The Vitiello Anniversary Gala was more than just a party; it was the social event of the underworld season. It was where truces were toasted with vintage champagne and hits were ordered with a subtle nod.

Dante had insisted I attend. He wanted to show the world that the Vitiello family was whole. He wanted to parade his miracle.

I wore a black dress. It was silk, backless, and looked like mourning couture tailored for a runway.

We entered the ballroom, and the silence was instant. Three hundred predators stopped eating to stare at the woman who had clawed her way out of a grave.

Dante held my arm tightly, his grip possessive.

My parents were at the head table. They smiled nervously, raising their glasses in a hollow salute. They were sitting next to the Bianchis.

Then, the doors opened again.

Sofia entered.

She wore red. Blood red. A statement.

She held Leo's hand.

The crowd parted for her like the Red Sea. She walked with her chin high, the usurper Queen coming to claim her territory.

She walked straight up to us.

"Dante," she purred, kissing his cheek. "And Elena. You look... tired."

She turned to Leo. "Look, Leo. Say hello to the lady."

Leo looked at me. He was wearing a miniature tuxedo and looked so much like his father.

I knelt down. I reached out a hand. "Leo, it's me. It's Mommy."

Leo recoiled. He buried his face in Sofia's red skirt.

"No!" he shouted. His voice echoed in the silent hall. "You're the monster! Mama said you're a ghost! Go away!"

The room gasped.

I felt like I had been gutted. I looked up at Dante. Do something, I pleaded silently. Tell him.

Dante looked at the crowd. I saw his eyes dart to the Bianchi soldiers watching, gauging the trembling political alliance.

"Leo is confused," Dante said loudly, addressing the room. "It has been a long time."

He didn't correct the boy. He didn't push Sofia away.

My mother rushed over. She put her arm around Sofia. "Oh, he's just tired, poor thing. Sofia is such a good mother to him."

The betrayal was total. My own blood had chosen the winning side.

Sofia smiled down at me. It was a smile of pure victory.

"You should go rest, Elena," she whispered, low enough that only I could hear. "The dead shouldn't haunt the living. It scares the children."

She pulled a small box from her clutch and pressed it into my hand. "A welcome back gift."

I opened it. It was a one-way plane ticket to Switzerland.

I stood up. The grief in my chest crystallized into something sharp and cold. Ice.

Dante tried to take my hand again. He raised a glass. "To family," he announced.

"To family," the room echoed.

I looked at the candle flickering on the table.

I leaned in close to Dante.

"Enjoy your toast," I whispered. "Because I am going to burn them all."

Sofia's smile faltered. She grabbed her chest, letting out a dramatic gasp. "Oh! I feel faint!"

Dante immediately let go of my arm. "Sofia!"

He caught her as she swooned, a perfect, practiced faint.

"Get the car!" he yelled to his men.

He scooped her up in his arms, cradling her like she was precious glass. He rushed toward the exit, Leo running behind him, crying for his Mama.

I stood alone in the center of the ballroom.

Three hundred people watched the Don carry his mistress away and leave his wife standing in the wreckage.

I turned to a waiter passing by with a tray of champagne.

I took a glass.

I drank it in one swallow.

Then I smashed the glass on the floor.

I didn't return to the hotel. Instead, I followed them.

I took a taxi straight to the marina, knowing exactly where Dante went when the walls closed in. The private pier where the Vitiello yachts were docked.

Above the city, the sky erupted in a finale of fireworks. Bright red letters sizzled against the dark canvas: ELENA.

Dante had ordered them weeks ago to celebrate my return. Now, they hung in the smoke-filled air like a cruel joke.

I moved through the shadows of the shipping containers, the air heavy with the scent of salt and diesel fuel.

I saw Dante's car parked near the edge of the pier, its headlights cutting through the fog.

Sofia stood perilously close to the edge of the dock, gazing down at the black water.

Dante stood five feet away, his hands outstretched.

"Don't do it, Sofia!" he yelled.

"I can't live without you, Dante!" she screamed back. Her voice was theatrical, pitched perfectly to carry over the wind. "If you choose her, I will jump! I swear it!"

