She wore oversized sunglasses and a neck brace that screamed theatricality. Her limp was a migrating performance, shifting from left to right whenever she thought eyes were elsewhere.

"Elena!" she exclaimed, her voice practiced and raspy. "Thank you for welcoming me. Dante insisted."

I set my mug down on the counter. My hand trembled, just once.

Dante followed her in. He was wearing a fresh suit, immaculately tailored to hide the stitches I had sewn into his skin only hours ago.

"She stays here," he announced, his tone leaving no room for debate. "The Genovese know where she lives. The penthouse is the only secure location."

It wasn't a request. It was a command.

Sofia smirked at me, a quick flash of teeth before the mask slipped back on. She reached into her bag and pulled out a bouquet of red roses.

"For you," she said. "Thanks for lending me your husband last night."

I stared at the flowers.

"I'm allergic to roses," I said, my voice flat.

Sofia's eyes widened in exaggerated, mock surprise. "Oh! I forgot. Dante sent me roses last week, and I just assumed..."

She let the sentence hang in the air. A poisoned dart, finding its mark.

Dante rubbed his temples, exhaustion etching lines around his eyes. "Enough. Pack a bag, Elena. We are moving to the Catskills compound until the threat clears."

I stood up, spine stiffening. "I am not going to be locked in a cabin with your mistress, Dante."

"She is a protected asset!" he snapped, his voice booming off the marble walls like a gunshot. "Not a mistress. You are my wife. You go where I go. It is unsafe here."

And so, we went.

The drive was three hours of suffocating silence. Sofia sat in the front seat with Dante. I sat in the back, behind the privacy partition, like a prisoner being transferred to a maximum-security facility.

The Catskills compound was a sprawling log fortress carved into the heart of the snowy woods. It was beautiful. It was isolated.

It was also where Dante had taken me for our honeymoon.

Now, Sofia was walking through the door, touching the furniture, claiming the space as if she were marking territory.

"I remember this rug," she sighed, running a manicured hand over the fireplace mantle. "We had a... memorable weekend here, didn't we, Dante? Before the wedding."

Dante ignored her, his focus entirely on the tactical situation as he poured drinks at the bar.

He walked over to us.

"Here," he said.

He handed Sofia a glass of red wine.

Then, he handed me a tumbler of amber liquid.

Whiskey.

I stared at the glass in my hand.

I loathe whiskey. To me, it tastes like gasoline and regret. I drink gin.

Sofia drinks whiskey.

Dante stood there, waiting for me to take a sip. He was looking at his phone, checking security perimeters, completely oblivious to the error.

He didn't even realize what he had done.

He had replaced me in his mind so completely that he couldn't even distinguish my preferences from hers.

I took the glass.

"Thank you," I said softly.

I watched him walk back to Sofia. He asked her if she needed pain medication for her "injuries." His voice was soft. Concerned.

In that moment, the truth crystallized: I was invisible. I wasn't a person to him anymore. I was a function. A title. Mrs. Moretti.

I set the untasted whiskey down on the side table.

"I'm going to the pool house," I announced.

Dante looked up, distracted. "Don't leave the perimeter, Elena. The woods are not secure."

I looked at him. Then I looked at Sofia, who was sipping her wine and watching me with undisguised triumph.

"Enjoy your whiskey, Dante," I said, my voice steady. "It's Sofia's favorite, isn't it?"

He frowned, confusion flickering across his face. "Yes. Why?"

I didn't answer. I turned and walked out the back door.

The biting cold hit me instantly. Snow was falling softly, cloaking the world in silence.

I walked toward the pool house, but I didn't stop.

I skirted the edge of the guard patrol. I knew their rotation by heart; I had watched it from the window for three lonely years.

I slipped into the treeline, a ghost in the snow.

I pulled out the burner phone.

I texted Isabella.

*Move the timeline up. Now.*

I looked back at the house one last time. Through the large glass window, I saw Dante. He was laughing at something Sofia said. He looked relaxed. Happy.

He didn't even know I was gone.

I turned my back on the warmth and walked into the snow.

The cold was biting, but it was a mercy compared to the heat of his betrayal.

I was outside the perimeter.

And I wasn't coming back.

Chapter 5

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