Elena Rossi POV:

I moved with frantic, silent efficiency.

I wasn't packing clothes. Just the essentials.

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

I slipped them into the hidden lining of my purse.

Suddenly, the electronic lock on the front door chimed.

Dante.

He wasn't supposed to be back until morning.

Panic flared in my chest. I 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 shattered.

He loosened his tie, tossing his jacket on the chair with a heavy sigh.

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

"Cleaning," I lied, forcing my voice to remain steady. "Organizing for the charity drive."

He watched me.

The air in the room shifted. He sensed something. He always did. His instincts were sharp, honed like a blade. He was a predator.

He walked over and stood between my knees.

He reached out, his thumb grazing the bandage on my cheek.

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

"I heard you were at the Estate," he murmured.

"I went to get my old books."

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.

"About Sofia..." he started.

"Don't," I cut him off softly.

I stood up, needing to put distance between us.

I walked to the dresser and picked up the Black Card he had left there weeks ago.

"Is this still valid?" 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."

His eyes softened, flooded with relief.

He thought I was bargaining. He thought I was accepting my position as the mistress who gets paid off in couture.

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

He leaned down and kissed my forehead.

I didn't pull away.

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

"Go to sleep, Dante," I whispered. "You look exhausted."

He nodded.

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

He fell asleep instantly, the exhaustion finally claiming him.

I stood in the dark, watching him.

I memorized the rise and fall of his chest. The scar on his shoulder from the bullet meant for his father.

I reached out.

I brushed my fingers against his cheek one last time.

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

He stirred.

He turned his head into my hand, seeking warmth.

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

I snatched my hand back as if I had touched fire.

A bitter smile twisted 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 took the service exit to the street.

I popped the SIM card out of my phone and flicked it into a sewer grate on 5th Avenue.

I hailed a cab.

"JFK International," I told the driver.

I watched the city blur past the window.

New York was a cage of steel and glass.

And for the first time in seven years, the door was open.

I dialed Donna Isabella from a burner phone I had purchased at a bodega.

"It's done," I said the moment she answered. "I'm gone."

"Good girl," she replied, her voice cool and approving. "Don't look back."

I hung up and snapped the phone in half.

I wasn't looking back.

I was looking at the departure board.

Melbourne. One way.

Dante Vitiello POV

I woke up choking.

The darkness was heavy, pressing down on my chest like a physical weight. For a second, I thought I was blind again.

I reached out.

"Elena."

My hand hit only cold sheets.

I sat up, my heart hammering against my ribs. The room was empty. The bathroom door was open, revealing only darkness.

"Elena?" I called out.

Silence.

The silence in the penthouse wasn't peaceful. It was wrong. It was the silence of a grave.

I got out of bed and checked the closet.

Her clothes were there. The red dress I bought her. The shoes. But something was missing.

The air felt thin.

I walked into the living room. Maria, the maid, was dusting the mantle.

"Where is she?" I asked.

Maria jumped. "Sir?"

"Elena. Where is she?"

"I haven't seen Miss Rossi since yesterday, sir," Maria said, looking nervous. "Her bed wasn't slept in."

Panic, cold and sharp, spiked in my gut.

She said she was cleaning. She said she was buying a dress.

My phone rang on the kitchen counter.

I grabbed it, expecting her name.

It was Sofia.

"Dante!" she screamed. "Someone is in the hallway! The power is out!"

I rubbed my temples.

"Call security, Sofia."

"I can't! The keypad is dead! Please, Dante, I'm scared!"

I looked at the empty apartment. Elena was probably just out for coffee. She did that sometimes when she was mad.

"I'll be there," I growled.

I drove to Sofia's apartment in ten minutes.

The hallway lights were working fine.

I banged on her door.

She opened it instantly. She was wearing black lace lingerie and a silk robe that was falling off her shoulders.

She threw herself at me.

"Oh, thank God," she sobbed against my chest. "I heard footsteps."

I peeled her off me.

"The power is on, Sofia," I said, gesturing to the lamp behind her.

"It just came back," she lied. Her eyes were dry.

She ran her hands up my chest.

