Chapter 2

Elara POV:

I met Julian the next day. He was just as I remembered from university-calm, intelligent, with an air of quiet power that owed nothing to guns or territory. He ran a global architectural firm, a legitimate empire far from the grubby hands of the Mafia. He told me he could have a new identity, a new life, ready for me in fifteen days.

All I had to do was survive until then.

That promise was a fragile shield as I returned to the Moretti estate to gather the few things that were still mine. Dante was waiting for me in the foyer, his large frame a barricade in the doorway. He looked haggard, his usually immaculate suit jacket rumpled.

"Where were you?" he demanded, his voice a low growl.

"With an old professor," I said, my voice level. I didn't owe him an explanation. "My phone died."

He stepped closer, crowding me against the wall. He cupped my face, his thumb stroking my cheekbone. The gesture that once made me melt now felt like a brand. "I can't lose you again, Elara. I can't." His desperation was a performance, and I was the unwilling audience.

"Your birthday is tomorrow," he murmured, his eyes searching mine for a reaction I no longer possessed. "I have a surprise for you. In your old room."

The room I had once called my own was now a showroom. Racks of designer clothes, velvet boxes holding glittering jewels. But mixed in were pieces I would never wear-a garish leopard print dress, a perfume that was too sweet. They were for her. For Sienna.

I turned away from the display. "Get rid of it. None of this is for me."

Dante's jaw tightened. Before he could respond, Luca burst into the room, a scowl on his face.

"She doesn't like anything," he sneered, his loyalty to his new mother a sharp, painful blade twisting in my gut. "Sienna would love it."

I froze. The memory of my son's small hands clinging to my neck, his giggles filling a room, dissolved, replaced by this cold, hostile stranger. The hollow space in my chest ached.

Dante ignored him, pulling a small box from his pocket. He opened it to reveal a sapphire ring, a massive stone the color of a midnight sky. "'The One,'" he said, his voice thick with meaning. "A legendary gem for my legendary woman."

As he spoke, the low murmur of a news report playing on the TV in the corner of the room snagged my attention. A reporter was gushing about a rival Don who had just commissioned a magnificent jewel for his wife, a stone called "The Heart of the City." It was, the reporter said, the twin to another famous sapphire, "The One."

My gaze snapped back to the ring in Dante's hand. He slid it onto my finger. It was a millimeter too large, loose and cold against my skin.

"You've lost weight," he said, his excuse coming too quickly.

I looked him straight in the eye, the cavern in my chest echoing with the lie. "Am I your one and only, Dante?"

The shrill ring of his phone shattered the tense silence. His expression shifted, the mask of the Don sliding back into place. He had to go. An "urgent meeting," no doubt. He avoided my question, his gaze sliding away from mine.

"Go," I said, my voice devoid of all emotion. "Don't keep her waiting."

He kissed my forehead, a hollow, meaningless gesture. "Wait for me."

As he turned to leave, the screen of his phone flashed, illuminating the caller ID.

Sienna.

The moment he was gone, I slid the too-large ring from my finger and dropped it into the metal trash can beside the vanity. The clatter was small, but final.