Page 16

“Please!” My voice breaks as I step closer. “We can fix this!”

Her head turns slightly, her face ghost-pale in the storm light, eyes filled with something that guts me—terror, heartbreak, fury. Tears run freely down her cheeks, mixing with the rain.

“No. No, we can’t.” Her voice cracks like glass under strain.

I take another step, my hands extended, fingers shaking. “We can! Please—”

But she’s already slipping back, inching toward the edge, her feet finding less and less space to stand.

“Goodbye.”

She leans back.

“No!” I roar, sprinting forward, every muscle in my body screaming.

And then—

Arms wrap around my chest from behind, locking me in place.

Cassian.

His grip is iron, pinning me back as my feet skid uselessly on the wet stone.

“Let me go!” I scream, twisting in his arms. “Cassian, let me go!”

“She’s fine, Serevin!” Cassian yells back, his voice loud enough to cut through the howling wind. “We planned for this!”

I freeze for half a second, struggling to breathe. My chest rises and falls in panicked bursts.

“Look,” Cassian says, nodding his head past me. “Look!”

I turn my head, gasping.

Far below, guards gather beneath a massive black trampoline, rigged between two lower balconies. Fioretta’s body bounces gently in the center, alive, unharmed. The rain drums against the fabric as they steady her, carrying her off as carefully as if she were made of glass.

My knees give out. I collapse forward into Cassian’s chest, gripping his jacket as the tears I’ve held back break loose.

I bury my face into him as the storm pours over us both.

“I would have died with her,” I choke. My voice is raw, torn apart. “That’s how much I love her. I would have died with her.”

Cassian says nothing. His arms tighten, anchoring me as I sob beneath the rain.

The storm rages on.

“Aunt, you have nothing to worry about.” My voice is steady, smooth. I watch her carefully, keeping my expression composed.

Vittoria reclines slightly, folding her hands together over her lap. The thin smile that curves on her lips is sharp.

“Good,” she says softly, her voice laced with calculation.

“I’ve been speaking with the council. It’s not going to be easy convincing them all.

But three of the old geezers—if I lock them in, we win.

” She taps her nails once against the armrest, her eyes sharp.

“If she stays like this—no memory, no complications—the better for us. We can finally put this entire mess behind us.”

I nod, keeping my breathing, my pulse carefully buried beneath layers of practiced calm. “Of course.”

Vittoria’s smile thins further, her voice lowering. “It will end in her death. I hope you are aware.”

I lean forward just slightly, meeting her gaze. My lips pull into a small, slow curve that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Of course.”

Her face lights up with satisfaction, like a queen hearing the response she expected. “That’s my boy.” She nods once, pleased, as if sealing an unspoken pact between us.

She straightens her dress with a swift tug of the silk fabric and glances toward the clock on the wall. “Stay for dinner. I want to observe her a little more.” Her voice is lighter now, but the weight behind the words remains. “She seems to have changed.”

I step back slightly, hands behind my back, dipping my head in a shallow bow. “I apologize, Aunt. I have a meeting scheduled.”

She hums, tilting her head as she studies me. “Then she can stay. She is still family—for now.” Her voice lingers over those final words. “I would love to know her.”

I lift my gaze, the edge of my smile sharpening. “I think you must be mistaken.” My voice lowers, silken but firm. “We have our plans, but for now, make no errors.” I step closer, lowering my voice so only she can hear the final words. “She is mine.”

The silence between us tightens for a beat, her lips pursing ever so slightly at my boldness, but I don’t let my smile drop.

Without waiting for her reply, I bow once more, softer this time. “Take care, Aunt.”

I turn smoothly, my shoes clicking lightly against the floor as I walk out of the room.

The doors behind me close with a muted thud as Cassian trails beside me. The hallway stretches wide and empty, each step echoing beneath polished marble.

I loosen my tie with one hand, sliding it free from my collar as my fingers flex. The silk slips through my fist like water. My chest feels tight, my thoughts heavier than they’ve been in weeks.

Without looking at him, I speak low. “Find Fioretta. I want to leave this place.”

Cassian nods silently, instantly breaking away with brisk steps.

Alone now, I pull a cigarette from my breast pocket and light it, the flame flaring briefly before shrinking away. The first pull fills my lungs, the smoke curling up toward the crystal chandelier above me.

But the bitter taste does little to dull the images pushing forward.

They return—vivid, merciless.

The study. That night.

The rain hadn’t come yet. Not then.

