The moment we arrived at Lorenzo’s mansion, my mind was fixated on the not-so-tiny box in my hands.

Lorenzo had always been generous with gifts, often surprising me with presents whenever he returned from a business trip. But this one was different. Why? Because it could either hold the answers I desperately sought—or something far more dangerous.

As soon as I stepped out of the car, I ignored the staff’s greetings and headed straight to my room, my pulse quickening with every step.

Inside the master bedroom I once shared with Lorenzo, I swiftly locked the door and tore the box open with urgency.

A small note fluttered to the floor.

"Be careful. They are watching your every move."

My breath hitched. My gaze snapped back to the box, and my stomach dropped when I saw what lay inside—a pistol.

A sudden knock on the door nearly made me jump out of my skin.

Heart pounding, I realized I was still wearing my heels. I quickly slipped them off and shoved the box’s contents under my pillow.

"I’m coming!" I called out, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt.

When I opened the door, shock coursed through me. It wasn’t the cook which I was expecting to see—it was Dante.

"Sorry, I know you weren’t expecting me," he said, his tone unreadable. "I told the cook not to disturb you. I wanted to check on you myself."

His gaze flickered past me, attempting to peer into my room.

"Would you like anything to eat?" he asked casually, but there was something in his eyes—something calculating.

What was he looking for?

Is something wrong?" I asked, studying him closely.

He immediately avoided my gaze. "Not at all. I'll be in my quarters if you need me."

"The documents I asked for—when can I get them?" I asked before he could hurry away.

"Tomorrow." He hesitated for a moment before walking off.

I had never really dealt directly with my husband's workers before, but was this how they all behaved? Or was I missing something? The thought nagged at me.

I locked the door as soon as Dante was out of sight and quickly retrieved the contents I had hidden under my pillow.

My fingers tremble slightly as I unfolded the note once again, scanning the words carefully. Then, I lifted the pistol from the box, its cold weight settling into my palm.

The touch of the weapon sent a flash of memory surging through me.

"Hold the gun firmly in your right hand and focus on your target." Lorenzo had stood at my side that day, his voice steady as he guided me. I had reluctantly told him that violence wasn’t my thing, that I had no need for a gun. But he had insisted.

"At the count of one, two, and three… shoot." His command echoed in my mind.

A sudden buzz from my nightstand yanked me back to the present. I grabbed my phone, Sarah’s name flashing on the screen.

“Sarah?”

“Elena, I’m so sorry,” Sarah rushed out, emotion thick in her voice. “My flight got delayed, and I—” She swallowed. “I should’ve been there.”

A pause. Then a quiet chuckle, though it lacked warmth. “You don’t have to apologize. I understand.”

But Sarah knew Elena. Knew how she masked her pain, how she always put others at ease, even when she was drowning.

“El, I should have been by your side,” Sarah said, her voice softer now. “I can’t imagine how hard this is for you.”

“I’m okay,” Elena replied quickly. Too quickly. “Everyone was here. My father,his business associates, some friends from the neighborhood…” Her voice trailed off, and Sarah could almost see her, sitting in that too-quiet house, wearing that brave smile she always put on when things got tough.

“You don’t have to be strong for me,” Sarah whispered.

A shaky breath came through the line, but Elena didn’t break. Not again. She has cried enough for one day.

Sarah sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Remember when we used to talk for hours in college? You’d always be the one keeping me grounded, reminding me to eat, to stop stressing over exams. And when I moved abroad, you were the only one who still called me every Sunday without fail.”

Elena let out a soft laugh. “Because you were terrible at keeping in touch.”

Sarah smiled despite the ache in her chest. “Exactly. And now, it’s my turn to be there for you.” She took a breath. “I’m coming tomorrow, first thing in the morning. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Another silence. This time, heavier. Then, finally, Elena whispered, “Thank you, Sarah.”

And Sarah knew—deep down, her friend was holding back something bigger than grief. But she wouldn’t push. Not yet. Tomorrow, when she saw her, she’d find out.

“I’ll send someone to pick you up tomorrow,” Elena said, breaking the silence.

“See you tomorrow,” Sarah replied softly before hanging up.

I held the phone to my chest for a long moment after Sarah hung up, letting the warmth of her voice linger. She was coming, finally.

A breath shuddered out of me as I placed the phone on the nightstand and lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. The weight of the day pressed down on me, but sleep felt like an impossible luxury.

