Chapter 2

I agreed to meet Luca, but it would be on my terms.

I had told Dante I needed space. I told him I couldn't sleep in the house where another woman was raising my son. So he put me up in the penthouse of the Vitiello Hotel in Manhattan.

It was a gilded cage, luxurious and suffocating.

I slipped out the service entrance at midnight.

Luca Salvatore was waiting in a black SUV three blocks away, hidden in the shadows of an alley. He didn't look like a savior. He looked like a weapon. He had a scar running through his eyebrow, and his eyes were devoid of warmth.

"Here," he said, handing me a manila envelope.

I opened it. A passport. A driver's license. Social Security card. All under the name Kate Harding.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because you are the best money launderer this city has ever seen," he said, his voice low and rough. "And because Dante is a fool who threw away a diamond to pick up a piece of broken glass."

I took the envelope. I didn't thank him. In our world, gratitude was a debt, and I was already in the red.

I returned to the hotel before dawn.

Dante was waiting for me in the living room of the suite. He was pacing, a glass of scotch in his hand, the amber liquid sloshing against the sides.

"Where were you?" he demanded.

"Walking," I said, keeping my voice even. "Trying to remember who I am."

He softened instantly. He set the glass down and walked over to me. He smelled of expensive cologne and the faint, cloying scent of Sofia's perfume.

"I missed you, Elena. Every day."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet box. He opened it.

Inside was a massive heart-shaped yellow diamond. It was gaudy. It was loud. It was everything I hated.

"For you," he said. "To replace the years we lost."

I held out my hand. He slid the ring onto my finger.

It didn't stop. It slid right past my knuckle and spun loosely at the base of my finger.

It was too big.

I have slender fingers. Piano fingers, Dante used to call them. Sofia has hands like a peasant, thick and sturdy.

Dante froze. He tried to adjust it, his face turning red.

"It must be... you've lost weight," he stammered. "From the coma."

I pulled my hand back. The ring fell onto the carpet with a dull thud.

"It was resized for her, wasn't it?" I asked, my voice cold. "You bought this for her, and she didn't like it, so you gave it to the ghost."

"Elena, no, that's not-"

I cut him off. "If the families go to war today, Dante, right now... who do you save? Me? Or the mother of the heir?"

He opened his mouth to answer.

His phone rang.

The ringtone was specific. It was the one he used for high-priority family business.

He looked at the screen. His eyes darted to me, then back to the phone.

"I have to take this," he said. "It's urgent."

"It's her, isn't it?"

"It's family business, Elena. I will be right back."

He walked out onto the balcony, sliding the glass door shut. I watched him answer the call. I saw his posture soften. I saw him smile.

He wasn't negotiating a war. He was soothing a temper tantrum.

I looked down at the ring on the carpet. It sparkled under the chandelier lights, a million dollars of compressed carbon that meant absolutely nothing.

I picked it up.

I walked to the trash can in the kitchenette.

I dropped it in. It clattered against an empty soda can with a final, hollow sound.

"I am not a consolation prize, Dante," I whispered to the empty room.

I went into the bedroom and packed the few clothes I had. I put the Kate Harding documents in the lining of my purse.

When Dante came back in, he looked relieved.

"Sorry, love," he said. "Just a minor issue with a shipment. Now, about the ring..."

I pointed to the trash can.

"It didn't fit," I said. "Just like I don't fit here anymore."