Elena POV

I didn't cry.

Tears are for the living.

Tears are for those who still hold onto the hope that things can be fixed.

I walked into the room.

The silence was heavy, pressing physically against my eardrums.

I picked up a washcloth from the basin.

I dipped it in the water.

I wiped Luca's face.

I cleaned the soot of the city from his forehead.

I straightened his hospital gown.

Then, I pulled the white sheet up over his face, shrouding the eyes that would never open again.

Dante watched me for a moment, then left with Sofia.

He probably thought I was in shock.

He probably thought I would break down later, that he could comfort me then, and I would be pathetic and grateful.

He didn't know he had just killed the only reason I stayed.

I rode in the hearse alone.

I sat in the crematorium waiting room for four hours.

Finally, they handed me a heavy ceramic urn.

It was warm.

That was all that was left of my brother. A warm jar of ash.

I took a taxi to the cemetery.

It was raining-a cold, miserable New York drizzle that seeped into everything.

I found the plot.

It was a pauper's grave, the only one I could afford with the cash in my pocket.

I dug the hole myself with a garden trowel I had bought at a convenience store.

I buried the urn.

I sat there in the mud.

One hour.

Five hours.

Twelve hours.

The sun went down. The sun came up.

The rain soaked through my clothes, chilling me to the bone, but I felt nothing.

I was dead, too. I was just waiting for my body to catch up.

When I finally stood up, my legs were stiff.

I walked back to the main road and hailed a cab.

"To the Villa," I said.

I walked through the front door of the house that had been my prison.

The air smelled of lilies and sex.

I heard them in the living room.

Giggles. Moans. The friction of skin on skin.

I walked past the open archway.

Dante was on the sofa, Sofia straddling him.

Her head was thrown back in ecstasy.

His hands were gripping her hips.

He looked up as I passed.

His eyes widened slightly, seeing my muddy, soaked clothes.

"Elena?" he called out, his voice rough with passion.

I didn't stop.

I didn't blink.

I walked up the stairs, my muddy footprints ruining the pristine white carpet with every step.

I went to my room and closed the door.

I stripped off my wet clothes.

I stood in the shower until the water ran cold, scrubbing the grave dirt from my skin.

The door handle turned.

Dante entered.

He smelled of her.

Cheap perfume and sweat.

My stomach lurched. I dry heaved, clutching my towel.

"Don't," I rasped.

He crossed the room in two strides.

He grabbed my face, forcing me to look at him.

"Where have you been?" he demanded. "You disappeared for twenty-four hours."

"I buried him," I said flatly.

Dante paused. "Who?"

"Luca."

He frowned. "Don't be dramatic. I just had the machines turned off to teach you a lesson. He's fine."

He didn't know.

He hadn't even checked.

I looked at this man. This monster I had loved for a decade.

If I told him Luca was dead, he would lock me up.

He would put me on suicide watch.

He would never let me leave.

He needed to believe he still held the leash.

"You're right," I lied. My voice was hollow, devoid of life. "I'm sorry, Dante. I was dramatic."

He relaxed.

He leaned in and kissed me.

It was a possessive, bruising kiss. A brand.

I forced myself not to vomit.

I stood still, letting him take what he wanted, like a doll.

"See?" he whispered against my lips. "You need me. If you ever try to leave again, I'll make sure Luca suffers for real."

I nodded.

"I can't live without you, Dante," I whispered.

He smiled. It was the smile of a predator who had caught his prey.

"Good girl."

He left to go back to Sofia.

I waited five minutes.

My phone buzzed.

ID Ready. Flight LH404 departs in 3 hours.

I didn't pack clothes.

I didn't pack jewelry.

I went to the closet and pulled out a small, velvet bag.

Inside was a handful of soil from Luca's grave.

That was all I took.

I walked out the back door.

I climbed the fence.

I ran into the night, and I didn't look back.

Dante POV

The atmosphere of the art gallery was suffocating.

White walls. White wine. White noise.

Sofia was clinging to my arm, her manicured nails digging into my suit jacket as she dragged me from one canvas to another.

"Look at this one, Dante!" she squealed, gesturing wildly. "It represents the duality of man's soul."

It looked like someone had vomited red paint on a canvas and had the audacity to charge fifty thousand dollars for it.

"It's exquisite," I lied, taking a long sip of champagne to wash away the taste of boredom.

I checked my watch.

It had been three days since Elena had come home covered in mud.

Three days of silence.

She was either in the Penance Room or her bedroom. I hadn't checked.

I had told the guards to let her stew. She needed to learn that her tantrums had consequences.

But the silence was... loud.

Usually, I could feel her presence in the house. A tension. A warmth. A simmering resentment.

Now, the Villa felt sterile.

