Elena POV

I called the fence at 9:00 AM.

His name was Marco, a greasy man who usually moved stolen watches for the lower-level soldiers. He was surprised to hear from the Don's wife, but greed has a way of silencing questions.

I laid them out on the bed. The Hermès Birkins. The diamond tennis bracelets. The chinchilla coat Dante bought me after he killed three men in a sit-down and needed to wash the blood off his conscience with money.

"I want cash," I told Marco. "And I want it off the books."

He looked at the pile, calculating. "This is dangerous, Mrs. Vitiello. If the Don finds out I bought his gifts..."

"He won't," I said, my voice hollow. "He doesn't look in my closet anymore."

Marco left with three duffel bags. I was left with a stack of rubber-banded cash thick enough to choke a horse. It felt dirty in my hands, but it was the only currency that mattered now.

My phone pinged. A notification from Instagram.

It was Sienna. She wasn't private. She wanted to be seen. The photo was a selfie taken in a bathroom mirror. She was wearing a silk robe, her hand resting on the small bump of her stomach. In the background, hanging on the hook, was a limited-edition leather jacket.

Dante's jacket.

The caption read: Safe and sound. HisHeir FutureQueen.

I didn't cry. I think my tear ducts had dried up along with my hope.

Giulia arrived an hour later. She was the wife of Dante's Underboss, a fierce woman with hoop earrings and a switchblade in her purse. She was the only person in this life who looked at me and saw Elena, not just "The Wife."

"Are we going shopping?" she asked, eyeing the empty hangers in my closet.

"No," I said. "We are going for a drive."

I directed her away from the city, away from the territory controlled by the Outfit. We drove to the suburbs, to a quiet, nondescript civilian cemetery. The grass was overgrown, and the headstones were modest granite slabs.

"Elena, what the hell are we doing here?" Giulia asked, parking her Range Rover. "The Vitiello mausoleum is at Saint Michael's. You know that. There's a spot next to Dante's father."

I got out of the car. The wind bit at my exposed neck.

"I am not being buried with them," I said.

I walked into the office. The caretaker was an old man who smelled like mothballs. I paid for the plot in cash. When he asked for the name on the deed, I didn't hesitate.

"Elena Rossi," I said. "My maiden name."

Giulia grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. "Elena, stop this. Dante will kill everyone in this building if he sees this. You are a Vitiello. Why are you buying a grave?"

I turned to her. The pain in my abdomen was a dull roar now, a constant companion.

"Because I have a month to live, Giulia. Pancreatic cancer."

The color drained from her face. She looked like I had slapped her.

"No," she whispered. "No. We go to the best doctors. We go to Switzerland. Dante has the money. He can fix this."

"Dante told me to die quietly," I said.

Giulia let out a sound that was half-sob, half-scream. She tried to drag me back to the car. "We are going to the hospital. Now. I am calling him."

I grabbed her hands. They were shaking.

"If you call him, I will never speak to you again. I want to die as Elena Rossi. Not as the barren wife of the Don. Not as the woman he cheated on. Please, Giulia. Give me this."

She stared at me, tears streaming down her face, ruining her mascara. She saw the resolve in my eyes. She saw the exhaustion.

"Okay," she choked out. "Okay, baby. I got you."

We walked back to the car. I felt lighter. I had a place to rest where the shadow of the Vitiello empire couldn't touch me.

But then the pain hit. It wasn't a dull roar anymore; it was a knife twisting in my gut. My knees buckled. The gravel rushed up to meet me.

"Elena!" Giulia screamed.

I tried to stay awake. I tried to tell her not to take me to the Family hospital, where they report everything to Dante. But the darkness was heavy and sweet.

The last thing I heard was Giulia screaming into her phone.

"Get your ass home, you son of a bitch! She is dying!"

Elena POV

I woke to the biting chill of the IV drip in my vein.

The master bedroom was dim, the air thick with tension. Dr. Ricci was packing his bag, his movements jerky and frantic. Everyone looked nervous around Dante, but Ricci looked like a man facing a firing squad.

I scanned the room. I didn't see Giulia.

Dante was standing by the window, his back to me, looking out at the sprawling lawn. He was wearing his suit, the fabric still crisp, though his tie was loosened at the collar. He didn't look like a husband keeping vigil at his sick wife's bedside. He looked like a CEO inconvenienced by a minor logistical error.

"Giulia is banned from the estate," he said, not turning around.

"Why?" My voice was little more than a dry croak.

"She was hysterical. Screaming lies. Disrespecting me in front of my men."

He turned then. His face was hewn from granite, impenetrable and cold.

"She said you're dying, Elena. Is that the new game? You pay Ricci to fake a report? You collapse in a parking lot to get my attention because I missed dinner?"

I looked at Dr. Ricci. He wouldn't meet my eyes. He focused intently on the latch of his medical bag. Dante paid his salary. Dante owned his practice. If Dante wanted the medical report to be a blank page, Ricci would burn the real one without hesitation.

"I am not playing games," I whispered.

Dante walked over to the bed. He loomed over me, stealing the remaining light from the room.

"You are malnourished. You are stressed. That is what the doctor said. You need to eat. You need to stop obsessing over Sienna."

The door clicked open.

Sienna walked in. She was wearing a cashmere sweater that cost more than my father's car, soft and pristine against her glowing skin. She held a tray of soup.

"I heard you weren't feeling well," she said. Her voice was pure syrup-sweet, cloying, and poisonous. "I told Dante we should check on you. Poor thing."

She walked to Dante's side and placed a hand on his arm. He didn't shake it off. He leaned into it slightly. A reflex. A habit.

