Aria POV

The next morning, I found Dante in the kitchen. He was wearing an apron, the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of a whisk against a stainless-steel bowl filling the silence.

The domesticity of the scene was terrifying because it was so perfectly, violently normal. His eyes were bright. Too bright.

"Good morning, Cara," he said, his voice light, as if he hadn't verbally flayed me the night before.

I stood frozen in the doorway. My suitcase was still shoved under the bed upstairs. The plane was waiting.

"We are going out," he announced, not asking. "A family day. Gia needs things for the boy."

"I am not going," I said.

The whisking stopped instantly. He set the bowl down with a heavy, deliberate clatter.

He walked over to me, closing the distance in two strides, and gripped my chin. His fingers dug into my jaw, pressing against the bone until I tasted copper.

"You will go," he whispered, his face inches from mine. "We are a united front. You will show respect."

I got dressed. I put on a long-sleeved shirt to hide the burn.

The SUV was waiting in the driveway. Gia and Leo were already in the back seat. Dante opened the front passenger door for me, a mockery of chivalry.

We drove to the Magnificent Mile. Dante played music. Leo sang along. I stared out the window, watching the city blur, counting the minutes until I could escape.

Inside the luxury mall, Dante was a king. He threw money around like confetti, buying loyalty with every swipe of his black card. He bought Leo a new video game console. He bought Gia a floor-length fur coat.

He bought me a scarf.

Silk. Expensive. Impersonal.

We walked into the jewelry store. The manager rushed over, practically bowing to the Don.

Dante looked at the display case, his gaze sweeping over the gold and platinum until it locked on a necklace. It was a sapphire pendant surrounded by a halo of diamonds. It was deep blue, like the ocean at night, cold and bottomless.

"It is beautiful," I said, the words slipping out involuntarily. It was the kind of piece a Capo bought his Donna for a milestone anniversary.

Dante nodded. "Wrap it up," he told the manager.

He took the velvet box. He turned to me. For a split second, my heart stuttered. I thought he was going to apologize. I thought this was the peace offering, the bribe to keep me compliant.

Then, he turned past me.

"For you," he said, handing the box to Gia. "To match your eyes."

Gia's eyes were brown.

She squealed and threw her arms around him. The sales staff looked at the floor, embarrassed by the blatant cruelty. I stood there, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks, burning hotter than the wound on my arm. I was the wife, standing in the shadows of the mistress.

"I'm going to the car," I said, my voice hollow.

Dante didn't even look up. "Take the keys. We will be right behind you."

I walked out. The air in the parking garage was stale and cold, smelling of exhaust and damp concrete. I needed to breathe. I needed to run.

I heard them behind me. Gia's laughter echoed off the concrete walls, a sharp, grating sound.

I unlocked the SUV.

Suddenly, tires screeched. A white sports car came tearing around the corner, speeding the wrong way down the lane. It was moving fast, the engine roaring, aiming straight for the group.

Gia froze. She was directly in the path.

I was closer to the car. I was standing right next to the open door.

Dante didn't hesitate. He didn't look at me.

He lunged. He shoved me aside-hard.

It wasn't a push to save me. It was a shove to clear the way. I slammed into the side mirror of the SUV, the metal casing gouging into my hip, and fell to the pavement.

Dante threw his body over Gia and Leo, shielding them as the car swerved at the last second and sped off toward the exit.

Silence followed. Heavy and suffocating.

Dante scrambled up. He checked Gia. He checked Leo. He ran his hands over them, frantic, desperate.

"Are you hurt? Did he hit you? My God, Gia."

I was lying on the asphalt. My hip throbbed with a dull, sickening ache. My burned hand had scraped against the ground, reopening the wound, the bandage tearing away.

"Dante," I whispered.

He didn't turn. He was kissing Gia's forehead, murmuring comforts, checking her for scratches that weren't there.

I stood up. I limped backward.

He hadn't just chosen them. He had used me as an obstacle-human debris to be tossed aside-to save them.

I turned around and started walking toward the exit ramp.

I didn't look back. I didn't call the family doctor. I just walked.

Aria POV

I made it back to the estate in a taxi, the silence of the house pressing against my ears like water.

I went upstairs and pulled the suitcase from under the bed.

The front door slammed downstairs.

"Aria!"

Dante's voice thundered through the halls. It shook the crystals of the foyer chandelier.

He found me in the bedroom before I could even undo the latches. His shirt was torn, a smear of grime across his chest, and a fresh cut bled sluggishly on his cheek. He looked feral.

"Where did you go?" he shouted, advancing on me. "You abandoned us!"

I stood my ground, my voice hollow. "You have them. You don't need me."

"They are hurt!" he screamed, the cords in his neck straining. "The car sideswiped Gia's leg. Leo is in shock. They are at the clinic right now."

"So go to them," I said.

"I need you," he said.