My mind kept circling back to the cemetery.

Those men. The ones who arrived last with Dante. The one that had caught my attention, Deluca.

I had never seen him before, yet something about him felt disturbingly familiar. The way his eyes lingered on me, assessing, as if he knew something I didn’t. As if he knew me.

A shiver ran down my spine.

What was his connection to my husband?

My chest tightened, and I forced a deep breath, willing my thoughts to quiet. But the questions wouldn’t stop. They gnawed at me, pulling me deeper into uncertainty.

I closed my eyes, surrendering to the exhaustion creeping over me.

But even as sleep claimed me, his face remained—haunting the edges of my dreams.

The next day, Dante brought the documents, just as I had instructed. He placed them on the table with a curt nod, his expression unreadable.

Knowing Sarah would be here any moment, I barely spared the files a glance before hurrying toward the kitchen. The scent of garlic and herbs filled the air as I stepped inside, where the cook was putting the final touches on the meal.

"How much longer?" I asked, scanning the dishes laid out. Everything had to be perfect.

"Just five more minutes," the cook replied.

I exhaled sharply, smoothing my hands down my dress. Five minutes. That was all the time I had to gather myself before Sarah walked in.

El!”

I heard my name echo from the living room, Sarah’s voice unmistakable.

Without hesitation, I rushed over, my heart pounding with anticipation. The moment I stepped out of the kitchen, Sarah launched herself at me, her arms wrapping tightly around my shoulders as she giggled, her excitement infectious.

I laughed, gently pulling away to get a better look at her. She hadn’t changed one bit—her long brown hair cascaded over her shoulders just as perfectly as I remembered, and she still had that same curvy figure and confident stance.

“How was your trip?” I asked, drawing her attention back to the present as she glanced around the house, taking in every detail with curious eyes.

This house is massive!” Sarah exclaimed, spinning around to take it all in. “How do you even cope living here?”

I knew she hadn’t been here since I married Lorenzo, though she had met him on countless occasions during our trips abroad.

I offered a small smile, but before I could respond, she continued, shaking her head in amazement. “I knew Lorenzo had money, but I had no idea he was this filthy rich. No wonder you were always on the front pages of every Chicago magazine.”

She marveled at the grandeur, but her excitement faltered when she noticed the shadow crossing my face.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her expression turning apologetic. “I know you’re still grieving your late husband. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” I cut in gently, forcing a reassuring smile. “Come on, let me show you to your room.”

Without waiting for a response, I turned and led her upstairs, grateful for the excuse to shift the conversation away from the ache still lodged in my chest.

After making sure Sarah had everything she needed to be comfortable in her room, I quickly headed to mine, hoping to go through some of the files Dante had brought earlier before she was ready for breakfast.

I sat on the bed, pulling out the stack of documents. Though several required my attention, one, in particular, caught my eye.

Carefully, I slid it out from the pile— DEAL OF AGREEMENT—boldly printed across the top. My breath hitched as my gaze traveled down the page, stopping at two familiar names: ADRIAN DELUCA and LORENZO RUSSO. Both signatures were scrawled at the bottom in ink.

My hands trembled as I scanned the contents.

Half of the casino and roulette business… belonged to Adrian Deluca.

The paper slipped from my grasp as a wave of disbelief washed over me. My late husband had been business partners with Adrian Deluca?

A sharp gasp escaped my lips as a chilling thought crept in.

Could Adrian have killed Lorenzo to claim full control of the business?

At the thought of that sickening possibility, my vision blurred, and before I knew it, my legs gave out beneath me. I sank to the floor, the weight of the revelation pressing down on my chest like an iron fist.

As I stepped into the office that morning, my mind was set on one thing—something I needed to handle before attending to any other business.

"Good morning, sir. I brought your coffee," Nicole, my secretary, said, placing the cup on my desk.

As she leaned forward, the neckline of her dress dipped just enough to offer a tempting view. She was petite, her curves more pronounced than her frame suggested. Her face wasn’t striking, but those curves? They more than made up for it.

I didn’t bother looking away. I knew she wanted me—her lingering glances, the way she always found reasons to be close. All it would take was a few words from me.

I cleared my throat, a silent reminder that the show was over. She straightened, adjusting her dress with a knowing smirk.

"I'll be at my desk, sir."

