For the next three days, I made myself invisible.

I took the back stairs. I ate in the storage room, surrounded by sacks of flour. I studied until the text swam before my eyes and my head throbbed.

I was effectively a ghost.

Until the ghost was summoned.

"The Capo wants to see you."

I looked up from the dough I was kneading in the bakery kitchen. Dante was standing in the doorway.

He looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes that no amount of money could hide, bruise-like shadows against his olive skin.

"Why?" I asked, wiping flour onto my apron.

"Just come," he said.

I didn't argue. You don't argue with the Vitiellos.

I followed him across the courtyard. In the past, I used to walk a step behind him, admiring the breadth of his shoulders, the lethal grace of his stride.

Now, I just stared at the back of his head and wondered how I could have been so blind.

We entered the main office. The air smelled heavy with stale cigar smoke and expensive leather.

Lucio Moretti, the Capo and Bianca's father, sat behind a massive mahogany desk. Bianca was perched on the edge of it, examining her manicure.

She looked up when we entered, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her face.

"There she is," Bianca said. "The little baker."

"What is this?" I asked, looking at Dante.

He didn't look at me. He moved to stand near Bianca, crossing his arms over his chest. A united front.

"We have a discrepancy in the supply ledgers," Lucio rumbled, his voice a deep baritone that vibrated through the room. "Funds missing from the kitchen budget. Information leaked about delivery schedules."

My stomach dropped. "I don't know anything about that."

"Don't you?"

Bianca hopped off the desk. She circled me, her heels clicking rhythmically against the hardwood. "You're always around, aren't you? Listening. Watching. Maybe selling little secrets to pay for that fancy law school you think you're going to?"

"I earned my scholarship," I snapped, indignation rising in my throat. "I use my brain, Bianca. I don't need to steal."

Bianca gasped, mocking shock. She looked at Dante. "Are you going to let the help speak to me like that?"

I looked at Dante too.

This was the moment. The moment he could say, She's honest. She's loyal. She's been feeding me for months.

Dante looked at Bianca. I saw the calculation in his eyes, cold and unyielding. Bianca was the daughter of his most powerful general. I was nobody.

"Watch your tone, Elena," Dante said coldly. "You're here to answer questions, not throw insults."

The betrayal didn't sting. It burned.

It cauterized the wound instantly.

It clarified everything.

"I didn't take your money," I said, looking Lucio dead in the eye. "Check the cameras. Check my bank accounts. I have nothing to hide."

"We will," Lucio said. "Get out. And stay out of the main house until we decide what to do with you."

I turned on my heel and walked out.

I didn't run this time.

I walked with the spine of a woman who realized that in their world, innocence was just a weakness waiting to be exploited.

The heavy weight of suspicion hung over me like a suffocating shroud.

Soldiers tracked my every movement when I delivered bread to the gates. Maids abruptly stopped talking when I entered a room.

But I didn't care.

I had the Exit Exam.

It was the final test for the out-of-state university transfer. My golden ticket out of this hellhole.

I took the test online in the cramped bakery office, my hands shaking slightly over the keyboard. I forced myself to focus, pouring every ounce of my rage and pain into the answers.

When I finally clicked 'Submit', I felt physically lighter.

"You need to eat," Giulia said, appearing at the door. She grabbed my arm gently. "Come on. The commissary has those imported chocolates you like. My treat."

I was too tired to argue.

We walked to the compound store. It was crowded with off-duty guards and staff.

Giulia was prattling on about some guard she liked, but her voice faded into white noise the moment I saw them.

Dante and Bianca.

They were standing by the espresso machine. Bianca was laughing, her hand resting possessively on Dante's forearm. Dante was leaning down, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle.

They looked perfect. The King and Queen of the underworld.

Beautiful. Lethal. Untouchable.

"I heard he was at your desk," Giulia whispered, following my gaze.

I froze. "What?"

"Dante," she murmured. "Before the audit started. I saw him near the bakery office. Maybe... maybe he was looking for evidence to clear you?"

I looked at him again.

He wasn't looking for evidence to clear me.

He was the Underboss. If he wanted to clear me, he could have done it with a single word.

He was letting this happen.

