Chapter 4

Marco POV:

Later that day, Marco called. His voice came through the line tight, laced with a cold fury.

"I heard what happened. Are you okay?"

"It's just a burn," I said, my eyes fixed on my bandaged hand.

"It wasn't an accident, Sia," he said, his voice dropping. "And her 'sabbatical' in Europe? It wasn't a medical retreat. I had some people look into it. She was partying in Monaco, sleeping with a French arms dealer. She's been playing Dante this whole time, yanking his leash whenever it suits her."

The information didn't surprise me. It only hammered the truth into place. Isabella was a venomous snake, and Dante was a fool-so blinded by obsession he couldn't see the fangs until they were at his throat.

Alessia POV:

When I saw Isabella again at the tower, she cornered me by the elevators.

"I hope your hand heals," she said, her voice coated in a sympathy so false it was practically an insult. "It would be a shame if you couldn't pursue your little hobby." She leaned closer, her whisper a poisoned dart. "The coffee was a message. You're a placeholder. A seat-warmer. Don't ever forget it."

I just looked at her, my face a carefully constructed mask of indifference. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

That evening, Dante came home late. He walked into the bedroom and tossed a small, velvet box onto the bed. It landed with a soft thud.

"What's this?" I asked.

"A reward," he said, not looking at me as he unbuttoned his shirt. "For your good behavior today. For being obedient."

I opened the box. Inside, a diamond necklace glittered under the lights, a river of cold, perfect fire. It was worth a fortune. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

And it was utterly meaningless.

I saw it for what it was: not a gift, but a payment. A transaction. Payment for my humiliation, for my pain, for my submission-the final insult before I collected what was truly owed to me.

I closed the lid.

"Thank you, Dante," I said, my voice perfectly even. "It's lovely."

He grunted in response, already forgetting it, already forgetting me.

I placed the box on my nightstand. Its cold, hard weight on the polished wood was a tangible echo of the one settling deep in my chest. He thought he could buy my silence, my compliance.

He had no idea how high a price he was about to pay.