I gave a curt nod.

But she wasn’t the one I wanted. The only woman I wanted to hear screaming my name while I was fucking her probably hated me right now. And that was the real problem.

Back to the matter at hand, I pulled out my phone and dialed the supervisor’s number. Then, without hesitation, I called Lucas and instructed them both to meet me in my office immediately.

I wasn’t a man who minced words. So the moment they were seated in front of me, I got straight to the point.

"From this moment forward, I will be personally in charge of Harrah Joliet Casino."

Mr. Diego, the supervisor, raised an eyebrow, hesitating like he wanted to speak but didn’t dare to.

"Do you have something to say, Mr. Diego?" I asked, watching his reluctance.

He cleared his throat. "I was just surprised, sir. You’ve never really shown interest in the casino since you became a partner with the owner."

Because back then, Elena Russo had never been involved in her husband's affairs. I had only bought my share of the place to be close to her.

But to Diego, I simply said, "I wish to get myself familiar with the business from now on."

"That will be all," I said, dismissing Diego.

I saw him give a slight nod before heading out.

Turning to Lucas, I knew I was about to receive the lecture of a lifetime. He had no intention of leaving just yet.

"Does this have anything to do with Russo's widow?" Lucas asked. No one had ever dared to question my authority—except for him. Being my best friend, he got away with things others wouldn’t.

"She is a free woman," I replied, knowing I couldn't let this opportunity slip through my fingers.

Lucas crossed his arms. "Have you heard the latest rumor?"

I raised an eyebrow, silently urging him to continue.

"It's being said that you confronted Russo, and the next day, he was found dead in his office."

"Son of a bitch," I growled, slamming my fist against the desk.

Lucas exhaled sharply. "My point is, do you think she’d want anything to do with the supposed killer of her husband?"

For a split second, I wondered whose side he was on.

"Yours, of course," he answered as if reading my mind. I hadn't realized I’d spoken aloud.

I clenched my jaw. "I wish I had killed that punk myself, but someone else beat me to it," I muttered under my breath.

Lucas shook his head. "Thank Jesus you didn't. That would have killed any slim chance you have with his widow."

"Will you be coming to the club today?" Lucas asked, changing the topic.

"No, not today. I have other plans,"

I replied quickly.

Lucas eyed me suspiciously. "What about your old man? When are you going to see him?"

At the mention of my father, I immediately opened the computer in front of me, pretending to be busy.

Lucas shrugged, not wanting to push further. He knew how sensitive I got whenever my father’s name was brought up.

After Lucas left, I buried myself in work, pushing anything concerning my father to the back of my mind.

Just then, my phone buzzed on the desk. I glanced at the screen—Marco’s name flashed across it.

If he was calling me at this hour, it had to be important. I picked it up.

"Boss, Colton is back. He just came in now," Marco informed me.

I clenched my jaw. "Is he alright?" I asked, trying to control the rage simmering beneath my skin.

Marco hesitated. "He... came in drunk."

The last thread of my patience snapped. "Take his car keys and his ATM card. Hold onto them."

"Yes, boss."

I hung up, resisting the urge to smash something. Father and son—both seemed determined to push me to my limits.

ELENA

Within the course of five days, I’ve uncovered more about my late husband than I ever did during our four years together.

And I can’t help but blame myself, too.

Growing up, I watched my father lose everything in the name of this never-ending war. The destruction of our family, the pain it brought, made me vow I’d never get caught up in such a violent world.

Lorenzo had promised to protect me, and for four years, he kept that promise.

But now, the very life I’ve tried so hard to avoid is closing in on me, and I can’t escape it.

“Bingo!” Sarah’s voice pierces through my thoughts, causing me to jump.

I blink at her, her long curly brown hair dripping wet. She had dragged me out for a swim, but here I am—sitting on the edge of the pool, letting my legs splash the water idly.

“Are you even in this universe?” she teases with a playful grin.

I glance around, noticing the guards standing nearby. This definitely isn’t the place to talk about the storm brewing in my head.

“Catch me if you can,” I say, giving her a quick wink before diving into the pool.

I stepped out of the pool, leaving Sarah, who seemed born for the water, and headed for a shower. The day was winding down, and I had plans for the night. Wrapped in a towel, I emerged from the shower to find Sarah sitting on my bed, fiddling with the strings of her hair.

