Ava Vitiello POV

The penthouse smelled like him.

It was a rich blend of cedar and expensive cologne, a scent that used to make my knees weak. Now, it just made me sick to my stomach.

I was there to pack. I was exorcising him from my life, one box at a time.

Maya, the wife of one of my father's soldiers and my only real friend, was helping me. We were shoving his clothes into garbage bags without mercy.

The elevator chimed.

I stiffened.

Liam walked in. He stopped dead the moment he saw us.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

He looked around the living room with growing confusion. The photos were gone from the walls. The shelves were empty.

"I'm taking back what's mine," I said.

I folded a silk shirt—one I had bought him in Milan—and dropped it into the trash bag.

"This is my apartment," Liam said, his voice hardening as he walked further into the room.

"No," I said. "The Family pays the lease. The Family pays for the utilities. The Family pays for the air you breathe, Liam. And I am the Family."

Maya stepped forward, blocking his path.

"You need to leave, Liam," she said.

He ignored her. He walked right up to me.

He grabbed my wrist.

His grip was familiar. It was the grip of a man who thought he still owned me.

"Stop it, Ava," he hissed. "You're being childish."

I looked at his hand on my arm.

Three months ago, that touch would have melted me. Now, it felt like a shackle.

"I have a child, Ava," he said, his voice cracking. "You don't understand blood. You don't understand what a man will do for his own flesh and blood."

I looked up at him.

"I understand blood, Liam," I said coldly. "My blood is royal. Yours is common."

I ripped my arm away.

The sound of my palm hitting his cheek echoed through the empty apartment.

It was a slap that would have gotten anyone else killed. You don't touch a Made Man.

But he wasn't a man to me anymore.

He stumbled back, holding his cheek. He looked at me with utter shock.

"You coward," I whispered.

I stepped into his space.

"You didn't choose her because of blood," I said. "You chose her because she was easy. You chose her because she doesn't challenge you. You chose her because with me, you always felt like the soldier you are."

His eyes narrowed. He raised a hand.

"Do it," I challenged him. "Hit me."

I stared him down.

"Hit the Don's daughter, Liam. See what happens."

He lowered his hand. He was shaking.

"You're a monster," he said.

"No," I said. "I'm a Vitiello. You made me this way."

I pointed to the door.

"Get out."

He didn't move.

"I said get out!" I screamed.

He flinched. He turned and walked to the door.

He paused with his hand on the handle.

"I loved you, Ava," he said softly.

I picked up a vase—a wedding gift from his mother—and hurled it at the door.

It shattered inches from his head.

He scrambled out, slamming the door behind him.

I stood in the silence, breathing hard.

Maya walked over and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

I looked at the shattered glass on the floor.

"I promised him I would burn his legitimate businesses to the ground," I said.

I looked at Maya. My eyes were dry.

"He is no longer protected, Maya. Tell the boys. It's open season."

Ava Vitiello POV

The restaurant was a cavern of shadows, illuminated only by the flicker of candlelight and the distant, electric glow of the city skyline.

It was the kind of establishment where deals were struck in hushed tones and enemies were buried under polite smiles.

I was there for a critical meeting with the Commission regarding the waterfront construction projects. My father occupied the head of the table like a king on a throne. I sat at his right hand.

Liam arrived twenty minutes late.

And he wasn't alone.

He had Sarah with him.

My father’s jaw tightened visibly. Bringing a civilian mistress to a Commission dinner was an insult. Bringing the woman who had single-handedly detonated our wedding was a death wish.

Liam looked desperate, his eyes darting around the room. He needed this contract. I had already strangled his other income streams, leaving him gasping for air.

They took their seats at the far end of the table.

I watched them.

Sarah was wearing a dress cut dangerously low. And there, marred against the pale skin of her neck, was a bruise. A hickey.

It was trashy. It was a mark of possession, displayed like a tawdry trophy.

I felt a surge of cold disgust rising in my throat.

I excused myself quietly and made my way to the restroom.

I was washing my hands when the door opened. Sarah walked in.

She saw me in the mirror. She smiled. It was a cruel, sharp thing.

"Still following him around?" she asked.

I dried my hands on a paper towel, taking my time.

"You have something on your neck," I said.

She touched the hickey. She smirked.

"He can't keep his hands off me," she said. "He says I have a fire you never had."

I turned to face her fully.

She leaned against the sink, crossing her arms defensively.

"Face it, Ava. He never loved you. You were just a ticket to the top. But he chose love. He chose me."

I looked at her. I saw the trembling insecurity beneath the bravado.

