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.

The walls of my bedroom seemed to be closing in, shrinking the space until it felt less like a room and more like a prison cell.

I had been staring at the ceiling for six hours, tracing the cracks in the plaster just to keep my mind from fracturing.

Downstairs, my mother was crying softly in the kitchen, a low, continuous sound of mourning.

My father was pacing, the floorboards creaking under the weight of his fear.

The bakery was dark, the life drained out of it. The "Closed" sign in the window felt like a tombstone.

A sharp tap on my window made me jump.

I pulled back the curtain. Giulia was crouching on the fire escape, shivering in the biting night air.

I shoved the window open.

"Are you crazy?" I whispered, glancing back at my locked door. "If they see you here..."

"I don't care," she said, climbing inside. She pulled a stack of papers from under her jacket. "I brought your law notes. You left them in the locker."

I took the papers, my throat tight. "Thank you."

"And this," she said.

She handed me a black notebook. It was leather-bound, embossed with gold initials. D.V.

I froze, the air leaving my lungs.

"Dante gave it to me," Giulia said quietly, refusing to meet my eyes. "He said... he said it has contacts. Numbers for lawyers who owe him favors. People who can help you transfer to a school out of state without the Family's interference."

I looked at the notebook.

It was a peace offering. A life raft.

No.

It was payment.

It was a severance package.

He was paying me to disappear. To take the fall quietly and go away so he didn't have to deal with the guilt of ruining my life.

Rage, hot and white, flooded my veins, burning away the fear.

"Where is he?" I asked.

"He's outside," Giulia said. "Down the street. In his car."

I didn't think. I grabbed the notebook and ran.

I flew down the stairs, past my startled parents-ignoring my mother's gasp and my father's shout-and burst out the back door.

The street was empty, lit only by the sickly yellow glow of the streetlamps.

A black SUV was parked at the corner, the engine idling like a sleeping beast.

I marched up to the driver's side and banged on the glass.

The window rolled down.

Dante sat there, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift. He looked exhausted, shadows carved deep beneath his eyes.

I hurled the notebook through the window. It hit his chest with a dull thud and fell into his lap.

"I don't want it," I said.

Dante picked up the book. His fingers tightened around the leather until his knuckles turned white.

"Elena," he said. "Take it. It's your way out."

"I don't need your charity," I spat. "And I don't need your guilt money. Is this how you sleep at night? You ruin a girl's life to save your political alliance, and then you buy her a scholarship?"

"It's not charity," he said, his voice low, rough with suppressed emotion. "It's protection. If you stay here, Bianca won't stop. She'll plant something worse next time."

"So you're saving me?" I asked, incredulous. "By exiling me?"

"I'm doing what I can," he said.

"You're the Underboss!" I screamed, the title tearing from my throat like a curse. "You could have stopped her. You could have told the truth. But you didn't."

He looked away, staring out the windshield into the darkness. "It's complicated."

"No," I said, stepping back. "It's simple. You're weak."

His head snapped back to me, his eyes flashing with sudden anger.

"I am trying to keep you alive," he growled.

"I'd rather be dead than owe you a damn thing," I said, my voice shaking with the force of my conviction. "I will get out of this city. I will become a lawyer. And I will do it without a single cent of your blood money."

I turned around.

"Elena," he called after me.

"Go to hell, Dante," I said over my shoulder. "I'll see you there."