I was standing in the foyer when the heavy oak doors swung open. I hadn't intended to be there, but Maria needed help shifting a vase, and my leg had finally healed enough to hobble around with a cane.

Jax strode in first. His shirt hung in tatters, plastered to his skin by a dried maroon crust. His lip was split, swollen and purple. He looked like a wreck, but he walked with the swagger of a god.

Catalina launched herself at him before he even cleared the threshold.

"Jax!" she screamed-a performance worthy of Broadway. She threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his ruined shirt and sobbing loudly. "I was so scared! I thought I lost you!"

He winced as she jostled his injuries, yet he didn't push her away. Instead, he wrapped his bloodied arms around her waist, lifting her off the ground.

"I told you," he rasped, his voice wrecked. "No one touches you. No one disrespects you."

He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, as if she were the oxygen he had been deprived of.

The household staff stood lined up against the wall, heads bowed in deference. The Capos behind him clapped him on the back. It was a hero's welcome.

I stood by the vase of white lilies, invisible.

Jax finally looked up. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on me. For a second, the adrenaline in his gaze faltered. He saw the cane. He saw the cast on my leg.

But then Catalina whimpered, drawing his attention back. "You're bleeding everywhere, baby. Come, let me clean you up."

"Yeah," he murmured. "Let's go."

He walked right past me. He didn't ask how I was. He didn't ask why I had called. He just walked up the stairs with his prize, leaving a trail of blood droplets on the marble floor that I would probably have to ask Maria to scrub later.

For the next three days, the house became a shrine to his victory. Catalina recounted the story to anyone who would listen, embellishing the details until Jax sounded like Achilles reborn.

I stayed in my room. I kept a laptop hidden under my mattress.

*Expedia. One-way. JFK to LGA. Then a train. Then a new life.*

I wasn't just leaving a relationship. I was defecting from a regime.

On the fourth night, a knock sounded at my door.

It opened before I could answer. Jax stood there. He was cleaned up, stitches marching across his eyebrow and lip. He held a large, velvet box.

He looked... sheepish. It was an expression that used to melt me. Now, it just looked like bad acting.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

"You own the house, Jax," I said, not looking up from my book. "You go where you want."

He flinched but stepped inside. He placed the box on the foot of my bed.

"I know things have been... intense," he started, rubbing the back of his neck. "I haven't been around much. The business with the Rossis took everything out of me."

"It's fine," I said.

"It's not fine," he insisted, trying to sound noble. "I've neglected you. I want to make it up to you."

He gestured to the box. "Open it."

I sighed and reached for it. Inside, nestled in black tissue paper, was a dress.

It was exquisite. Deep emerald silk, hand-embroidered with gold thread. It was a traditional belly dancing costume, the kind from the region my grandmother was from.

"I remembered you liked that weird dancing stuff," he said, looking proud of himself. "Thought you could wear it for me. Maybe tonight?"

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to touch my cheek. His thumb grazed my skin, rough and calloused.

"We haven't been together in a while," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "I miss you, Eliana."

I looked down at the dress. It was beautiful. It was expensive.

And it was an insult.

He didn't know *why* I danced. He didn't know it was my escape, my prayer, my art. To him, it was just "weird stuff" I did to entertain him. He saw me as a private stripper, not a dancer.

I pulled away from his touch.

"I can't," I said.

His brow furrowed. "Why not?"

"My leg, Jax," I said, gesturing to the cast. "I can barely walk to the bathroom. You think I can shimmy for you?"

He looked at the cast as if seeing it for the first time. "Oh. Right. I forgot."

He forgot.

"Well," he said, retracting his hand. "When you get that off then. Soon."

"Soon," I echoed.

"I'm trying here, Elie," he said, a hint of irritation creeping in. "I bought you a gift. I'm here. Stop being so cold."

"I'm tired, Jax. The pain meds make me sleepy."

He sighed, loud and dramatic. "Fine. Sleep. But fix your attitude. I just won a war for this family. A little gratitude wouldn't kill you."

He turned and walked out, leaving the expensive dress on the bed like a tip on a nightstand.

I waited until his footsteps faded down the hall.

I picked up the dress. The silk felt like water against my fingers.

I walked to the trash can and dropped it inside.

Then I pulled out my laptop.

*Confirm Booking.*

New York. Tuesday. 6:00 AM.

I wasn't waiting for the cast to come off. I was limping out of hell.

Chapter 7

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