Chapter 5

The relentless bass in the VIP section hammered against my bruised ribs, mocking the rhythm of my own pulse.

It was a so-called "Celebration" party.

Sofia had convinced Luca that a festivity was in order-specifically, to mark her "recovery" from the trauma of... witnessing me fall down the stairs.

The irony was thick enough to choke on.

I remained wedged in the corner of the plush leather booth, nursing a glass of ice water that I prayed passed for vodka.

Luca sat in the center, holding court.

His soldiers surrounded him, laughing too loudly at his jokes, lighting his cigars with trembling deference.

Sofia perched on his lap, whispering in his ear, draping herself over him to mark her territory for everyone to see.

"Let's play a game!" Sofia announced, clapping her hands sharply. "Truth or Dare!"

The soldiers cheered. They were already deep in their cups.

"I'll start," Sofia said, her eyes gleaming with a toxic sweetness. "Elena."

The room went instantly quiet.

"Truth or Dare?"

"Truth," I said. I wasn't going to dance for her.

"Boring," she sighed, feigning disappointment. "Okay. Truth."

She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that carried clearly over the music.

"Everyone knows you chased Luca for years. You bought your way into this marriage. But tell us..."

She paused for dramatic effect, letting the question hang.

"Is the man you truly love in this room right now?"

Luca stopped drinking.

He set his glass down with a deliberate clink.

He looked at me.

His arrogance filled the booth. He expected me to say yes. He expected me to confess an undying, pathetic devotion to him in front of his men, validating his cruelty.

He wanted to see me bleed.

I looked around the room.

I saw the soldiers. I saw the sycophants. I saw the monster on the throne.

My mind drifted to the wind-swept cemetery on the hill.

To the worn photo hidden deep in my purse.

I met Luca's gaze.

"No."

The word hung in the air, heavier than the cigar smoke.

One syllable.

Absolute devastation.

The silence was deafening.

A soldier coughed awkwardly, shifting in his seat.

Luca's face didn't change, but his eyes... his eyes turned into shards of ice.

"You're drunk," he said, his voice low and laced with menace.

"I'm drinking water, Luca," I replied, calmly lifting my glass.

"Then you're lying."

"It's Truth or Dare. I chose Truth."

Sofia laughed, but it sounded brittle. "Oh, honey, don't be embarrassed. We all know you worship him."

"Next person," Luca barked, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and pouring a glass that was half full.

He downed it in one swallow.

The game continued, but the air had shifted.

Luca was angry. Not the explosive anger of the stairs, but a brooding, dark storm brewing beneath the surface.

He started losing on purpose.

"Dare," he growled when it was his turn.

"Show us your gallery!" a brave soldier shouted, trying to break the tension. "Last photo taken!"

It was a standard penalty.

Luca threw his phone on the table. "Unlock it."

Sofia grabbed it, beaming. "It's probably a picture of me."

She unlocked it and projected it onto the screen on the wall.

It was a shrine to Sofia.

Sofia sleeping. Sofia eating. Sofia trying on shoes.

The men cheered, relieved. "The Don is in love!"

Sofia preened, kissing Luca's cheek. "See? He's obsessed with me."

Luca didn't smile.

He was staring at me.

He was trying to find a crack in my mask. He wanted to see jealousy. He wanted to see pain.

He saw nothing.

I regarded the slideshow of his mistress with the detached disinterest one might reserve for peeling paint.

"It's getting late," I said, checking Dante's watch on my wrist. "I'm going home."

"Sit down," Luca ordered.

"No."

I stood up.

"I said sit down, Elena!" He slammed his hand on the table, making the glasses jump.

"And I said no."

I grabbed my purse.

"Enjoy your night, Luca. You two deserve each other."

I walked out of the VIP room.

I felt his eyes burning a hole in my back.

Let him burn.

I had a flight to catch in three days.

And when I left, I was taking the only part of him that had ever mattered-the part that belonged to Dante-with me.