I saw them on the news three days later.

Dante was parading Sofia at the Opera.

She wore the Vitiello diamonds, glittering cold and sharp against her skin.

The press had already christened her the new First Lady of the underworld.

They said Dante Vitiello had finally found a woman worthy of his fire.

I sat in Luca's hospital room, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.

He was still silent, still sleeping.

"We are leaving, Luca," I whispered to him, my hand resting over his.

I had already bribed a contact in the identity office.

Our names were being scrubbed from the database bit by bit.

We would be ghosts by the end of the week.

I went back to the Hilltop Estate one last time.

It was the house Dante had given me as a wedding gift.

I had sold it that morning to a shell company and transferred the liquid assets back to the Vitiello accounts.

I wanted nothing from him.

I gathered the photos of us.

The ones from the Bronx.

The ones where he actually smiled.

I threw them into the fireplace and struck a match.

I watched our memories curl into black ash and disappear up the chimney.

Suddenly, the front door slammed open.

Dante strode in, Sofia trailing smugly behind him.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, his voice vibrating off the walls.

"Cleaning up," I said evenly.

Sofia saw the jewelry box on the table.

It was open.

Inside lay the Vitiello Heirloom Bracelet.

It was priceless.

"That belongs to the family," Sofia said.

She lunged for it.

She grabbed it, and with a clumsy, theatrical motion, she smashed it against the marble fireplace mantel.

The emeralds shattered across the stone.

She screamed and threw herself down the three steps into the sunken living room.

"My ankle!" she wailed, clutching her leg. "She pushed me!"

Dante looked at the broken bracelet.

He looked at Sofia sobbing on the floor.

He did not look at the security cameras that would have proven my innocence.

He looked at me.

"You break what is mine, I break you," he said, his eyes devoid of mercy.

"Enforcer," he called out.

The giant man entered from the shadows.

"The Lash," Dante ordered.

My blood ran cold.

"Dante, no," I whispered.

He turned away to comfort Sofia.

The Enforcer grabbed my wrists.

He tied them to the high banister so my feet barely touched the ground.

I bit my lip until I tasted copper.

\ The whip struck my back.

One.

Two.

Three.

I did not scream.

I would not give him the satisfaction.

My blood stained the white oak floor.

Dante did not turn around.

He held Sofia's hand while his wife bled out on the floor of the home he had built for her.

I woke up in my old bedroom, but it felt more like a prison cell.

My back was burning, the skin feeling as though it were still being licked by flames.

Every breath was a struggle, a ragged gasp against the tightness in my chest.

Dante sat in the armchair, nursing a cigarette.

The smoke curled around his head, wreathing him in a dark, toxic halo.

"You are awake," he said.

He did not ask how I was. His voice was devoid of any husbandly concern.

"Tonight is the Family Gala," he announced flatly. "Sofia wants to hear music. Specifically, she wants you to play the violin."

I tried to sit up, but the searing pain forced me back down.

"I can't," I rasped, my throat dry.

"You will," he countered.

"Don Vitiello," I said, using his formal title like a weapon.

He stiffened. He hated when I called him that.

"Drop the attitude," he warned, his eyes narrowing. "Be ready in an hour."

With agonizing slowness, I put on an old black dress.

It hung loose on my frame now.

I had lost at least ten pounds in a week.

Crucially, it covered the bandages on my back.

An hour later, I arrived at the hotel ballroom.

The air smelled of expensive perfume and underlying fear.

The wives of the Capos eyed me.

They used to bow to me.

Now, they covered their mouths and tittered behind manicured hands.

"Look at the fallen queen," one whispered audibly.

I walked to the stage, forcing one foot in front of the other.

My legs shook.

I remembered Don Giovanni, Dante's grandfather.

A Vitiello breaks what he loves, he had told me once.

He was right.

Then Dante entered.

The room went silent.

He had Sofia on his arm.

She wore triumphant red.

She looked radiant, a stark contrast to my fading shadow.

She treated him like a prized pet, patting his hand condescendingly.

Dante let her.

He looked up at the stage.

Play, he mouthed.

I lifted my violin to my chin.

I played Adagio in G Minor.

It was a sad, heavy piece.

It was a funeral dirge for my marriage.

The music filled the room, silencing the malicious whispers.

For a moment, Dante looked at me.

He really looked at me.

Then, Sofia stood up abruptly.

"Stop this noise!" she shouted, her voice piercing the melancholy melody.

"She is cursing us with this funeral music!"

The room gasped.

But Dante laughed.

He actually laughed.

He stood up and took Sofia's hand.

"You are right, my love," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Let's dance to something alive."

The band immediately struck up a jazz number.

Dante led Sofia to the floor.

He spun her around, full of life and vigor.

I stood alone on the stage, my bow hanging limply by my side.

I was a ghost at my own wake.

I secured my violin case, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I needed to leave.

More than that, I needed to get to Luca.

Keeping my head down, I tried to slip out the side exit near the kitchen, hoping to disappear into the shadows.

But I didn't make it.

Three women blocked my path, forming a wall of silk and hostility.

They were the wives of men Dante had hurt to protect me years ago, and they hadn't forgotten.

"Going somewhere?" one asked, stepping closer.

"Please," I said, my voice trembling. "I just want to leave."

"Sofia told us everything," another said, her lip curling.

"She said you paid people to hurt her."

"That's a lie," I said, shaking my head frantically.

"She paid us to teach you a lesson," the third one said.

She grabbed my arm.

Her nails dug into my skin, sharp and stinging.

I pulled back instinctively.

I stumbled.

My heel caught, and I hit the table behind me hard.

The champagne tower towering above me teetered.

Then, gravity took hold.

It crashed down on top of me.

Glass shattered everywhere, exploding in a deafening cacophony.

Shards cut into my arms and face.

I lay in a puddle of expensive wine and blood, the cold liquid soaking instantly through my dress.

Suddenly, Sofia appeared.

She looked down at me, a mask of horror slipping perfectly into place.

"Oh my god!" she cried out, her voice pitching high for everyone to hear.

"She tried to bribe these women to hurt me, and look what happened!"

The guests circled around, closing me in like vultures.

They threw napkins at me, as if I were something dirty that needed to be covered up.

"Trash!" someone yelled.

"Whore!" another shouted.

I looked through the forest of legs, searching for a lifeline.

And then I saw Dante.

He stood at the edge of the circle, unmoving.

He held a glass of whiskey, his grip loose, casual.

He watched me lying in the broken glass.

His eyes were cold.

Dead.

He took a slow sip of his drink and turned away.

He left me there.

That was the moment the last thread snapped.

I didn't feel the cuts anymore.

I didn't feel the shame.

I felt nothing.

I stood up, glass crunching beneath my feet.

My dress was soaked, heavy with wine and ruin.

I limped through the crowd.

They parted for me, not out of respect, but out of disgust.

I walked out of the ballroom.

I walked out of the hotel.

I walked out of the Vitiello world.

I was alone.

And for the first time in ten years, I was free.