A little after eight, the lock clicked.

Luca came in with the rain still on his coat. A damp chill followed him into the apartment as he tossed his black overcoat over the arm of the sofa. In his other hand, he carried coffee and a small box of desserts.

Vanessa was already walking toward him in heels.

She took one of the cups from him as naturally as if she had been waiting for it, glanced down, and smiled.

"Still a hot latte?"

"You were the one who said the place downstairs makes it too bitter," Luca said casually.

Her eyes curved at once. "You remembered."

Luca gave a low laugh but said nothing. He only set the other cup on the table.

"Yours. Americano."

Vanessa's latte was warm, with cinnamon dusted over the foam and the pale gold sleeve she always liked. My iced Americano had been sitting long enough for the ice to melt, water beading all over the plastic cup.

It had probably always been like this.

I just hadn't noticed, or maybe I had never wanted to.

Vanessa was still wearing the champagne-gold bridesmaid dress. The satin clung to her waist and made her skin look almost luminous under the living room lights. She turned in front of the mirror, lifting the skirt a little as she asked Luca, "What do you think? Am I going to steal the bride's spotlight?"

Luca leaned against the sofa and looked at her for two seconds before answering, slow and easy.

"Looks good."

Vanessa laughed immediately. "Just the dress?"

Luca didn't answer. He only lowered his head and took a sip of coffee.

Somehow, the silence was more intimate than a compliment.

For one strange moment, with the warm light falling over both of them, I felt like I had walked into someone else's home.

Vanessa had always liked wearing my things.

Back then, Evelyn was still a private medical aide at the Castellano estate, in charge of my father's medication and meals. Vanessa practically grew up inside the estate. She was two years younger than me and always followed a step behind.

She would secretly try on gowns I no longer wore. She would stare at the jewelry I put on before family dinners. After banquets, she liked standing behind the railing on the second floor, watching the men in dark suits downstairs, the heirs and Capos who were born knowing which doors would open for them.

Once, she asked me, "Selene, what kind of man do you think you'll marry?"

I was young then and found the question boring, so I said, "I don't know."

Vanessa thought about it for a long time. Then she whispered, very seriously, "I'm going to marry into a family like this."

When she first entered Moretti's port operations line, I was the one who introduced her to Luca.

She had just graduated from business school then and was placed on the outside, handling dinner lists, dock receptions, and some of the less clean paperwork. She was smart, careful, and knew when to keep her mouth shut.

It did not take long before Luca started bringing her to family gatherings and underground casinos. She remembered what every Capo liked to drink. She organized transaction lists and port ledgers before anyone asked. Once, when the west-side transport line ran into trouble, she rearranged the dock handoff order in one night.

After that, Luca looked at her differently. He began taking her to more private meetings. And somehow, the seat beside him became hers by default.

"Where's Agnes?" Luca asked suddenly.

"I let her leave early."

He nodded and came toward me, lowering his head as if to kiss me.

The familiar scent of cedarwood came close. Before I could think, I turned my face away.

His lips had not even touched me when something shattered behind him.

Vanessa's coffee had fallen to the floor. Hot liquid splashed across the rug, and she drew in a soft breath as it burned her hand.

Luca let go of me almost instantly and strode over.

"Did it burn you?"

Vanessa frowned and murmured that it hurt.

Luca cursed under his breath, found the first-aid kit, and crouched in front of her to treat the red mark on the back of her hand.

"When are you going to stop being so clumsy?"

Vanessa looked wounded. "You startled me."

I picked up my iced Americano and took a sip.

It was bitter enough to leave my tongue dry.

I didn't look at them again. I turned and went back to the bedroom.

My suitcase was still open beside the bed with only a few pieces of clothing inside. I pulled open the drawer and took out my passport, a few cards, and the marriage registry. The Moretti crest was pressed into the parchment, a black rose wrapped around a dagger. It looked solemn. Dangerous. Real.

Three years ago, when Luca handed it to me, I had believed it was a promise.

I folded the papers and slipped them into the inner pocket of my suitcase.

Not long after, the bedroom door opened.

Luca stood in the doorway with his sleeves rolled to his elbows and a faint crease between his brows. He must have just finished treating Vanessa's hand; there was still a trace of ointment on his fingers.

"What are you doing?"

"Packing." I folded a black jacket and placed it in the suitcase. "I'm going home for the holiday."

"Selene, the wedding is postponed. Not canceled." His voice lowered, as if he were dealing with a small inconvenience rather than the third year of the same promise. "You don't need to run back to those old connections over this."

Old connections. Even now, he still thought my family was just somewhere I went when I wanted to vent.

