Page 27

“Fuck.” I roll into my pillow, stifling the scream building in my chest. “Why?”

The questions torment me, playing on an endless loop.

Why did my brother have to die? Why did I have to get married? Why did Daniele leave?

Why did I have to leave behind everything I knew?

But it’s not just that. I can’t stop wondering—what kind of man have I married? A ruthless killer? A cold strategist? Or something even worse?

I flip onto my back and stare at the ceiling.

I could run.

If I packed a bag now and left at dawn, I could be in Milan by eight, on a plane to some remote island by ten.

No one would find me.

I glance at my closet. The thought of grabbing a bag, stuffing it with essentials, and slipping out before dawn is tempting.

But no matter how far I ran, the weight of my last name would catch up to me.

Matteo would catch up to me.

And something tells me he isn’t the type of man to let his wife simply disappear.

Then, I remember my parents. They never forced me into this world. They never asked for anything from me—until now.

With Antonio buried six feet under, there’s no one left to shoulder the burden of the Faravelli name.

Except me.

I throw the sheets off my body and head into the bathroom. The house is still, the world outside still asleep. The hot water burns against my skin, but I let it, hoping it will wash away the weight pressing down on me. It doesn’t. In just a few hours, I’ll be on a plane to a place I haven’t seen in almost a decade.

By the time I’m dressed and step out of my closet, my mother is sitting on my bed, clad in black. She is still in mourning.

She lifts her head at the sound of my footsteps, her eyes red-rimmed, tears glistening in the soft morning light.

“Mamá.” I sit beside her. “It’s early. Why are you up? You did so much yesterday at the wedding.”

She shakes her head. “I only have a few more hours with you, amore. I need to spend as much time with you as possible. How are you feeling?”

I hesitate. “I’m fine. Tired, but fine. You packed my bags for me.”

She follows my gaze to the neatly lined suitcases. A faint smile tugs at her lips. “I didn’t want you to have to worry about anything.” She turns back to me. “I packed a few of my jewelry pieces—things you may want for galas and events. You’ll need them as Matteo’s wife.”

My stomach tightens. “Mamá, you didn’t have to?—”

“I wanted to.” She takes my hand. “Promise me you won’t lock yourself away in your room and draw all day. Go out. See the city. Experience life.”

I scoff. “Do you really think the overbearing mafia Warlord is going to let me go clubbing in Manhattan?”

She cups my cheek, a small, wistful smile on her lips. “Not clubbing, cara. There is more to life than drowning yourself in alcohol. I want you to breathe. To live. To love.”

Her words are hopeful, but hope is a foreign concept to me now. My fate is sealed. I can try to find the light amid the darkness, but one thing is certain—the light won’t be found in a city I barely know or in a man I will never love.

She sighs. “You are so brave, my girl. I wish you didn’t have to go, but I feel in my heart that, as unfair as this is, it will be good for you.”

I lean into her touch. “I wish I didn’t have to go either, Mamá.”