Chapter 9

Matteo POV

I told Dante I needed forty-eight hours.

A personal matter. A family emergency.

He didn't even question me; he was too busy hovering over Sofia's recovery bed, playing the devoted fiancé to perfection.

I took the company jet. Not for business, but for a funeral of one.

Secured in the cargo hold was a plain wooden box containing the ashes of Elena. I couldn't bring myself to bury her in the family plot. Salvatore would unearth her just to spit on her bones.

She deserved better than that. She deserved the sky.

We landed in Aspen as the sun was just rising over the peaks. The air was crisp and thin, biting at my lungs with every inhale.

I rented a jeep and drove to the coordinates on the brochure I had found in her pocket.

It was a high ridge, accessible only by a narrow, winding trail.

I hiked the last mile, carrying the box against my chest. My breath plumed in the cold air like smoke.

It was silent up here. Profoundly silent. No city noise. No gunfire. No accusations.

A man was waiting for me. He wore simple robes, not quite a priest, but a guide.

"You are the one for Xiang Wanning?" he asked.

"Yes."

He nodded and gently took the box.

"She wrote to me months ago," he said softly. "She said she wanted to be where the snow never melts. She said she was tired of the heat."

He opened the box. The ash was gray and impossibly fine.

The wind picked up, howling through the crags. The guide began to chant something low and rhythmic, a sound that vibrated in the thin air. He stepped to the edge of the cliff.

With a fluid motion, he cast the contents of the box into the air.

The wind caught her.

For a moment, the ash hung suspended, a gray cloud against the blinding blue sky. Then, it dispersed.

She was everywhere. And she was gone.

"She had a pure soul," the guide said, watching the dust settle on the snow far below. "To give oneself to the wind requires a heart that holds no weight. No hate."

I felt a lump harden in my throat.

No hate.

After everything we did to her. After the beatings, the insults, the servitude. She died saving Sofia. She died saving Dante's happiness.

I stood there for a long time, watching the eagles circle the void.

I realized then that we were the villains in her story.

We thought we were the righteous punishers, the avenging angels. But we were just monsters breaking a dying saint.

Eventually, I turned back to the trail. I had to go back to New York. I had to go back to the lie.

"Goodbye, Elena," I whispered into the wind. "You're finally free of us."