Two guards stood sentry outside the door. They weren't Enzo. They were Dante's loyalists-men who looked at me with cold contempt, as if I were a rabid dog that needed to be put down.

My hand was heavily bandaged. The graze wasn't deep, but the scar would be permanent.

A silver line of remembrance.

It had been three days.

The lock clicked.

The door swung open.

Dante walked in. The scent of aged whiskey and expensive sandalwood cologne preceded him-an intoxicating, suffocating mix.

He looked tired. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes, speaking of sleepless nights.

He strode to the vanity where I was sitting. He placed a velvet box on the marble surface.

"Open it," he said.

I didn't move.

He sighed, a sound of heavy impatience, and opened it himself. Inside sat a pink diamond the size of a quail's egg. It was flawless. A cold, glittering stone worth millions.

"For the anniversary," he said. "And... for the hand."

I looked at the ring. Then I looked at him.

"You think you can buy forgiveness with a rock?"

"I'm not buying forgiveness," he said, loosening his tie with a sharp tug. "I'm reminding you of your place. You are my wife. You are a Moretti. We don't act like savages in restaurants."

"You shot me."

"I stopped you from making a mistake you couldn't come back from," he said calmly. "Sofia is family."

"Sofia is a parasite."

I reached into the drawer of the vanity. I pulled out a thick envelope and tossed it onto the ring box with a dull thud.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Separation papers," I said. "I know we can't divorce. The Church, the Commission... I know the rules. But I want a separation. I want to live at the lake house. Alone."

Dante stared at the papers. His face darkened, shadows stretching across his features.

He picked up the envelope and ripped it in half. The sound was violent in the quiet room. Then he ripped the halves again. He let the shredded remnants flutter to the floor like tragic confetti.

"No," he said.

"I'm not asking, Dante."

He grabbed my face, his fingers digging into my jaw bruisingly hard. He forced me to look at him.

"You don't get to leave. You belong to me. I claimed you. I killed for you. You are mine until you are in the ground."

"I'm already in the ground," I said, my voice hollow. "You buried me the day you brought her home."

He let go of me, disgusted. He turned and walked to the door.

He stopped to talk to the Capo stationed outside. He didn't close the door all the way. He left it ajar, just enough.

He wanted me to hear.

"Is she calming down, Boss?" the Capo asked.

"She's difficult," Dante said, his voice low but carrying. "She's sharp. Too sharp. She sees threats where there are none."

"Maybe she's right about the girl," the Capo ventured.

"Sofia?" Dante laughed. It was a cruel, dry sound. "Sofia is pure. She's innocent. She reminds me that not everything in this world is covered in filth."

He paused, and I could feel his words hanging in the air.

"Elena... Elena is strong. She can take the rough handling. She's survived worse than a graze on the hand. But Sofia? Sofia would shatter."

I slid off the vanity stool and sat on the floor, surrounded by the torn paper.

She can take the rough handling.

That was it. That was the truth of our marriage.

He didn't protect me because he thought I didn't need it. He thought I was already broken, so a few more cracks wouldn't matter. He thought because I had survived the cage, I could survive his cruelty.

He was wrong.

I wasn't just going to survive this.

I was going to burn it all down.

Chapter 3

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