Elena Vitello POV

The smell of antiseptic pulled me out of the dark.

Fluorescent lights burned my retinas. I squeezed my eyes shut against the assault.

I blinked. The world swam into focus, gray and blurry.

Hospital room.

My head throbbed.

I tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea pushed me back into the pillow.

"Don't move," a voice said softly.

I turned my head toward the door.

Luca stood there.

He looked different. Disheveled. Tie undone, hair messy. The picture of a worried fiancé.

If I hadn't seen the video. If I hadn't heard the things he said in that club. I might have believed the performance.

Sofia sat in the corner chair, scrolling through her phone.

She looked bored. Like my fainting was an inconvenience in her schedule.

"You passed out," Luca said. "You fell down the stairs at the club. What were you doing there, Elena?"

I stared at him.

"Checking on my investment," I whispered, my voice raw.

He frowned. Confusion flickered in his eyes. "What?"

"Nothing."

The doctor bustled in then, clipboard in hand.

"Miss Vitello, you have a mild concussion and some bruising, but you're lucky. Looks like severe low blood sugar combined with alcohol shock exacerbated the situation. You need complete rest. No stress."

I laughed.

It was a dry sound. It scraped my throat.

"No stress. I'm getting married in two days."

Luca squeezed my hand.

"Maybe we should postpone," he said, the concern in his voice a lie. "You're not well."

He didn't care about my health.

He wanted time. He wanted to figure out how much I knew.

"No," I said, my voice hard. "The wedding is Saturday."

Sofia sighed dramatically in the corner.

Luca shot her a warning look, then turned back to me.

I pulled my hand away.

"I need to go home," I said.

"I'll drive you," Luca offered immediately.

"No. My father is sending a car."

Luca's face darkened, his easy charm evaporating. "Why are you calling your father?"

"Because he's family, Luca."

"Family protects its own."

I swung my legs off the bed. The room tilted violently, threatening to spin off its axis, but I gritted my teeth and forced myself to be still.

I stood. Walked past Luca without looking at him.

I stopped in front of Sofia.

She looked up at me. Defiance flickered in her eyes. Mockery.

"Hope you feel better," she said sweetly. "Would be a shame to miss your big day."

I smiled. It didn't reach my eyes.

"Oh, I won't miss it, Sofia." I leaned closer, until my face was inches from hers. Until I was sure only she could hear.

"Saturday. Wear waterproof mascara."

"You'll need it."

I walked out. I didn't look back.

I walked down the sterile hospital corridor, the thin gown flapping against my legs, my head pounding like a war drum with every step.

I reached the exit. The automatic doors slid open. Cool night air hit my face.

A black SUV idled at the curb.

The window rolled down.

It wasn't my father's driver.

It was a man with eyes like black ice and a jagged scar cutting through one eyebrow.

Dante Cavallaro.

"Get in," he said.

I opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat. The interior enveloped me.

Leather and gun oil. The smell of vengeance.

"Ready?" he asked, eyes on the road ahead.

I looked back at the hospital entrance. Luca was running out, scanning the street.

He saw the car. He saw me. He might have seen Dante.

I turned to Dante.

"Drive," I said.

He hit the gas.

We left my past in the rearview mirror, shrinking until it was dust.

The war was coming.

Elena Vitello POV

Dante didn't speak on the drive from the hospital to my apartment.

He drove like the road belonged to him. Aggressive. Smooth.

He pulled up in front of the building I shared with Luca and didn't unlock the doors immediately.

"You sure you want to go back in there?" he asked, voice low.

I looked at the building.

It had felt like home once. Now it was just a cage I'd finally escaped.

"I need to pack, Dante."

"I can buy you new things. Better things."

"I know," I said, turning to look at his profile.

The scar above his brow twitched.

"But I need to clear out the rot before I can plant something new."

He nodded, a sharp jerk of his chin.

"I'll wait here. If you're not down in an hour, I'm coming up. And if I come up, I can't promise that soldier survives the night."

I got out.

The apartment was silent when I walked in.

Luca sat on the couch, head in his hands.

He looked up when I walked in.

"Elena, thank God," he said, standing, reaching for me.

I stepped back.

"Don't touch me," I said.

He froze. His hands hung in the air.

"Baby, please. The hospital... Sofia... She's sick. She's dying. I was just trying to be a good person. You know I have a soft heart."

A soft heart.

A heart soft enough to betray me for a woman who mocked me to his friends.

I walked past him, into the bedroom. I pulled two large suitcases from the closet.

