Chapter 6

Elena Vitello POV

Dante didn't speak on the drive from the hospital to my apartment.

He drove like the road belonged to him. Aggressive. Smooth.

He pulled up in front of the building I shared with Luca and didn't unlock the doors immediately.

"You sure you want to go back in there?" he asked, voice low.

I looked at the building.

It had felt like home once. Now it was just a cage I'd finally escaped.

"I need to pack, Dante."

"I can buy you new things. Better things."

"I know," I said, turning to look at his profile.

The scar above his brow twitched.

"But I need to clear out the rot before I can plant something new."

He nodded, a sharp jerk of his chin.

"I'll wait here. If you're not down in an hour, I'm coming up. And if I come up, I can't promise that soldier survives the night."

I got out.

The apartment was silent when I walked in.

Luca sat on the couch, head in his hands.

He looked up when I walked in.

"Elena, thank God," he said, standing, reaching for me.

I stepped back.

"Don't touch me," I said.

He froze. His hands hung in the air.

"Baby, please. The hospital... Sofia... She's sick. She's dying. I was just trying to be a good person. You know I have a soft heart."

A soft heart.

A heart soft enough to betray me for a woman who mocked me to his friends.

I walked past him, into the bedroom. I pulled two large suitcases from the closet.

"What are you doing?" Luca asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"I'm staying with my parents until the wedding," I said. "It's tradition. Remember? Bad luck to see the bride."

He looked relieved.

He had no idea whose bride I was. I didn't explain.

"Okay," he said, running a hand through his hair. "That makes sense."

"Your mom can help you calm down."

I started shoving clothes into the bags.

Not everything. Just the things that mattered. The silk robe my grandmother gave me. The vintage pearl necklace from my confirmation.

My eyes landed on the nightstand.

The ebony velvet box was still there. Right where he'd left it before he ran after me to the hospital.

I smiled. A cold, thin thing.

Good. Let him find it later. Let it haunt him.

I opened the jewelry box on the dresser. Inside was the diamond necklace Luca had given me last year for our anniversary.

He'd put it on me himself at dinner. Made a show of it while the waiter poured champagne.

Now I knew he'd probably bought Sofia a bracelet that same day.

I picked up the necklace. It was heavy. Cold.

I walked to the window.

"Elena?" Luca asked.

I opened the window and threw the necklace into the alley below.

He gasped. "Are you crazy?"

"That was ten thousand dollars!"

"It was dirty money, Luca," I said, turning to look at the empty box. "I don't want it touching my skin."

His phone buzzed on the dresser.

He ignored it. It buzzed again.

"Check your phone," I said. "Might be your dying girl."

He frowned but picked it up.

He paled. He shoved the phone in his pocket fast, but I saw it. A flash of a photo on the screen.

Skin. Lots of skin.

Sofia wasn't dying. She was sending him nudes.

My own phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out.

A text from an unknown number.

A photo. Luca and Sofia.

In this bed. On my sheets.

The timestamp was three days ago.

The text below it read: He says you're boring.

I looked at Luca. He was watching me, trying to gauge my reaction.

I didn't scream. I didn't cry.

I just forwarded the photo to a secure folder labeled "Evidence."

I zipped the suitcase.

"I'm leaving," I said.

I walked past him, dragging the suitcase.

He tried to grab my arm. "Elena. Don't. I love you."

I looked at his hand on my arm.

Five years ago, that touch had felt like safety.

Now it felt like a chain.