Suddenly, Dante looked up. His eyes locked onto mine across the room.

He didn't smile. He didn't frown. He just stared, his face a beautiful, blank mask.

I realized then that I wasn't the villain in his story. I wasn't the love interest.

I was an NPC. A non-player character. A background extra meant to be sacrificed so the main characters could have their drama.

I squeezed Giulia's hand.

"He wasn't looking for evidence, Giulia," I said, my voice sounding dead to my own ears. "He was burying the body."

I turned my back on Dante Vitiello.

And for the first time in four years, I didn't feel a thing.

"Let's go," I said. "I have a future to pack for."

We walked out into the sunlight, leaving the shadows where they belonged.

But shadows have a nasty habit of stretching.

And the sun was already beginning to set.

The summons came precisely during my lunch break.

I was sitting on a crate behind the bakery counter, trying to absorb a chapter on tort law on my phone, when a shadow eclipsed the screen.

I didn't need to look up to know who it was. The air suddenly smelled like expensive cologne and gun oil.

"The Capo wants to see you," Dante said.

I stood up, brushing flour off my jeans.

He didn't look at me. His gaze was fixed on the wall behind my head, his jaw set so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek.

"Is this about the audit?" I asked.

"Just come."

He turned and walked away.

I followed him.

I used to watch the way he moved, mesmerized by the lethal grace of a predator. Now, I just saw a man walking to an execution.

We crossed the courtyard. The sun was shining brightly, but I felt bone cold.

Soldiers gave him curt nods as we passed. They looked right through me.

We reached the heavy oak doors of Lucio Moretti's office. Dante stopped.

He put his hand on the brass handle but didn't turn it.

For a second, the silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Then he leaned in close to my ear.

"Elena"-his voice was rough, like gravel-"I trust you."

My heart gave a stupid, hopeful lurch against my ribs.

He trusts me.

He opened the door.

Lucio was seated behind his desk, radiating the energy of a contained explosion.

Bianca was there, too. She was standing by the window, examining her nails, a smirk playing on her lips that told me everything I needed to know.

"Sit," Lucio barked.

I didn't sit. I stood tall, clutching my phone like a weapon.

"What is this about?" I asked.

Lucio threw a small, silver flash drive onto the desk. It skidded across the mahogany and stopped at the edge.

"We found this in your bag," Lucio said. "During a routine security sweep."

I stared at the drive.

"I've never seen that before in my life," I said.

"It contains the unencrypted ledgers for the East Side operations," Lucio said, his voice rising. "And a log of outgoing communications to a federal tip line."

The room spun.

"That's a lie," I said. "Check the cameras. Someone put that there."

"We did check the cameras," Bianca chimed in. She turned, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Funny thing about that. The footage from the locker room was corrupted for exactly ten minutes this morning. Right when you arrived."

I looked at Dante.

He was standing by the door, arms crossed over his chest. His face was a mask of stone.

He knew.

He knew the footage wasn't corrupted by accident. He knew I didn't have the clearance or the skill to steal those files.

"Tell them," I said, my voice shaking. "Dante. You know I didn't do this."

Dante looked at me. Then he looked at Bianca.

I saw the calculation in his eyes.

Bianca was the daughter of his father's most loyal general. A political asset. A sister by blood oath.

I was the baker's daughter. Disposable.

"The evidence is problematic, Elena," Dante said. His voice was devoid of emotion. "It doesn't look good."

The betrayal hit me harder than a bullet.

"Problematic?" I laughed, a sharp, hysterical sound. "You whispered that you trusted me five seconds ago. Was that just to keep me quiet?"

"You are suspended," Lucio interrupted, slamming his hand on the desk. "Effective immediately. Your family's bakery is closed pending a full investigation. If we find proof you sold us out, suspension will be the least of your worries."

"Get her out of here," Bianca said, waving a hand like she was shooing a fly.

Two guards stepped forward.

I looked at Dante one last time.

He didn't look away. He held my gaze, his eyes dark and empty.

He wasn't the hero of my story. He wasn't even the villain.

He was just a coward in a three-thousand-dollar suit.

"Don't touch me," I snapped at the guards.

I turned and walked out, leaving the last shreds of my innocence on the floor of that office.