I kept folding my clothes and said nothing.

In Luca's mind, I was nothing more than an unimportant distant branch of the Castellano family.

Three years ago, I left my family because I truly wanted to bet on love. I did not want Luca to know who I really was. I did not want him to love the Castellano name instead of me.

"I know you're upset about the wedding," he said, stepping closer as if to touch my shoulder. "When the Italy matter is over, I'll go meet your family myself. Isn't that what you wanted?"

I lifted my eyes to him.

"What if I don't want it anymore?"

Luca frowned. "You will."

"Why?"

For a few seconds, he said nothing. Then he gave a low laugh.

"Because you'll stand with me."

He was certain I would never leave.

Every time I had backed down, every time I had stayed quiet, every time I had explained him to my family and smoothed things over for him, I had only taught him one thing.

That I would always be there.

"Then let's not pretend there's still a wedding to postpone," I said, pulling the suitcase zipper closed. "You won't even be in New York tomorrow. What exactly am I supposed to stay here for?"

For once, Luca didn't have an answer ready.

He watched me for a few seconds, then his voice softened. "I said postponed, not canceled. Something came up in Italy. The port permits, the council votes—everything tied to the southern route is sitting on this negotiation. I can't walk away from it."

It was the kind of explanation I used to accept before he even finished saying it.

Moretti had spent years trying to earn real recognition from the Five Families. Luca had fought for every shipping route, every dock permit, every private dinner where men in dark suits decided who was allowed closer to the inner circle. I knew what the southern route meant to him.

But tonight, I was too tired to help him make excuses.

"Then handle it," I said, slipping my passport into the suitcase. "I have things to deal with at home too."

Luca frowned, but before he could answer, Vanessa came in from the living room with the champagne dress gathered in one hand. A thin layer of ointment shone on the back of her hand. She looked as if she were trying to help, but there was a brightness in her eyes she couldn't quite hide.

"Selene, don't blame him," she said gently. "You don't usually deal with the family business, so you don't know how bad things have been. East Dock just changed hands, and Customs has been watching the southern route. Luca hasn't slept properly in weeks."

I looked at her. "How do you know all this?"

Her face stiffened for the briefest moment.

Then she smiled, quick and smooth. "I've been helping Luca with some of the transport files. You know I handle reception and port accounts on the outside. It's nothing important. I just do what I can."

She paused, then added, softer, "You never liked this part of the business anyway. I couldn't just stand there and watch him carry it alone."

I had grown up at the Castellano long table, listening to my father and his men discuss cargo ships, campaign money, dock taxes, and committee seats. They thought children didn't understand, so they never bothered to lower their voices around me. By thirteen, I could spot a compromised route from one misplaced number in a ledger.

I wasn't useless.

I had only stopped touching that world after I left my family.

And Luca had been happy to keep it that way.

"With me, Selene," he used to say, "you get to live a normal life."

Back then, I thought he was protecting me.

The front door opened before Luca could speak again.

Agnes stepped into the entryway, her worn handbag clutched to her chest and rain dampening the edges of her hair. She froze when she saw all of us still standing there.

"Mr. Moretti. Ma'am." She gave an awkward little smile. "Sorry. I got downstairs and realized I left my ticket in the room."

Luca's expression darkened. "I thought you were already off for the holiday."

"I'll only be a minute." Agnes hurried toward the kitchen drawer, flustered. She rummaged around for a while, then looked up as if something had just come back to her. "Sir, when you leave for Amalfi tomorrow, ask the driver to pack a few light coats. Miss Vanessa said on the balcony the other day that the sea wind gets cold at night."

The apartment went silent.

Vanessa's face changed.

"Agnes," she said tightly, "you heard wrong."

Agnes blinked at her, confused. "I don't think so. You said the white dress had to be sent to the villa early so the sea breeze wouldn't wrinkle it. Oh, and you told Mr. Moretti not to forget the pearl earrings because you wanted them for the photos."

Luca's face went cold.

"Agnes, you're tired," he said quietly. "Get your things and go."

Only then did Agnes seem to realize she had said too much. Her lips parted, but she swallowed the rest and lowered her head.

Vanessa's eyes reddened almost instantly. She turned to me, her voice thin and wounded. "Selene, you don't really believe that, do you? Agnes mixes things up all the time."

She reached for my hand, as if proving she had nothing to hide.

I stepped away.

Her hand hung there for a second before she lowered it, tears gathering in her eyes.

Luca frowned. "Selene, don't take a servant's gossip seriously. Vanessa is coming with me because of the southern route. She handles those contacts now."

I nodded. "I know."