Vittoria sat comfortably across from me, a glass of wine in hand, lips pursed in that familiar expression of thinly veiled boredom. Emilia hovered by her side like a smug shadow, practically buzzing with sick satisfaction. Cassian stood near the window, tense, his jaw locked.

And Fioretta—

Fioretta stood before me. Her chest heaved, but not from anger. From heartbreak.

Her hands trembled at her sides, but her voice—when it came—cut clean through the tension. “How long did you know?”

Her eyes stayed locked on mine. Glossy with tears, wide and broken.

My throat closed. I tried to move toward her, to reach her, but she took one step back, shrinking from my touch like I burned her.

“Answer me, Serevin.”

The room narrowed. The air thickened around us, though no one spoke. Not Cassian. Not Emilia. Not even Vittoria.

I forced the words out, voice low. “Always.”

She blinked, as though struck.

“Before we married?” she whispered.

Shame weighed my shoulders. I lowered my eyes, nodding once, barely able to breathe.

Her breath hitched. A bitter laugh bubbled from her throat—small at first, but sharp. Her hands wiped at her face, as if clearing the evidence of what she no longer wanted to feel.

That’s when Vittoria finally broke the silence.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she sighed, swirling her wine. “Don’t make a scene. You married into this family as a spy. You’re not fooling anyone with this wounded act. You spun your little web and simply got caught in it.”

Fioretta didn’t even glance at her. It was as though no one else in that room existed. Only me.

And I saw it—something breaking inside her. Something sharp, something cold.

Her lips pressed together, steadying. Her shoulders squared. She exhaled slowly, regaining that frightening composure she could summon when pushed too far.

She turned her gaze to Vittoria then, her voice suddenly calm. “You two—get out of my house.”

Vittoria blinked, stunned, as though the command were too absurd to register. “Excuse me?”

Emilia scoffed, crossing her arms, tilting her head in defiance. “I live here.”

Fioretta’s lips pulled into a smile—an unhinged thing that didn’t reach her eyes. Her fingers moved, reaching behind her, pulling out the small black pistol tucked beneath her belt.

The metal glinted under the chandelier’s soft glow.

The room froze.

The muzzle pointed forward, unwavering.

And then—

The memory snaps.

“Boss!”

Cassian’s voice yanks me back into the present like a sudden slap.

I turn sharply. His face is pale, his breath quick, his hands open like he’s unsure how to begin.

“What is it?” My voice tightens.

“The guards. They—they said she drove off.” His words stumble. “With Gustavo.”

The cigarette falls from my fingers, hitting the polished floor with a soft hiss.

The flash of rain against Fioretta’s face still lingers behind my eyes.

Cassian steps closer, his chest rising with each hurried breath. His hand opens slowly, revealing a small black chip resting in his palm. The faint blinking red light pulses rhythmically like a steady heartbeat.

The tracker.

The one I planted in her pocket. The one she wasn’t supposed to notice.

Back in the car, I let my fingers slide downward, tracing the line of her jaw. My thumb dipped along the side of her neck, my palm dragging just slightly as if steadying her chin. I forced her to meet my eyes, locking her in place.

But that wasn’t all I was doing.

The other hand, hidden between our bodies, moved with precision.

Tucked in my jacket sleeve was the small tracker—a wafer-thin device no larger than a coin, designed for moments like this.

As I leaned in further, my fingertips ghosted down along the waistband of her jeans—just enough to slip inside the front pocket, just deep enough that she wouldn’t feel it. Smooth, practiced.

The weightless chip nestled against the fabric, perfectly still.

She was too focused on my face. Too focused on my voice as I whispered, “You are still my wife, Fioretta. You will act like my wife.”

Cassian’s voice is quiet but heavy. “The guard said she handed this to him…and asked him to give it to you.”

He pauses, glancing up at me, almost bracing for my reaction. “She also said to tell you to go fuck yourself.”

For a moment, the words hang there, suspended in the thick air of Vittoria’s grand hall. The only sound is the faint hum of electricity from the overhead lights.

I close my eyes briefly and take a long, slow drag of my cigarette. The smoke fills my lungs, stinging slightly before I exhale through my nose. The familiar burn does little to ease the tight coil winding inside my chest.

The corner of my jaw twitches as I sigh, letting my shoulders drop slightly in exhaustion.

Of course, she found it. Of course, she knew.

“Where are they headed?” I ask quietly, my voice low, controlled.

Cassian glances at the blinking tracker. “We don’t know yet.”

I crush the cigarette under my heel, grinding it into the marble. The smoke trails upward as I stare at the small device pulsing in his hand.

This has to be some sort of demented joke. Fuck my life!