The shooting stopped. Emergency lights flickered on, illuminating the ruins.

Vincenzo stood in the center of the hall.

Across from him stood a man in a Russian military-style coat—Katerina’s uncle, Dimitri Petrov.

“I require an explanation,” Dimitri’s voice was ice. “My niece was nearly killed. On your territory.”

“The Torrino family will pay,” Vincenzo said.

“Not enough.” Dimitri’s gaze went past him, finding me behind my pillar. “That one,” Dimitri’s gaze flicked past him, landing on me. “Your loose end.”

His tone shifted. He moved closer to Vincenzo.

“A woman who forces a man to ‘choose’ is a liability. My niece will not start her new life with liabilities.”

Vincenzo was silent.

“Our alliance requires the elimination of all internal liabilities,” Dimitri delivered his ultimatum. “This woman knows too many of your secrets. Deal with her before the wedding. Or the deal is off.”

Dimitri turned and left.

Vincenzo stood alone for a long moment.

Then he turned slowly, his eyes locking onto mine across the wreckage. The struggle was gone. All that was left was the cold logic of the Don.

He raised his radio.

“Marco.” His voice was quiet, but it hit me like a hammer. “Activate the ‘cleanup protocol.’ Target: Chiara Rossi.”

I laughed.

I wasn’t beaten by a woman. I was beaten by his ambition.

I dragged my broken body out through a side door.

Katerina was waiting for me in the rose garden.

“You heard him,” she said, a victor’s smile on her face. “Don’t blame Vincenzo. For his future, you have to disappear.”

A guard behind her handed her a syringe.

“He asked me to send you off. A last kindness. A clean death.”

She gave a nod. Two big men started toward me.

I pulled the small knife from my thigh. I slit the first man’s throat.

Blood sprayed across the white roses.

The second man went for his gun. I rolled, dodged, and buried the knife in his heart.

He collapsed, a look of surprise on his face.

Katerina screamed and stumbled backward.

“You’re insane! You killed them!”

I got to my feet, the knife dripping blood.

“They were trying to kill me.”

“Help! Help me!” Katerina shrieked. “Chiara’s trying to kill me!”

Footsteps pounded from all directions.

The estate guards rushed in, their guns all aimed at me.

Then Vincenzo appeared.

He saw the two bodies on the ground. He saw the terrified Katerina. He saw me, holding the bloody knife.

His face became a mask of fury.

Katerina ran to him, tears streaming down her face.

“She’s crazy! She tried to kill me!” she sobbed. “If my men hadn’t protected me, I’d be dead!”

Vincenzo wrapped his arms around her, patting her back.

Then he drew his own gun. And aimed it at me.

The cold metal pressed against my forehead.

His eyes were savage. There was no warmth left.

“Chiara!” His roar was inhuman. “You dare put your hands on her!”

His gun was still leveled at my head, his voice dropping to a lethal growl.

“Get the fuck out of my city. And if I ever see your face in Chicago again, I will put a bullet in your head myself.”

“Vincenzo!” Katerina cried, a flash of vicious triumph in her terrified eyes. “She tried to kill me! She betrayed the family! By the rules, you have to execute her yourself!”

Execute me.

I looked into Vincenzo’s eyes, waiting for his sentence.

His finger tightened on the trigger. His dark eyes were a storm of emotions I couldn’t read. Rage, conflict… and a flicker of exhaustion.

Time stood still.

Then, slowly, he spoke. Each word deliberate.

“Marco.”

Marco stepped out from behind him. “Yes, Boss.”

“Get her,” Vincenzo’s gun was still on me, but his words were for Marco, “and throw her off the estate.”

Katerina’s sobs stopped. She looked at Vincenzo in disbelief.

“Vincenzo, you…”

Vincenzo ignored her. His eyes were still locked on me.

“Cut her off. Freeze her accounts. Strike her from the family records.” The orders came out like machine-gun fire, every one a cold blade. “I don’t want to see this face in Chicago ever again.”

He paused, then delivered the final sentence.

“Tell everyone, from this night on, Chiara Rossi is a traitor to the Russo family. Anyone who helps her is an enemy of mine.”

He made me a traitor. Left me with nothing, with no one.

Then he threw me out of his world like a piece of trash.

It was worse than a bullet. It killed my heart.

My hand went limp. The knife fell from my fingers.

Katerina was still glaring at me with pure hate.

I didn’t care anymore.

Marco came forward and grabbed my arm without ceremony.

Two guards disarmed me. They dragged me through the manicured lawns, past the fountains, and out the main gates like a bag of trash.

They threw me onto the cold asphalt, and I heard the gates begin to close behind me, sealing off two worlds.

I laughed. Then I started coughing up blood.

A black Mercedes pulled up silently beside me.

The door opened. It was one of my father’s men.

“Miss. Get in.”

On the back seat was a briefcase. Inside was a new set of identity papers.

The photo was me. The name was Bella Fiore.

Occupation: Art Dealer.

Place of Birth: Florence, Italy.

“And this,” the driver said, handing me a new phone.

I took it. Then I took out my old phone.

The screen lit up. The first name on my contact list was Vincenzo.

Next to it was a small red heart I had put there myself.

I looked at the name. My finger slid down the screen.

Marco, Tony, Dr. Castellano… every name was a piece of my past, written in blood and fire.

My face was a blank mask. I started deleting.

One by one.

Photos.

Messages.

Call logs.

Gone.

Finally, only Vincenzo’s name was left. I held my finger on it. A confirmation box popped up.

My finger paused over the “Delete” button for a second.

Then I pressed it.

O’Hare International Airport, VIP lounge.

My father sat across from me. He handed me a coffee.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready,” I said.

I took out the black diamond phoenix necklace, the one that had fallen into the blood at the party. It had once been my most treasured possession.

I looked at it. At the broken, blood-stained bird.

Then I stood up, walked to the trash can in the lounge, and opened my hand.

It landed with a soft, dull thud.

Like my ten dead years.

The boarding announcement came over the speakers.

“Now boarding, flight to Florence.”

I stood and grabbed my carry-on.

I pulled the SIM card from my old phone. Between my thumb and forefinger, I snapped the small piece of plastic in two.

The pieces joined the necklace in the trash.

I slid on my sunglasses, turning my face toward the gate.

“I’m ready, Papa.”

I took my father’s arm and walked toward the gate.

Behind me, the lights of Chicago burned bright. A city of ghosts. It had nothing to do with me anymore.

Chiara Rossi was dead. And I was walking away from her grave.