I froze. For a single, treacherous second, hope flared in my chest. A warm, desperate thing.

"Gia lost a lot of blood," he continued, breathless. "She has a rare type. You match her. I checked your medical file."

The hope died-cold, instant, and absolute.

"You want me to give blood to your mistress?"

"I want you to save the mother of my heir!" he roared, grabbing my arm. "Get in the car."

He didn't wait for me to walk. He dragged me. He physically hauled me down the stairs, my heels catching on the steps, and shoved me into the backseat of his car.

At the private clinic, the mob doctor didn't ask questions. He didn't look me in the eye.

He just hooked me up.

I watched my red blood flow through the clear plastic tube, leaving me to fill the veins of the woman who was poisoning my marriage.

Dante paced the small room like a caged tiger. He didn't offer me water. He didn't ask if I was dizzy. He just watched the bag fill, his eyes fixated on the fluid that would save his prize.

When it was done, I sat up. The room tilted dangerously.

"Come," Dante said, checking his watch. "You need to apologize."

"Apologize?" I laughed. It was a weak, brittle sound, like dry leaves stepping on stone. "For what?"

"For leaving the scene. For the security lapse."

He placed a hand on the small of my back-not to steady me, but to push me into the recovery room.

Gia was lying in bed, looking flushed and healthy with my life force coursing through her system. Leo was sitting on the chair, aggressively tapping at a handheld video game.

"Look who decided to show up," Gia sneered, smoothing the sheets.

"I saved your life," I whispered.

Leo stood up. His eyes were wide, manic. He picked up a heavy crystal vase from the bedside table.

"Get out!" the boy screamed. "You hate us!"

He threw the vase.

It wasn't a child's clumsy toss. It was heavy, aimed with vicious intent. It smashed against my shoulder, the impact sending a shockwave of blinding pain down my arm. I stumbled back, gasping.

Leo immediately threw himself to the floor, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"She hit me! She hit me first!"

Dante rushed in from the hall, his eyes scanning the scene. He saw the broken glass. He saw his son crying on the floor.

He turned to me.

"You are done," Dante whispered. He looked at me with pure, unadulterated hatred. "You are unfit to be a Vitiello. Get out of my sight before I kill you myself."

I clutched my throbbing shoulder. I looked at the three of them-the father, the mistress, the son.

The family portrait of hell.

I turned and walked out of the clinic.

It was raining outside. A cold, miserable downpour.

I walked down the dark alleyway toward the main street to catch a cab. I was dizzy from blood loss, aching from the burn of the needle and the bruise blooming on my shoulder.

Shadows detached themselves from the wet brick walls. Three men. They wore ski masks.

One of them slapped a metal pipe into his palm.

"This is from the Don," the lead man said, his voice muffled. "A lesson in respect."

I didn't fight. I didn't have the strength.

The first blow hit my ribs. I heard the wet crack of bone. I fell face-first into the mud.

They beat me until the world went gray. They kicked me until I couldn't feel the biting cold of the rain anymore.

As I lay there, bleeding into the dirty water, one of them pulled out a phone.

"It's done, Boss," he said into the receiver. "She learned."

He hung up. Footsteps splashed away, leaving me there.

I closed my eyes.

I wasn't Aria Vitiello anymore. Aria Vitiello died in this alley.

I dragged myself toward the street lights, inch by painful inch. I had a plane to catch.

And when I came back, I wouldn't be the wife.

I would be the Reaper.

Aria POV

I woke up to the agonizing bite of plastic digging into my wrists and the sting of the Chicago wind lashing against my exposed skin.

My eyes fluttered open, gritty and swollen. I wasn't in a bed. I was upright. My knees buckled, but I didn't fall because my hands were cruelly zip-tied to the wrought-iron railing of the penthouse balcony.

I was on display. Like a traitor. Like a trophy from a hunt.

Below, the city lights blurred through the relentless rain. I shivered, my clothes soaked through, the bruise on my ribs from the alley throbbing in sickening rhythm with my pulse.

Dante hadn't saved me. He hadn't come for me. He had let his men dump me here like trash.

I pulled at the ties. My skin tore, but the plastic held. I didn't scream. Screaming was for people who believed someone was actually listening.

Hours passed. Or maybe minutes. Time felt like sludge. Finally, the lock on the balcony door clicked. A guard stepped out, cut the ties without a word, and shoved me inside.

I fell onto the carpet, my legs too numb to hold me. I crawled. I actually crawled toward my bedroom, leaving a trail of rainwater and mud like a wounded animal.

Laughter drifted from the living room.

I looked up. Dante was there. He was sitting in his armchair, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Gia was curled up on the rug at his feet, and Leo was building a tower of blocks on the coffee table.

They looked warm. They looked whole.

Dante saw me. His eyes flickered over my wet clothes, my bruised face, my bleeding wrists. For a second, his brow furrowed, as if he was trying to solve a difficult math problem.