It was a performance, and a poor one. I knew Sofia. She loved herself too much to die. She was terrified of broken nails, let alone freezing water.

But Dante... Dante was a man who ruled by fear, and tonight, fear made him blind.

"Please, baby, come down," Dante begged, his voice cracking. "I'm not choosing her. I'm just... managing her. She is the past. You are the future."

The air left my lungs.

I stood frozen behind a stack of crates, my nails digging into the rusted metal.

She is the past.

"Prove it," Sofia sobbed.

Dante strode forward and grabbed her face.

"I love you," he said. "I only brought her back because we need the encryption keys. Once I have the ledger codes... she will be gone again."

He pulled her into a kiss.

It wasn't gentle. It was hungry. It was desperate. He lifted her up, pressing her against the hood of the car, her legs wrapping around his waist.

I watched my husband, the man I had worshipped, devour the woman who had tried to kill me.

Overhead, the fireworks popped. Bang. Bang. Bang.

They sounded like gunshots.

I looked down at my hands. They were trembling-not from fear anymore, but from clarity.

The Dante I loved had died five years ago. This man was a stranger. A weak king wearing a crown he didn't deserve.

I didn't confront them. I didn't scream.

I turned around and walked back into the darkness.

The ocean churned below the pier, black and hungry. I had feared drowning ever since the accident; the sound of the water usually paralyzed me.

But tonight, the sound of the waves was soothing.

It sounded like it was washing the slate clean.

I pulled out my phone and dialed the number Luca Salvatore had given me.

"I'm ready," I said.

"Good," the Wolf answered. "Meet me at the safe house. Bring the boy if you can. If not... leave him."

I hung up.

I had one last stop to make.

The safe house was a small, nondescript brownstone in Brooklyn that Dante kept for storage. I retrieved the key hidden under a loose brick in the alley.

I stepped inside. It smelled of dust and the stale, heavy air of old memories.

I went to the closet where I had stored Leo's things before the accident. And there I found it.

The stuffed dog. Mr. Barks. It was missing an eye, and the fur was matted from years of love. Leo used to sleep with it every night. He wouldn't close his eyes without it.

I held it to my chest, inhaling the scent of baby powder that still lingered faintly, a ghost of the past five years.

The front door opened.

I froze.

Leo walked in. He was alone. He must have slipped away from the nanny in the car outside, driven by some twisted curiosity.

He saw me. He saw the dog.

His face twisted into a scowl that looked far too old for his features.

"Give me that!" he shouted.

He ran at me and snatched the dog from my hands.

"Leo," I said softly. "I bought you that. Remember? You named him."

He glared at the toy, then at me.

"Mama Sofia says you put a curse on this," he spat. "She says everything you touch turns to poison."

He didn't just drop the dog.

He grabbed a glass of grape juice that had been left on the table by a guard earlier that day.

He poured it over the toy. The purple liquid soaked into the beige fur, staining it like fresh blood.

Then, he grabbed the dog by the legs and ripped. The old stitching gave way. Stuffing exploded into the air like dirty snow.

"I hate you!" he screamed, throwing the ruined carcass at my feet. "I wish you stayed dead! Why did you come back? We were happy!"

The juice splattered onto my shoes.

I looked at my son.

I looked for the baby I had nursed. I looked for the toddler who used to cry when I left the room.

He wasn't there.

Sofia had done a thorough job. She hadn't just stolen my husband; she had rewritten my son's soul.

If I took him now, he would hate me. He would fight me every step of the way. He would be a poison in the new life I was trying to build.

To save him, I had to let him go. I had to destroy the structure that had corrupted him before I could ever hope to rebuild him.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.

I bent down and wiped the purple stain from my shoe.

I stood up. My face felt like it was carved from marble.

"Goodbye, Leo," I said.

I didn't try to hug him. I didn't cry.

I walked past him, out the door, and into the night.

I left the door open behind me.

I was done being the victim. I was done being the mother.

Kate Harding was born in that hallway. And she had work to do.