Chapter 4

Katarina POV:

The days following the party bled into a silent, empty week. Alex didn't come home. His only communication was a curt message relayed through Mark, his Consigliere, stating he was handling "important family business on the West Coast." He didn't ask about my arm, my health, my existence. I was an afterthought, a problem he was actively avoiding. The entire family seemed to hold its breath, the silence a heavy shroud of disapproval that nonetheless did nothing to protect me. I was abandoned.

My physical wound began to heal, a thin pink line forming on my skin. But the wound inside me festered. The public humiliation, the utter betrayal, it was a poison seeping into my bones.

One afternoon, needing to feel something other than hollow, I went to the one place that had always been my sanctuary: a small, private art collection Alex and I had curated together. It was a secret room in one of the family's downtown properties, filled with paintings that spoke of light and hope. It was the only part of our life that had felt real.

The door was unlocked. I pushed it open and the scene inside stole the air from my lungs.

Alex was there. And so was Aria. They were laughing, standing in front of a Monet, a bottle of champagne on a nearby table. She was wearing one of his casual shirts, hanging off her shoulders. He had brought his whore into our sacred space. He was letting her taint my only refuge.

"...and this is my Underboss," I heard Aria say to one of the gallery guards standing nearby. *My* Underboss.

Alex didn't correct her. He just smiled, a lazy, contented smile I hadn't seen in years. He caught my eye then, his smile faltering for only a second. "Being here with her," he said, his voice loud enough for me to hear, "it's a release. No expectations."

I turned to leave, my heart a dead weight in my chest. As I did, Aria, clumsy and overly dramatic, stumbled backward. She crashed into a heavy, bronze De Luca family crest that was hanging on the wall for display. The crest tilted, its hook giving way, and it fell, catching her on the shoulder.

She screamed, more in shock than pain.

But Alex saw only one thing. He saw me, and he saw Aria, hurt. His face twisted into a mask of pure fury.

"What did you do?" he roared, rushing to her side. He didn't wait for an answer. He didn't care about the truth. In his mind, I had become the villain. "You did this on purpose! Trying to harm her? To harm my child?" His accusation, so baseless and insane, echoed in the quiet gallery, a public condemnation in front of his own men.

He scooped a whimpering Aria into his arms and stormed past me, his eyes filled with a hatred so potent it made me flinch. He was taking her back to the clinic. Again.

I followed at a distance, a morbid curiosity pulling me along. I watched from the hallway as they rushed her into a room. The doctor announced she'd lost some blood and needed a transfusion. Her blood type was rare.

"I'll do it," Alex said immediately, already rolling up his sleeve.

One of his older Capos tried to intervene. "Alex, that's not wise. Two units is too much. You need to stay sharp."

"I don't give a damn," Alex snarled, shoving the man's hand away. He was making a public declaration of his devotion, a bizarre act of loyalty to the woman who was destroying his life.

He gave too much blood. I watched as his face grew pale, his body slumping in the chair. He fainted. As the nurses rushed to help him, a single word slipped from his lips, a delirious whisper that sealed my fate.

"Aria..."

My heart didn't break. It simply turned to stone. He was lost. His judgment as a leader, his loyalty to his family, his vows to me-all of it had been sacrificed for a cheap illusion.

When I got back to the penthouse, my encrypted phone buzzed. It was a message from a number I didn't recognize, but I knew who it was from.

*Donato's final arrangements are in place. Your new passport and documents are ready. A private jet is waiting. Paris. You are no longer Katarina De Luca. You are Kat Jensen.*

The time had come.