He studied my face, then seemed to relax. When he spoke again, that old confidence was back in his voice. "When I come back, I'll meet your family properly. It's about time they understood Moretti isn't a name they can look down on anymore."

I looked at him and almost smiled.

He still thought all I had behind me were a few distant Castellano relatives with old money and bad tempers.

"Fine," I said. "I'll wait for you to come back."

After Luca went into the study, Vanessa did not follow him the way she usually would.

She stayed in the living room, still holding the champagne dress in one hand. For the first time that night, there was caution in the way she looked at me. I had been too calm, and calmness had never been part of the script she prepared for me.

After a while, she walked over and lowered her voice.

"Selene, I know you're upset," she said, "but Italy really matters this time. The southern route has been stuck for weeks, and Luca needs someone there who understands the accounts."

I didn't answer.

Vanessa paused, then reached into her purse and pulled out a folded confirmation slip, as if she had only just remembered it.

"Actually, there's one thing I need to ask you. A document is being delivered here tomorrow. It's an authorization copy for one of the southern-route warehouses, and someone has to sign for it."

I looked at her.

She smiled, easy and practiced. "You know papers like that can't be left with the front desk, and they definitely can't be handed to a regular courier. Luca leaves early tomorrow, and I'm going with him. Could you stay another day or two and receive it before you go?"

It sounded reasonable enough.

Except an authorization copy at that level would never be sent to a private apartment. And it certainly wouldn't need me, an outsider in Luca's eyes, to sign for it.

I watched her for a moment, then asked, "Is it urgent?"

"Of course." Vanessa nodded quickly. "Things are messy on the southern route right now. If that document is delayed, Luca takes the risk."

I lowered my eyes. "Fine."

Relief crossed her face at once. She stepped forward as if she wanted to hug me. I moved aside.

Her arms paused for half a second before she smiled again, softer this time. "I knew you'd still help him."

After Vanessa left with the dress, the apartment became completely quiet. I stood alone in the living room and watched rain slide down the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the New York night into black glass. I had lived here for three years. Still, suddenly, nothing here felt like mine.

The rain on the glass reminded me of the first night I met Luca.

It was at a port foundation gala in Manhattan, the kind of event where men raised money for children's hospitals in the ballroom and negotiated dock access behind closed doors. Luca was younger then, less polished, but already dangerous in a way the old families noticed. Moretti had money and men, but not enough recognition. No one in that room treated him like he belonged.

I was there as Selene Vale, sitting two tables away from the Castellano men, quiet enough that most people forgot to look twice.

That night, one of Rossi's lawyers tried to trap Luca with a warehouse agreement. Luca did not fall for it. He read the appendix, found the clause, and walked away before Rossi could make him look desperate in front of half the room.

That was the first time I took him seriously.

After that, we started seeing each other in places where business was never just business: port dinners, private clubs, charity auctions, hotel bars after negotiations ran too late. Sometimes I gave him information. Sometimes he gave me access to people Castellano could not approach directly.

At first, we both knew what we were doing. Moretti needed a way closer to the old families, and Castellano needed someone reckless enough to disturb the southern route in New York.

But somewhere between all those late nights, the balance changed. I stopped looking at Luca like a useful risk, and he started calling me his future.

The next morning, I did not get up to see Luca off.

Before he left, he came into the bedroom and stood by the bed for a moment.

"Still mad?" he asked.

I kept my eyes closed and gave him nothing.

He bent down and brushed my hair back, his voice soft in that careless way men used when they believed forgiveness was already waiting for them.

"Be good. Wait for me."

The door closed behind him.

Only then did I open my eyes.

A few minutes later, I heard the car start downstairs. I got up, changed my clothes, and pulled my suitcase to the door.

When I opened it, Agnes was standing at the end of the hallway with her old handbag in one hand and a small medicine case tucked against her chest. She looked as if she had been waiting there for a while.

"Ma'am," she said uneasily. "I didn't go far. I was supposed to stay with my sister for the holiday, but after thinking about it, I didn't feel right leaving you here alone."

I paused. "You were worried about me?"

Agnes lowered her voice. "I heard some of what Mr. Moretti and Miss Vanessa said last night. She specifically told me not to come back for the next few days. Said I shouldn't disturb you."

She frowned, still trying to make sense of it herself.

"But the more she told me not to come back, the stranger it felt."

Only after saying it did Agnes seem to realize she had spoken too much. She covered her mouth at once.

"Ma'am, did I say something wrong again?"

The elevator numbers changed slowly above the doors. I watched them for a moment, then smiled.

"No, Agnes."

"You said exactly enough."