My fever broke just in time for me to be paraded like a show pony.

Isabella threw a garment onto the foot of my bed.

It was red.

The color of the sins they were forcing me to swallow.

"Get up," she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Tonight is the celebration of the heir. You will stand in the back. You will smile. And you will look grateful that we let you breathe our air."

I pulled the dress over my head.

It hung loosely on my frame, failing to cling to the curves I no longer possessed.

I had lost ten pounds during the quarantine, surviving on tepid tap water and the echoes of Dante playing house with another woman.

The gala was held in the grand ballroom of the Pierre Hotel.

Crystal chandeliers dripped artificial light onto men who killed for a living and women who looked the other way for the sake of diamond necklaces.

I clung to the shadows near a marble pillar, invisible to everyone but the security detail assigned to ensure I didn't run.

Dante stood at the center of the room.

He looked devastating in his tuxedo, the King of New York holding court.

Sofia was by his side, glowing in white silk, the baby resting in her arms like a prop.

Isabella stepped forward, a microphone in hand.

She snapped open a velvet box.

A diamond ring the size of a quail egg glittered violently under the lights.

"To my daughter-in-law," she announced, her voice booming. "For giving the Moretti family its future."

The room erupted in polite, thunderous applause.

Dante took the ring.

He slid it onto Sofia's finger.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

The camera flashes went off like strobes, blinding me, burning the image of their union into my retinas.

I felt nothing.

My heart was a dried leaf, crumbling to dust inside my chest.

Then, Sofia saw me.

Of course she did.

She handed the baby to the nanny and waved me over with a manicured hand.

"Come, Elena!" she called out, her voice dripping with a sweetness that tasted like saccharine. "Get in the photo. We are all family here."

The guests murmured, their gazes sliding over me-the mistress, the fish girl, the charity case.

Dante stiffened.

He looked at me across the crowd, his eyes pleading.

_Just do it,_ his gaze seemed to say. _Just play along._

I walked forward, my legs moving on autopilot.

I took my place next to Sofia.

She leaned in close, smiling radiantly for the cameras.

"You look like a corpse," she whispered through her teeth. "Try not to bleed on the floor."

I stared straight ahead, focusing on the flashbulbs.

Then the world groaned.

The heavy velvet backdrop behind us, laden with thousands of roses and supported by a massive steel frame, gave way.

It tipped forward with the screech of tearing metal.

Dante moved before anyone else.

He didn't think.

He lunged.

He tackled me.

He threw his body over mine, driving me into the carpet as the steel frame crashed down exactly where we had been standing.

Dust and crushed petals filled the air, choking the light.

Silence fell over the room.

Dante lifted his head, his hands checking me frantically.

"Are you hurt?" he demanded, his voice rough. "Elena?"

I shook my head, stunned.

He had saved me.

In the moment of pure instinct, he had chosen me.

Then a scream pierced the silence.

Sofia.

She was trapped under the edge of the frame.

Blood was pooling rapidly on the white carpet.

Dante's face went white.

He scrambled off me, leaving me in the dust, and ran to her.

"Sofia!" he roared.

He lifted the steel beam with a strength born of sheer panic.

She was pale, gasping for air, clutching her abdomen.

The ambulance arrived in minutes.

We were rushed to the private wing of Lenox Hill.

I sat in the waiting room, covered in dust, forgotten.

A doctor burst out of the operating doors.

"She is hemorrhaging," he told Dante urgently. "We need O-negative blood. The blood bank is low. We don't have time to wait for a transfer."

Dante turned to me slowly.

He knew my blood type.

He knew everything about me.

"Give it to her," he said.

It wasn't a question.

I looked at him, disbelief washing over me like ice water.

"You want my blood?" I asked, my voice trembling. "The same blood you called dirty?"

"She carries the spare heir," Dante said, his voice shaking with a terrifying intensity. "If she dies, the alliance dies. If the alliance dies, war starts."

"I don't care about your war," I spat.

I stood up to leave.

Dante grabbed my arm.

His grip was iron.

"You will do this," he snarled.

"You owe the Family. You caused the accident with your bad luck."

I stared at him.

This wasn't the man who had saved me from the bomb.

This was the Don who would grind bones to make his bread.

"Strap her down," he ordered the guards.

"No!" I screamed as they grabbed me.

They dragged me into the prep room.

They held my arm down on the table.

The needle pierced my skin.

Dante stood in the doorway, watching.

He didn't look away.

"Take what you need," he told the nurse coldly.

I watched the bag fill with red.

They took one pint.

Then two.

I started to get dizzy, the room tilting on its axis.

"Stop," I whispered, my strength fading. "Please."

"She needs more," Dante said, his voice void of emotion.

The room spun.

Black spots danced in my vision.

He was draining me dry to keep his lie alive.

I looked at him one last time before the darkness took me.

_I hope it chokes her,_ I thought.

Then I passed out.

Elena POV

I woke to the sterile beep of monitors and the sharp scent of antiseptic.

But beneath the hospital smells, the air felt wrong.

It was suffocating, heavy with the weight of an unspoken accusation.

Dante was sitting in the chair next to me, his elbows on his knees, his head buried in his hands.

He looked up the moment I stirred.

There was no relief in his dark eyes.

Only a cold, burning fury.

"You rigged it," he said, his voice a low rumble.

I blinked, my brain sluggish and swimming from the blood loss.

"What?"