"What are you doing?" Luca asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"I'm staying with my parents until the wedding," I said. "It's tradition. Remember? Bad luck to see the bride."

He looked relieved.

He had no idea whose bride I was. I didn't explain.

"Okay," he said, running a hand through his hair. "That makes sense."

"Your mom can help you calm down."

I started shoving clothes into the bags.

Not everything. Just the things that mattered. The silk robe my grandmother gave me. The vintage pearl necklace from my confirmation.

My eyes landed on the nightstand.

The ebony velvet box was still there. Right where he'd left it before he ran after me to the hospital.

I smiled. A cold, thin thing.

Good. Let him find it later. Let it haunt him.

I opened the jewelry box on the dresser. Inside was the diamond necklace Luca had given me last year for our anniversary.

He'd put it on me himself at dinner. Made a show of it while the waiter poured champagne.

Now I knew he'd probably bought Sofia a bracelet that same day.

I picked up the necklace. It was heavy. Cold.

I walked to the window.

"Elena?" Luca asked.

I opened the window and threw the necklace into the alley below.

He gasped. "Are you crazy?"

"That was ten thousand dollars!"

"It was dirty money, Luca," I said, turning to look at the empty box. "I don't want it touching my skin."

His phone buzzed on the dresser.

He ignored it. It buzzed again.

"Check your phone," I said. "Might be your dying girl."

He frowned but picked it up.

He paled. He shoved the phone in his pocket fast, but I saw it. A flash of a photo on the screen.

Skin. Lots of skin.

Sofia wasn't dying. She was sending him nudes.

My own phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out.

A text from an unknown number.

A photo. Luca and Sofia.

In this bed. On my sheets.

The timestamp was three days ago.

The text below it read: He says you're boring.

I looked at Luca. He was watching me, trying to gauge my reaction.

I didn't scream. I didn't cry.

I just forwarded the photo to a secure folder labeled "Evidence."

I zipped the suitcase.

"I'm leaving," I said.

I walked past him, dragging the suitcase.

He tried to grab my arm. "Elena. Don't. I love you."

I looked at his hand on my arm.

Five years ago, that touch had felt like safety.

Now it felt like a chain.

Elena Vitello POV

"Let go of me." My voice was low. Almost a whisper.

Luca didn't let go. His grip tightened. His fingers bit into my skin.

"You're overreacting, Elena. You're my fiancée. You can't walk out because you're jealous of a charity case."

"Jealous?" I laughed. "I'm not jealous, Luca. I'm disgusted."

His eyes narrowed.

"Watch your mouth. You might be a Vitello, but you're going to be my wife. You need to learn respect."

"Respect?"

The word hung in the air between us, thick and ugly.

He talked about respect while he still smelled of his mistress's cheap perfume. A cloying, sweet stench.

I let go of the suitcase handle. I turned to face him fully. And I slapped him.

The sound cracked through the room like a whip.

His head snapped to the side. He staggered back, shock on his face.

In our world, women didn't hit men. Especially soldiers.

But I wasn't just a woman. I was a Vitello.

And he had failed me.

"You took an oath," I said softly, stepping closer until he could see nothing but me. "Loyalty or death. Remember?"

He touched his cheek, eyes wide. "Elena..."

"You broke it," I said. "You broke us."

I slapped him again. Backhand this time. Harder.

My palm stung, but the pain grounded me.

He grabbed my wrist. Rage flickered in his eyes.

"Stop! You're insane!"

"I'm not insane, Luca. I'm awake. Finally."

I wrenched free. Almost dislocated my wrist.

He didn't fight to hold on. He was too scared of the marks, too scared of what my father would do if he saw bruises on me.

I grabbed the suitcase.

"My mother needs me for final preparations," I lied, my voice ice. "See you at the wedding."

He stood there. Red-faced. Breathing hard.

He wanted to believe me so badly.

He needed the Vitello alliance too much to question the slap, to question the coldness in my eyes.

"Fine," he spat. "Go. Run to your daddy. But Saturday, you're mine."

I didn't answer.

I walked out. Rode the elevator down to the lobby.

Dante leaned against the hood of his car, smoking.

He saw me. Dropped the cigarette. Crushed it under his boot.

He took the suitcase from me without a word. Threw it in the trunk.

Opened the passenger door for me.

"Did you kill him?" he asked as he slid into the driver's seat, his voice flat.

"No," I said, looking up at the apartment window where a dark figure watched us. "Not yet."