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.

Ava Vitiello POV

Liam arrived ten minutes later, looking like a man who had sprinted all the way from midtown.

He wasn't running, strictly speaking. He was walking fast, flanked by Mark, a low-level associate who looked like he would rather be anywhere else.

Chloe was in Liam's arms. Sarah was standing by the perfume counter, sobbing into a tissue that looked suspiciously dry.

I stood my ground. The Patek Philippe weighed heavy in my purse, a cold lump of metal that represented my reclaimed dignity.

Liam saw me. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that comes from fighting a war on two fronts and losing both.

"Ava," he breathed.

He put Chloe down. The child immediately ran to Sarah, burying her face in her mother's skirt.

Sarah pointed a manicured finger at me.

"She stole my watch, Liam! She cut the card! She attacked me!"

It was a performance worthy of Broadway—if Broadway cast actors with zero talent and too much filler in their lips.

I didn't flinch. I watched Liam. I watched him weigh the crying woman against the Vitiello princess standing in front of him.

"I didn't attack her, Liam," I said calmly. "I just revoked her access to my bank account."

Liam ran a hand through his hair. He looked at the crowd gathering near the exits. He looked at the security guards who were watching him closely, knowing he was already on thin ice with the Family.

"Give it back, Ava," he said. His voice was pleading. "Please. Just give it back. I promised her."

"You promised me a lot of things too," I said.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Sarah wailed louder. Chloe started to cry, a high-pitched sound that grated on my nerves. Sarah was pinching the girl's shoulder. I saw it. A subtle dig of nails into soft flesh to provoke a reaction.

Disgust rose in my throat like bile.

"You want the watch?" I asked.

"Yes!" Sarah screamed.

I looked at Liam.

"I'll give you a choice, Liam."

I pulled a folded document from my purse. I had been carrying it for days, waiting for the right moment. It was a transfer of ownership form for his ten percent tribute shares in the waterfront construction racket. It was his only remaining steady income.

"Sign this," I said. "Sign over your points to me. And she can keep the watch."

Sarah stopped crying instantly. Her eyes darted between the paper and the purse.

"No!" she shrieked. "Liam, no! That's our money!"

Liam looked at the paper. He knew what those points meant. They were his status. They were his retirement.

He looked at Sarah. He looked at the tears streaming down her face, the way she clutched the child like a shield.

He looked at me. He saw the ice in my eyes. He saw that I was not bluffing.

"If I walk out of here with this watch, Liam, I sell it and donate the money to a cat shelter," I said. "And then I call my father and tell him you're harassing me in public."

He flinched.

Sarah grabbed his arm.

"Don't you dare, Liam! That watch is worth five thousand! The shares are worth millions over time!"

She was doing the math. She was always doing the math.

Liam pulled his arm away from her. He looked defeated. He looked like a man who just wanted the screaming to stop.

"Give me the pen," he whispered.

"Liam!" Sarah screamed.

"Shut up, Sarah!" he roared.

The store went silent. Chloe hiccuped.

Liam took the pen from my hand. He didn't read the document. He pressed the paper against the glass countertop and signed his name.

He signed away his future for a moment of peace.

He handed the paper back to me. His hand was shaking.

"Give her the watch," he said. His voice was dead.

I reached into my purse and pulled out the watch. I tossed it onto the counter.

Sarah lunged for it like a starving dog. She didn't check on Liam. She didn't check on Chloe. She checked the watch face for scratches.

I folded the document and put it in my bag.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Soldato," I said.

I turned and walked away. I didn't look back. I didn't need to. I knew exactly what I was leaving behind. A man who had just sold his crown for a piece of costume jewelry.