"Just the person I've been waiting for," Sarah said, rearranging her hair. I walked over to my dressing mirror and sat down, my back to her.

"Are you ready to talk about him?" Sarah whispered softly, her voice laced with concern. I knew she'd been trying to get me to open up, but I'd been avoiding the topic.

Sarah got up from the bed and sat on the dressing table, facing me. "I...I trailed off, unable to confront the memories I'd buried for the past five days. Sarah reached out, her hands encouraging me to continue.

"That morning, we made passionate love. He said he needed to remember my scent throughout the day. It was one of the most beautiful experiences we'd shared." I laughed bitterly, the pain still felt raw.

"Three hours later, when he left for the office, Dante came back to the house. Dante never left his side...ever. But that day, he returned, his eyes filled with bloodshed, his clothes stained with blood. All he said was, 'The boss has been shot.'" My voice cracked, the memories flooding back.

"That's the last thing I remember before waking up in the emergency unit," I whispered, the pain and fear still etched in my mind.

I gently disengage myself from Sarah's embrace, feeling a sense of liberation wash over me, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from my shoulders.

"What's the authorities doing about his murderer?" Sarah asked, her voice trembling with rage.

I shrugged, my attention focused on applying light makeup to my face. Sarah's eyes widened in surprise.

"Where are you going at this time of night?" she asked, her concern evident.

I gave her a thoughtful look before responding, my voice confident. "The Casino."

Sarah's eyes went wide. "The what!" she exclaimed, incredulity etched on her face.

I walked into the casino, my heels clicking against the marble floor. The air was thick with the scent of whiskey and expensive cologne. Laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the space. I hadn’t been here since my husband’s death, but tonight, I was here for answers.

As I walked past, heads turned. Men let out throaty murmurs of approval, while women cast secretive, admiring glances.

"Mrs. Russo, welcome—"

I turned toward the voice that had just called my name, though I had been heading to the lounge.

"Forgive my manners. My name is Marcel," he said smoothly. "I must confess, you look even better in person than in the papers."

I didn’t bother asking how he knew my name—that would be a lost cause. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, tall and slender, with tattoos on his arm that caught my attention.

"Can I buy you a drink?" He chuckled, then shook his head. "That sounds stupid, right? Since you own the place."

I decided to save him from his misery by laughing heartily. "Who says you can’t buy me a drink just because I own the place?"

He smiled sheepishly, and I had to admit—he had a nice smile.

"Give me your contact," I said. "Once I’m done with what I’m doing, I might just take you up on that offer."

I wasn’t sure what I was hoping to find, but every investigation had to start somewhere. And what better place than the scene of the crime?

I flashed Marcel a polite smile before heading toward the lounge. The moment I stepped inside, a wave of revulsion rolled over me. Strippers swayed against drunk, glassy-eyed men. Cocaine lined the tables, disappearing beneath desperate noses. The air was thick with smoke, sweat, and sin.

Then I saw him.

The man whose presence had unsettled me from the start. The man suspected of killing my husband.

He sat in Lorenzo’s usual spot in the high roller lounge, leaned back as if the chair had always been his. A crystal glass of Scotch rested in his hand, his fingers tapping lazily against the rim. He looked completely at ease—too at ease.

A knot formed in my stomach, but I forced my shoulders back and walked straight toward him. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. His eyes tracked my approach with an infuriating mix of amusement and expectation, as if he had been waiting for me.

"You’re in the wrong seat," I said, my voice calm but firm.

He swirls his drink before taking a slow sip, then sets the glass down with deliberate ease.

"Am I?" His gaze flickers over me, assessing. "Funny. No one else seems to mind."

My fists clench at my sides. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

A ghost of a smirk tugs at his lips. "You already know the answer to that, don’t you?"

Something about the way he says it sends a shiver down my spine.

"Did you kill him?" The question leaves my lips in barely a whisper.

For a moment, he doesn’t move. Then, slowly, he leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. The air between us tightens, charged with something dark and unspoken.

"If I did," he murmurs, voice smooth as silk, "what would you do about it?"

My breath catches. He’s taunting me. Testing me.

I grip the edge of the table, steadying myself. "I’d make sure you paid for it."

His lips curl slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. He picks up his drink again, taking an agonizingly slow sip before meeting my gaze.

"Then I guess we’ll see how this plays out."