"Stay," she whispered. "Just for a bit. I'm shaken up."

She pressed her body against mine.

It felt wrong.

Her curves didn't fit me. Her perfume was too sweet.

I looked over her head at the window. The sky was grey.

A feeling of absolute dread washed over me.

It started in my stomach and spread to my fingertips. Something was happening. Something catastrophic.

Sofia was unbuttoning my shirt.

"Dante, look at me," she commanded.

I looked down.

But I didn't see her.

I saw Elena standing in the rain. I saw the blood on her arm.

I saw the look in her eyes in the piano room.

It wasn't anger.

It was nothing.

She had looked at me with absolutely nothing.

I pushed Sofia away.

"Dante?" she asked, shocked.

"I need to go," I said.

I turned around and walked out.

I didn't wait for the elevator. I took the stairs two at a time.

I needed to get back to the penthouse. I needed to see her.

I needed to make sure the bird hadn't flown the cage.

But as I drove back, speeding through red lights, the empty feeling in my chest turned into a scream.

I knew.

Before I even opened the door, I knew.

She was gone.

Dante Vitiello POV:

Sofia’s palms pressed flat against my chest.

Her fingers traced the buttons of my shirt, slipping inside to graze my skin.

She smelled of expensive roses and desperation.

It was a scent that used to drive me wild when we were teenagers. Now, it just made my stomach turn.

I wasn't looking at her.

I was looking at the window behind her, staring blindly at the grey New York skyline.

The silence in my head was deafening.

It wasn't the peaceful silence of a quiet room. It was the hollow silence of a missing heartbeat.

"Dante?" Sofia whispered. "You're trembling."

I pushed her hands away.

I stepped back.

The movement was abrupt, violent. Sofia stumbled, catching herself on the edge of the sofa to keep from falling.

"What is wrong with you?" she snapped, her mask of vulnerability cracking instantly. "I just told you I was scared. There was someone in the hall."

"There was no one," I said. My voice was a low grind of gravel.

"I checked the security feed on my phone before I came up. The hall has been empty for the last hour."

Sofia's face paled.

She pulled her silk robe tighter around her body, as if shielding herself from the cold truth.

"I heard footsteps," she insisted, but her eyes darted away.

"You lied," I said.

It wasn't a question.

"Why did you lie, Sofia?"

She bit her lip. Tears welled up in her eyes with practiced ease.

"Because I needed you," she sobbed. "Because you've been so distant. You're always with her. That... servant."

*Her.*

*Elena.*

The name hit me like a physical blow.

I didn't answer Sofia.

I didn't care about her tears. I didn't care about her manufactured fear.

I turned around and walked to the door.

"Dante! Where are you going?"

"Home," I said.

I slammed the door behind me, severing her scream.

I didn't walk to the elevator; I ran.

I hit the button for the lobby repeatedly, as if I could force the machine to move faster through the sheer weight of my rage.

I needed to get back to the penthouse.

I needed to see Elena sitting on the couch, reading a book. I needed to see her look up and smile that quiet, reserved smile.

I needed to prove the cold dread in my gut wrong.

I drove the Maybach like a man possessed.

I ran three red lights. I cut off a taxi without glancing back.

I didn't care.

I pulled up to the building, screeching to a halt, and threw the keys to the stunned valet.

I didn't wait for the elevator this time either. I took the private lift.

The doors slid open.

The penthouse was silent.

"Elena?" I called out.

My voice echoed off the marble walls, mocking me.

There was no answer.

I walked into the living room.

Maria, the maid, was standing there. She was holding a feather duster like a shield, but she wasn't moving.

She looked terrified.

"Where is she?" I asked.

Maria swallowed hard.

"Sir..."

"Where is Elena?" I roared.

Maria flinched, shrinking back.

"She's gone, sir."

"What do you mean, gone? Did she go to the store? The library?"

"No, sir."

Maria pointed a trembling finger toward the hallway. Toward the bedroom.

"She took her things."

The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

I walked past Maria.

I walked down the hall.

The door to our bedroom stood ajar.

I stepped inside.

And the world ended.