"The backdrop," he spat. "You loosened the bolts. You wanted to kill her."

I stared at the ceiling, watching the cracks in the plaster.

I didn't have the energy to defend myself.

I didn't have the energy to tell him I had been locked in a room for a week, prisoner in my own home.

I didn't have the energy to remind him that he was the one who saved me.

"Think what you want, Dante," I rasped, my throat dry as sandpaper.

My indifference snapped something inside him.

He stood up violently and kicked the chair. It flew across the room and crashed into the wall with a deafening clatter.

"Why do you defy me?" he shouted, his chest heaving.

"Why can't you just submit? Why do you make everything a battle?"

I closed my eyes, shutting out his rage.

"I release you," I whispered.

The room went dead silent.

Dante walked to the side of the bed.

He leaned down, his face inches from mine, his breath hot against my cheek.

"What did you say?"

"I release you," I repeated, my voice hollow. "Go be a family. Be with Sofia. Be with your heirs. I am done."

He grabbed my face, his fingers digging into my jaw.

"You never leave," he hissed, his pupils blown wide. "You belong to me. You are mine until I put you in the ground."

He let go of me as if I burned him.

"The marriage is a sham," he said, pacing the room like a caged animal.

"But we have to make it look real. For the Commission."

He stopped at the foot of the bed, gripping the rail until his knuckles turned white.

"We are doing a Vow Renewal. Tomorrow. To legitimize the children."

I laughed. A dry, cracking sound that hurt my chest.

Another wedding. Another lie.

"Sofia has forgiven you for the sabotage," he said, ignoring my laugh.

"She is generous. You will be grateful."

He walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle.

"I'll send the nurse. Get your strength up. You have a long life of penance ahead of you."

He slammed the door, leaving a ringing silence in his wake.

I lay there for a long time, staring at nothing.

Then the door opened again.

It wasn't a nurse.

It was Don Lorenzo.

He walked in with a cane, looking old and tired, the weight of the empire pressing down on his shoulders.

He placed a plain white envelope on the bedside table.

"A plane ticket," he said softly. "One way. To Seattle."

I looked at the envelope.

"The Vow Renewal is tomorrow at noon," the Don said.

"Dante will be distracted. The guards will be at the church."

He looked at me with something resembling pity, his eyes weary.

"My son is a fool," he said. "He thinks he can have it all. He thinks he can keep the crown and the girl."

He tapped the envelope with his cane.

"If you stay, he will destroy you. If you go, he will destroy himself looking for you. But at least you will be free."

I took the envelope.

It felt light, yet it held the weight of my entire future.

"Thank you," I said.

The Don nodded and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

I didn't pack.

I didn't take the clothes Dante bought me.

I didn't take the jewelry.

I stood up, my legs shaking beneath me, and walked to the window.

I looked at the city skyline, glittering like a cage of lights.

I was already gone.

Dante POV

The tuxedo didn't just fit; it constricted, binding me like a straitjacket.

I stood at the high altar of St. Patrick's Cathedral, sweating under the heavy fabric despite the cool air of the sanctuary.

The pews were packed with the vultures of the underworld-every crime boss from Boston to Miami.

They were here to witness the union of the Moretti and Genovese families.

They were here to see me chain myself to a woman I couldn't stand.

I adjusted the gun in my holster beneath my jacket, the cold steel offering the only comfort in the room.

Just one more hour.

That was the deal I made with myself.

Marry her. Say the vows. Take the photos.

Then the Commission would be satisfied. The war would be over.

And I could go back to Elena.

I had it all planned out.

I had bought a villa in Tuscany. Secluded. Private.

I would move Elena there. I would visit every month, away from this life, away from this lie.

Sofia didn't care. She had the title. She had the ring. She had the kids.

She had promised me last night.

"Give me the wedding, Dante, and I will look the other way."

I believed her because I had to.

The organ music swelled, vibrating against my ribs.

The heavy oak doors groaned open.

Sofia began her descent down the aisle.

She looked like a queen.

The guests murmured in admiration.

I felt sick, bile rising in my throat.

I looked at the empty seat in the back row where I had imagined Elena sitting.

I wanted her to see this.

I wanted her to see that this meant nothing.

It was just business.

Why couldn't she understand that?

Why did she have to fight me at every turn?

Why did she look at me in the hospital like I was a stranger?

"I release you."

Her words echoed in my head, louder than the organ.

She didn't get to release me.

I owned her. I saved her life. I bled for her.

She was mine.

Sofia reached the altar.

She smiled at me. It was a sharp, predatory smile.

"You look handsome, husband," she whispered.

"Let's get this over with," I muttered.

The priest began to speak.

He talked about love. About sacrifice. About two souls becoming one.

I zoned out.

I thought about Elena's skin. The way she smelled like rain and vanilla.

I thought about the way she used to look at me before the ice entered her eyes.

I would fix it.

Tonight.

I would leave the reception early. I would go to the estate. I would kick down her door if I had to.

I would make her understand that this was all for us.

I had invested millions in this wedding to buy our freedom.

The priest turned to me.

"Dante Moretti, do you take this woman..."

I looked at Sofia.

For a second, her face blurred.

I saw Elena.

I saw Elena bleeding on the table. I saw Elena under the whip.

My chest tightened until I couldn't breathe.

"I do," I choked out.

The words tasted like ash.

I slid the ring onto Sofia's finger.

It felt cold.

It felt like I was handcuffing myself to a corpse.