"Get out," I said.

"Elena, be polite," Dante warned, his tone dropping an octave.

"She is a whore, Dante. She is sleeping in my house. She is carrying the child you promised me. And you bring her into my bedroom?"

Sienna's eyes welled up with instant, practiced tears. She looked at Dante, trembling perfectly.

"I was just trying to help," she sniffled. "I know she's jealous, Dante, but I didn't mean to upset her. The baby... I can feel the stress."

Dante's expression darkened. He grabbed Sienna's waist, pulling her protectively against his side.

"Enough, Elena. You are toxic. This house is supposed to be a sanctuary, and you are filling it with venom."

"My venom?" I laughed, but the sound fractured into a cough that rattled deep in my chest. "You promised me, Dante. You said, 'Wherever you are, that is my home.'"

"That was before you became this," he spat, gesturing to my frail body on the bed. "Bitter. Ungrateful."

Sienna smirked. It was quick, hidden behind Dante's shoulder, but I saw it. She looked around the room, her eyes lingering on my vanity, my wedding photo.

"It's a bit drafty in here," she said softly. "Maybe we should move her to the guest wing? It's warmer. And closer to the nurses."

She was trying to evict me from my own marriage bed.

I sat up. The adrenaline spiked through the morphine haze, giving me a fleeting burst of strength. I swung my legs off the bed and stood up. I swayed, the room tilting on its axis, but I stayed upright.

I walked up to her. She widened her eyes, playing the victim to perfection.

I slapped her.

It wasn't a strong slap-I was too weak-but it was enough to leave a red mark on her perfect, powdered cheek.

"You will never be me," I hissed.

Sienna cried out, clutching her face like I had stabbed her.

Dante moved instantly. He shoved me.

He didn't mean to hurt me, perhaps. He just wanted to separate us. But I was a ghost of a woman, brittle and light. I flew back, hitting the wall hard. I slid down to the floor, gasping for air as pain exploded in my ribs.

Dante didn't check on me. He wrapped his arms around Sienna, his hands covering her stomach.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, his voice frantic. "The baby?"

"She's crazy!" Sienna sobbed into his chest. "She tried to kill the heir!"

Dante looked at me. There was no love in his eyes. Only disgust.

"Stay in this room," he ordered. "If you touch her again, Elena, I will forget who you are."

Elena POV

He led her downstairs. I could hear him soothing her, his voice vibrating through the floorboards like a cruel lullaby.

I dragged myself up using the nightstand. My shoulder throbbed where I had hit the wall, but the physical pain was a mercy, a distraction from the fact that my heart had just stopped beating.

He had shoved me. To protect her.

I walked to the mirror. I looked like a corpse already. Pale skin, dark circles, collarbones protruding like coat hangers. How did he not see it? How did he look at this skeletal version of his wife and see only "jealousy"?

The answer was simple: because he stopped looking at me a long time ago.

I changed into a black dress. I applied makeup to hide the yellow tint of my skin. I had errands to run.

I walked out the side door. The guards let me pass; they didn't care where the barren wife went, so long as I wasn't in the way.

I went to a photo studio downtown. I needed a portrait. A final image for the funeral service, so people would remember Elena, not the ghost I had become.

The photographer was kind. He told me to smile. I tried, but the expression didn't reach my eyes.

As I was picking up the proofs an hour later, the bell above the door chimed.

Dante walked in. He was holding Sienna's hand.

They froze. I froze.

Of all the places in the city, fate had to choose this one, I thought bitterly.

"Are you following us?" Dante asked. His voice was low, dangerous. "We are here for a maternity shoot."

I clutched the large envelope to my chest. "No. I'm leaving."

Sienna stepped forward. She looked glowing. Pregnant. Victorious. She saw the logo on my envelope.

"Modeling photos, Elena?" She laughed. "A bit late for a career change, isn't it? You look... tired."

She reached out and snatched the envelope before I could react.

"Give it back," I said, panic rising in my throat.

Dante stepped between us, blocking me. "What is it? Evidence? Are you documenting us?"

He grabbed my wrist. His grip was iron. It hurt.

"Show me," he demanded.

Sienna ripped the envelope open. She pulled out the 8x10 photo.

It was black and white. Me, in a black dress, looking serene and final. It was unmistakably a memorial portrait.

Sienna's smile faltered for a second, then twisted into something cruel.

"Oh my god," she said, feigning shock. "Is this a suicide threat? Dante, look. She's planning something to ruin the baby's arrival. She wants attention."

Dante looked at the photo, then at me. He looked unsettled, haunted even, but he quickly masked it with anger.

"Is this your leverage?" he asked. "You threaten to kill yourself? You think that will make me come back?"

I snatched the photo back. The frame shattered on the floor. Glass scattered everywhere.

"I just want to see you regret this," I whispered.

Dante sneered. He kicked a piece of the broken frame away.

"If you want to die, Elena, then die. Stop threatening it. It's pathetic."

He turned his back on me. "Come, Sienna. We'll find another studio. This one smells like desperation."

I watched them leave. My legs gave out. I collapsed onto the floor, amidst the broken glass and the black-and-white face of a woman who was already gone.

A stranger, a woman waiting for her passport photos, ran over to help me.

"He doesn't love you anymore, honey," she whispered, helping me up.

I pushed her away. I didn't need a stranger to tell me the news.

I walked out onto the street. It was raining. I didn't open my umbrella. I just walked.

I took two painkillers from my purse and swallowed them dry.

Dante used to beg me to take aspirin when I had a headache. He used to kiss my forehead and bring me water.

Now he had told me to hurry up and die.