need stitches.

I needed a plane ticket.

Seven days left.

Elena Rossi's POV:

The penthouse was eerily quiet.

I bandaged my arm using the first-aid kit I found under the sink. The cut on my cheek wasn't deep, but it would be enough to leave a mark.

Good.

I wanted a scar. I wanted something permanent to remember the night I finally woke up.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

It was Sofia.

Sofia: Darling, so sorry about your dress. But honestly, white doesn't suit you. It's a bride's color. You looked like a stain standing next to Dante. Have fun bonding with the puppy. Or did it run away too?

It was followed by a photo.

A selfie. She was in the passenger seat of a Maybach—Dante's car.

Dante was driving. His hand rested possessively on her thigh.

I didn't cry.

I put the phone down and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The rain had finally stopped. It was 2:00 AM.

I pulled on a plain black hoodie and slipped out of the penthouse. I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of the Vitiello estate.

The guards at the gate the guards at the gate recognized me. They assumed I was there to see Marco or to grab something from my old servant's quarters.

They waved me through without even a second glance.

I walked across the damp grass to the old peach tree in the back garden.

Seven years ago, on Dante's eighteenth birthday, we had buried a time capsule under its roots. He wasn't the Don then; he was just a boy.

I dropped to my knees in the mud.

I didn't use a shovel; I dug with my bare hands.

The earth was cold and heavy.

My fingernails snapped against the hard dirt. The fresh bandages on my arm soaked through, black mud mixing with bright blood.

I didn't care.

My fingers brushed against metal.

I pulled out the rusted iron box and pried the lid open. Inside lay two folded slips of paper and a tarnished silver locket.

I unfolded my paper first.

I will serve and love Dante Vitiello until the end of my days. I will be his light.

I stared at those words.

I had written them in blood. Literally. I had pricked my finger to seal the vow.

What a foolish, naive girl I had been.

Next, I unfolded Dante's paper.

I want to see again. I want the Family to be strong. I want Sofia to be safe.

Sofia.

Even then, even when she ignored him, even when I sat beside him, listening to his dreams, his wish was for her safety.

I wasn't in his wishes.

I took my paper and tore it into shreds.

I walked over to the drainage grate near the fountain and let the pieces fall. I watched the dark water carry them away, down into the sewer where they belonged.

Then, I picked up the locket.

He had given it to me the night his sight returned. He called it a promise.

I walked back to the tree and dug a new hole, deeper this time. I threw the silver chain into the mud.

I scooped the dirt back over it and patted it down until the ground looked undisturbed.

I wasn't just burying a necklace.

I was burying Elena Rossi.

My phone vibrated again.

Dante: Are you okay? Luca said you refused the car.

I stared at the screen. His name no longer made my heart race.

I replied.

Me: I'm fine. I don't need you.

Then I turned and walked out of the garden, leaving my heart to rot beneath the peach tree.

I came back for one reason only: my passport.

It was locked in a safe at the estate, hidden in my old, tiny room.

I thought the house would be empty at this hour.

I was wrong.

I slipped in through a side door, shaking the rain off my coat.

Laughter drifted down the hallway, light and carefree.

The sound came from the music room.

I should have turned around right then.

But my feet carried me forward, pulled by an invisible force.

I stopped dead in my tracks at the open double doors.

Dante sat at the grand piano, his posture straight and elegant.

He was playing Liebestraum (Love Dream).

It was a song he had composed while blind, born in the darkness that had once consumed him.

He used to play it for me at 3:00 AM, in the quiet hours when the pain in his eyes was unbearable.

He had told me the melody was the sound of my voice.

Now, he was playing it for her.

Sofia sat on the bench beside him, far too close.

She rested her head on his shoulder, her fingers dancing lightly over the keys, pretending to play along with him.

She looked up, her gaze landing on me standing in the doorway.

A glint of malice flashed in her eyes.

"Oh, look, Dante," she cooed. "The help is back."

Dante's hands faltered on the keys.

The music stopped abruptly.

He turned around.

His eyes met mine across the room.

"Elena," he said softly, a defensive edge to his voice. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm packing," I replied.

"Don't be rude, Dante," Sofia chided gently, placing a possessive hand on his chest. "Finish the piece. I love this song. You wrote it for me, right?"

Dante looked at me.

He knew.

He knew that I knew.

But he didn't correct her.

"Yeah," he said, his deep gaze never leaving my eyes, cold and unwavering. "I wrote it for you, Sofia."

Something deep inside me snapped.

The last, vital lifeline was severed.

Sofia smiled triumphantly.

She leaned in closer.

She kissed his lips.

It wasn't a light peck; it was a declaration of ownership.

Dante didn't push her away.

He didn't flinch.

He just closed his eyes and let her kiss him.

I stood there and watched them.

I watched the man I had pulled back from the brink of despair kiss the woman who had abandoned him.

I didn't scream.

I just turned and walked away.

The rain was coming down harder now, turning into a thunderstorm.

I didn't seek shelter.

I walked straight into the deluge.

The water mixed with the tears on my face, making them indistinguishable.

I was free.

I had nothing left to lose, because he had taken the last thing I truly owned.

My memories.