"You're back," he said. His voice was flat.

"You tied me to the balcony," I rasped, my throat raw.

Dante took a slow, deliberate sip of whiskey.

"I was in a meeting," he lied. Smoothly. Easily. "I told security to keep you contained until I returned. You were hysterical at the clinic."

Contained. I was his wife, and he had treated me like a rabid dog.

Gia didn't look at me. She just placed a block on Leo's tower.

"Go to your room, Aria," Dante said, waving his hand dismissively. "You are dripping on the Persian rug."

I dragged myself down the hall. My body felt heavy, like it was filled with lead shot.

Inside my room, on the nightstand, sat a bottle of pills and a note in Dante's handwriting.

For the pain.

I stared at the bottle. It was a mercy I didn't expect. Maybe, deep down, under the layers of drugs and Gia's poison, he still remembered that I was human.

I opened the bottle. My hands shook so bad I dropped two pills on the floor. I swallowed three dry. I just wanted the throbbing in my ribs to stop. I wanted to sleep.

I lay down on the bed, still in my wet clothes.

Ten minutes later, the fire started in my stomach.

It wasn't relief. It was acid.

I gasped, clutching my abdomen. My vision swam. The room tilted sideways. I tried to call out, but my throat closed up.

I rolled off the bed, hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

Foam gathered at the corners of my mouth. I convulsed, my back arching off the floor.

"Dante!" I tried to scream, but it came out as a wet gurgle.

The door burst open.

Dante stood there. He looked at me, then at the pill bottle. His eyes widened. The glaze over his pupils seemed to crack for a fraction of a second.

"Aria?"

He dropped to his knees beside me. He smelled like whiskey and Gia's perfume.

"What did you take?" he demanded, shaking me.

I pointed to the bottle. Blood leaked from my nose.

He grabbed the bottle. He looked at the label. Then he looked at me, panic rising in his chest.

"Doctor!" he roared. "Get the doctor!"

The world went black.

When I woke up, I was still on the floor, but there were needles in my arm and the bitter taste of charcoal in my mouth. The mob doctor was packing up his bag.

"Neurotoxin," the doctor said quietly. "Mixed with the painkillers. A lethal dose. If she hadn't vomited, she would be dead."

Dante was standing by the window. He was pale.

"Who?" Dante asked. His voice was a low growl. "Who touched her meds?"

"Security footage," the head of security said from the doorway. He held up a tablet.

Dante snatched it. I turned my head, my neck stiff, to watch the screen.

It was grainy black and white. But the figure was clear.

Leo.

The boy walked into my room. He opened the bottle. He crushed something into it. He shook it. He smiled at the camera.

Dante stared at the screen. The silence in the room was heavy, suffocating.

My husband looked at the proof that his new son had tried to murder me.

I waited for the rage. I waited for the Reaper.

Aria POV:

"Bring him in," Dante ordered, his voice devoid of warmth.

Gia dragged Leo into the room. The boy looked sleepy, rubbing his eyes with a small fist. He took in the sight of me on the floor, surrounded by discarded bandages and saline bags, and he didn't even flinch.

Dante knelt in front of the boy, holding the tablet up for him to see.

"Did you do this, Leo?"

Leo looked at the screen, then up at Dante. His lower lip began to tremble on cue. Tears welled up in his eyes instantly, spilling over his chubby cheeks.

"I was scared," Leo sobbed, his voice pitching high. "She's a witch, Dante! Mommy said she's toxic. I just wanted her to go to sleep so she couldn't hurt us anymore."

Gia gasped, covering her mouth with a manicured hand. "Oh, my poor baby. He was trying to protect me."

Dante looked at the weeping boy. Then he looked at the woman he was drugged to love. Finally, he turned his gaze to me-the woman who had just survived an assassination attempt in her own bedroom.

He sighed, a heavy, ragged sound. He reached out and pulled Leo into a hug.

"Shh," he soothed, stroking the boy's hair. "It's okay. You made a mistake."

"A mistake?" I whispered. My voice was like sandpaper scraping against stone. "He tried to kill me."

Dante stood up, shielding the boy with his broad body, blocking him from my view.

"He is a child, Aria. He doesn't understand the dosage. He was acting out of fear because you have been hostile."

"Hostile?" I tried to sit up, but my arms gave out, trembling under my own weight.

"We will not speak of this again," Dante said firmly, the haze in his eyes hardening into steel. "He is my heir. I will handle his discipline."

He turned to Gia. "Take him for ice cream. He is upset."

Gia smirked at me over Dante's shoulder-a cold, victorious smile that didn't reach her eyes.

They left. Dante stayed for a moment longer. He looked at the IV line snake-coiled into my arm. He looked like he wanted to say something, like a memory was clawing at the back of his mind, but the fog in his eyes thickened, swallowing the thought.

"Rest," he said simply.

Then he walked out.