Chapter 5

Elena Vitello POV

The smell of antiseptic pulled me out of the dark.

Fluorescent lights burned my retinas. I squeezed my eyes shut against the assault.

I blinked. The world swam into focus, gray and blurry.

Hospital room.

My head throbbed.

I tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea pushed me back into the pillow.

"Don't move," a voice said softly.

I turned my head toward the door.

Luca stood there.

He looked different. Disheveled. Tie undone, hair messy. The picture of a worried fiancé.

If I hadn't seen the video. If I hadn't heard the things he said in that club. I might have believed the performance.

Sofia sat in the corner chair, scrolling through her phone.

She looked bored. Like my fainting was an inconvenience in her schedule.

"You passed out," Luca said. "You fell down the stairs at the club. What were you doing there, Elena?"

I stared at him.

"Checking on my investment," I whispered, my voice raw.

He frowned. Confusion flickered in his eyes. "What?"

"Nothing."

The doctor bustled in then, clipboard in hand.

"Miss Vitello, you have a mild concussion and some bruising, but you're lucky. Looks like severe low blood sugar combined with alcohol shock exacerbated the situation. You need complete rest. No stress."

I laughed.

It was a dry sound. It scraped my throat.

"No stress. I'm getting married in two days."

Luca squeezed my hand.

"Maybe we should postpone," he said, the concern in his voice a lie. "You're not well."

He didn't care about my health.

He wanted time. He wanted to figure out how much I knew.

"No," I said, my voice hard. "The wedding is Saturday."

Sofia sighed dramatically in the corner.

Luca shot her a warning look, then turned back to me.

I pulled my hand away.

"I need to go home," I said.

"I'll drive you," Luca offered immediately.

"No. My father is sending a car."

Luca's face darkened, his easy charm evaporating. "Why are you calling your father?"

"Because he's family, Luca."

"Family protects its own."

I swung my legs off the bed. The room tilted violently, threatening to spin off its axis, but I gritted my teeth and forced myself to be still.

I stood. Walked past Luca without looking at him.

I stopped in front of Sofia.

She looked up at me. Defiance flickered in her eyes. Mockery.

"Hope you feel better," she said sweetly. "Would be a shame to miss your big day."

I smiled. It didn't reach my eyes.

"Oh, I won't miss it, Sofia." I leaned closer, until my face was inches from hers. Until I was sure only she could hear.

"Saturday. Wear waterproof mascara."

"You'll need it."

I walked out. I didn't look back.

I walked down the sterile hospital corridor, the thin gown flapping against my legs, my head pounding like a war drum with every step.

I reached the exit. The automatic doors slid open. Cool night air hit my face.

A black SUV idled at the curb.

The window rolled down.

It wasn't my father's driver.

It was a man with eyes like black ice and a jagged scar cutting through one eyebrow.

Dante Cavallaro.

"Get in," he said.

I opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat. The interior enveloped me.

Leather and gun oil. The smell of vengeance.

"Ready?" he asked, eyes on the road ahead.

I looked back at the hospital entrance. Luca was running out, scanning the street.

He saw the car. He saw me. He might have seen Dante.

I turned to Dante.

"Drive," I said.

He hit the gas.

We left my past in the rearview mirror, shrinking until it was dust.

The war was coming.