"I know about the escort service in Chicago, Sarah," I said, my voice deadly quiet.

Her face went pale.

"I know about the NDA you signed with the senator," I continued. "I know you violated it."

She uncrossed her arms. Her hands were trembling.

"You're lying," she whispered.

I took a step closer.

"I have the file, Sarah. I have the photos. I have the client list."

She backed up until she hit the wall.

"Stay away from us," she hissed.

The door swung open. Liam burst in.

He looked between us. He saw Sarah's pale face.

"What did you do to her?" he shouted.

Sarah immediately burst into tears. She threw herself into his arms.

"She threatened me, Liam! She said she's going to hurt Chloe!"

It was a lie. A pathetic, desperate lie.

Liam looked at me with pure hatred.

"You stay away from my family, Ava," he spat. "Or I swear to God—"

"Or what?" I asked.

I walked past them to the door. I put my hand on the handle.

"By the way, Liam," I said.

I looked back at him.

"The Board met this morning. We pulled the funding for your tech startup."

He froze.

"What?" he breathed.

"The Vitiello family is no longer investing in high-risk ventures," I said. "Especially ones run by incompetent managers."

His face crumbled. That startup was his baby. It was his ticket to legitimacy. Without our money, it was dead in the water.

"You can't do that," he said.

"I just did."

I opened the door.

"Enjoy your dinner," I said. "I hear the calamari is excellent."

I walked out, leaving him standing in the bathroom with a crying woman and a dead career.

Ava Vitiello POV

The department store rose around us like a cathedral of glass and light.

I was here for retail therapy. I was trying to buy things I didn't need in a desperate attempt to fill the gaping hole in my chest.

Maya was with me, hovering close as we browsed the designer handbags.

"Why are you doing this, Ava?" Maya asked quietly. "Why don't you just let him go?"

I traced the pebbled leather of a Birkin bag, focusing on the texture to ground myself.

"Because he humiliated me," I said. "Because he took my dignity."

I looked up, meeting her eyes.

"Liam is the disease," I said. "Sarah is just the symptom."

I looked across the expanse of the store.

At the high-jewelry counter, I saw a flash of red hair.

Sarah.

She was pointing at a watch. A Patek Philippe.

My breath hitched. It was the same model I had bought Liam for our engagement. The very same one he had pawned last week to pay his gambling debts.

She was buying it back. Or buying a new one.

I watched her hand the clerk a card. A black card.

My stomach dropped.

I knew that card. I knew the matte finish, the weight of it.

It was a supplementary card on my account. I had given it to Liam six months ago for "emergency business expenses."

I had forgotten to cancel it.

The audacity was staggering. She was buying him a gift with my money.

I started walking. My heels clicked against the marble floor like gunshots.

Maya tried to grab my arm, but I shook her off.

I reached the counter just as the clerk was about to swipe the card.

"Stop."

The clerk looked up, startled. Sarah spun around.

Her eyes went wide.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped.

I looked at the card in the clerk's hand.

"That's my card," I said to the clerk, my voice calm and deadly.

Sarah tried to snatch it back.

"It's my fiancé's card!" she screamed.

"It's in his name, but it's my account," I said. "I am Ava Vitiello."

The clerk looked at the name on the card. Then he looked at me. The color drained from his face. He recognized me. Everyone in New York recognized the Vitiello name.

"Ms... Ms. Vitiello," the clerk stammered.

"Cut it," I said.

"What?" Sarah shrieked.

I held the clerk's gaze.

"Cut the card. Now. Or I call the manager and tell him you're accepting stolen credit."

The clerk swallowed hard and picked up a pair of scissors.

"No!" Sarah lunged across the counter.

Maya stepped in, blocking her path with a sharp shove.

The clerk snipped the black plastic in half. The sound was crisp, final, and satisfying.

Sarah let out a sound like a wounded animal.

"You bitch!" she screamed. "That was five thousand dollars!"

I picked up the watch from the velvet tray.

It was heavy. It was beautiful. It was worth more than Sarah's life.

"This belongs to the Family," I said.

A crowd had gathered. People were filming with their phones.

I didn't care.

I held the watch up, letting the light catch the diamonds.

"Tell Liam happy birthday from me," I said.

I dropped the watch into my purse.

Sarah was shaking with rage. Her face was blotchy and red.

"He's going to kill you," she spat.

I smiled. It was a cold, dead smile.

"He can try," I said.

I turned and walked away.

The adrenaline was fading, leaving me empty once more. But my head was high.

I was reclaiming my assets. One by one.