"Dante?" Sofia pouted, tugging at my sleeve. "You aren't listening."

I looked down at her.

She was beautiful, objectively. Perfect symmetry, perfect skin.

But her voice grated on my nerves like sandpaper.

She was needy.

Elena was never needy.

Elena was steel wrapped in silk.

Even when she knelt in the snow, her eyes had burned with defiance. I missed that fire.

Suddenly, panic seized my chest. It was a sharp, cold grip around my heart, tightening until I couldn't breathe.

I looked across the room.

I saw a flash of dark hair. The familiar curve of a neck.

"Elena?" I said aloud.

I pushed Sofia aside and strode through the crowd, ignoring the gasps as I shoved past patrons.

I grabbed the woman's shoulder and spun her around.

A stranger looked up at me, terrified.

"I'm sorry, Don Vitiello!" she stammered, shrinking back.

I let her go, my hand dropping to my side.

My heart was hammering against my ribs.

What the hell was wrong with me?

"Dante!" Sofia was back, hanging on me like a parasite. "What is it?"

"Nothing," I snapped.

I looked at Sofia.

I saw the greed in her eyes. The vanity.

I felt a sudden wave of repulsion.

I wanted to go home.

I wanted to see Elena.

I wanted to see her glare at me.

I pulled out my phone and glanced at the screen.

Calendar: 10th Wedding Anniversary. Tomorrow.

Guilt, sharp and unfamiliar, pricked me.

I had pushed her too far this time.

The business with Luca-it was a bluff, of course. I'd never actually kill the vegetable. But she didn't know that.

I needed to fix this.

"Matteo," I barked at my Consigliere, who was shadowing me from a discreet distance.

"Yes, Don Vitiello."

"Prepare the Villa. Tomorrow night."

"I want lilies," I commanded. "Thousands of them. Stargazer lilies."

Matteo raised an eyebrow. "For the mistress?"

"No," I growled. "For my wife."

"I'm going to buy her that diamond necklace she looked at in Milan. I'm going to reinstate her."

"I'll send Sofia to the Hamptons for a week," I added, already walking toward the exit.

Elena will cry. She will thank me. We will start over.

I smiled, imagining the look of relief on Elena's face.

She would be waiting for me. She always was.

Dante POV

I'd texted her at noon with a simple command:

Be ready at 7. Wear the red dress.

She didn't reply.

That was fine. I told myself she was just sulking.

I worked late on purpose, letting the anticipation build.

I wanted to walk in like a benevolent King granting mercy to a rebellious subject.

I arrived at the Villa at 7:15.

The scent hit me the moment I crossed the threshold.

Lilies.

The entire foyer was drowning in them.

Vases crowded every table; petals littered the floor like fallen snow.

It smelled like a funeral, though I reminded myself that Elena loved them.

I loosened my tie as I stepped deeper into the silence.

"Elena?" I called out.

Silence was my only answer.

The house was dark, save for the flickering candles the staff had lit.

I walked into the dining room.

Dinner was set for two.

The food was stone cold.

"Where is she?" I demanded of the maid cowering in the corner.

"I haven't seen Madam all day, sir," she whispered, trembling.

Irritation flared hot in my gut.

She was defying me. Again.

I pulled out my phone and dialed her number.

The subscriber you have dialed is not in service.

My frown deepened as the automated voice mocked me.

Not in service?

I marched up the stairs, my patience fraying with every step.

I went straight to her bedroom.

"Elena, open this door," I warned, my voice low and dangerous.

I didn't wait. I pushed it open.

The bed was made. Perfectly smooth.

Too smooth.

It looked like no one had slept in it for days.

I strode to the closet and threw the doors open.

Her clothes were there.

The red dress hung in the center, mocking me, untouched.

Her shoes were lined up in military precision.

But something was wrong.

The air was stale, devoid of her perfume.

I went to the jewelry box.

The diamonds I gave her were there.

The emeralds. The rubies.

I yanked open the drawer where she kept her documents.

Empty.

My heart skipped a beat.

"Matteo!" I roared.

My assistant appeared in the doorway seconds later, breathless.

"Find her," I ordered. "Now."

I sat heavily on the edge of her bed, the silence of the room pressing in on me.

Then, I saw something in the trash can.

I reached in and pulled it out.

It was the photo album.

The one with the pictures of us as kids.

The one she had saved from the fire when our first apartment burned down.

She loved this book more than her life.

And she had thrown it in the trash like it meant nothing.

Dread, cold and heavy, settled in the pit of my stomach.

I pulled up Luca's contact on my phone.

I held down the voice note button, my hand shaking with suppressed rage.

"Elena," I snarled into the phone. "If this is a game, you lose. Get back here in an hour, or I pull the plug on your brother for real this time."

I sent it.

It didn't deliver.