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.

Elena Rossi's POV:

I didn't pack clothes; I only packed the essentials.

My birth certificate. The bank transfer codes provided by Donna Isabella. My passport.

I stuffed them into the hidden lining of my purse.

Suddenly, the electronic lock on the front door beeped.

Dante.

He wasn't supposed to be back until morning.

Panic flared instantly. I hastily threw a blanket over the suitcase and sat on the edge of the bed just as the handle turned.

He walked in.

He smelled like rain and the cloying sweetness of her perfume.

He looked exhausted.

He loosened his tie, let out a heavy sigh, and tossed his jacket over a chair.

"Packing?" he asked, his eyes darting to the lump under the blanket.

"I'm cleaning," I lied, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Getting ready for the charity clothing drive."

He looked at me.

The air in the room seemed to shift.

He sensed something. He always did; his intuition was sharp.

He walked over and stood between my knees.

He reached out, his thumb gently brushing over the bandage on my cheek.

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.

"About Sofia..." he began.

"Don't," I interrupted softly.

I stood up, needing to put distance between us.

I walked over to the dresser and picked up the black card he had left there weeks ago.

"Is this still active?" I asked, holding it up.

He frowned. "Yes. Why?"

"I want to buy a dress," I said, meeting his gaze. "For the gala next week. If you'll still let me go."

I lied.

I didn't want a dress, and I didn't want his black card.

Next week, I wouldn't be at the gala; I would be in Australia.

His eyes softened, filling with a profound sense of relief.

He thought I had accepted my role as a mistress, willing to be bought off with haute couture.

"Of course," he said, his voice husky. "Buy whatever you want. Wear red."

He leaned down and kissed my forehead.

I didn't pull away.

I stood still as a statue, letting him believe I was his.

"Get some sleep, Dante," I said softly. "You look tired."

He nodded.

He stripped down to his boxers and climbed into the massive bed.

He fell asleep almost instantly, exhaustion finally taking over.

I stood in the dark, watching him.

I memorized the rise and fall of his chest.

I gently traced the line of his cheek with my fingers one last time.

"Goodbye, my love," I whispered into the silence.

He shifted.

He buried his face in my palm, seeking warmth.

"Sofia..." he mumbled in his sleep, the name plunging into my heart like a dagger. "Stay..."

I yanked my hand back as if I had been burned.

A bitter smile touched my lips.

That was the closure I needed.

I grabbed my purse.

I walked out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into the elevator.

I exited onto the street through the service door.

I pulled the SIM card out of my phone and dropped it down a storm drain on Fifth Avenue.

I hailed a cab.

"JFK Airport," I told the driver.

I watched the city blur past the window.

New York had been a cage of steel and glass.

For the first time in seven years, the door was wide open.

I used a burner phone I had bought at a bodega to call Donna Isabella.

"It's done," I said the moment she picked up. "I'm leaving."

"Good girl," she replied, her tone cold but approving. "Don't look back."

I hung up and snapped the phone in half.

I didn't look back.

I looked at the flight information board.

Melbourne. One-way.