Page 30

The first pale light of dawn leaks through the thin gap in the heavy curtains.

The soft amber glow spills across his face, tracing the sharp angles of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the faint crease between his brows.

He sleeps soundly, chest rising and falling in a calm rhythm, lips slightly parted.

I lie there for a moment, watching him. Studying him.

His face is softer in sleep. Less dangerous. Less cold. Almost…tender. My hand moves on its own, reaching to gently brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. My lips follow, pressing a soft kiss there. He stirs slightly under my touch, murmuring something incoherent, but doesn’t wake.

A small laugh escapes my throat, but it carries no joy. Just a hollow echo of the ache gnawing at my chest.

“If only,” I whisper to myself.

If only things were different.

If only this was love.

If only I could believe he was truly mine. That we were something simple and pure—a man and woman who could wake together without blood, betrayal, or legacy between them. But that isn’t our story. It never was. And now I remember why.

Every piece of it.

I am his enemy. I was always meant to be.

The one bred and raised to dismantle everything he built.

The pawn my father bought from a woman who wanted nothing to do with me.

The child of a man who had stolen from his bloodline and tried to reclaim his own revenge by using me.

And Serevin—the boy who was never supposed to be Don, the man they forced into power.

The tears come without permission. They glide silently down my cheek, hot against my cool skin as I lift my hand. The ring he placed there only last night glints in the sunlight.

I slide it off slowly, my chest tightening with every small tug as the band slips past my knuckle. My fingers tremble as I hold it in my palm for a moment, staring at its weightless gleam. Then I set it down carefully on the bedside table, right where I know he’ll see it when he wakes.

I swallow the lump rising in my throat.

I slip out of bed with quiet precision, careful not to disturb him.

My bare feet touch the cold floor, and I pad softly to his closet.

The familiar scent of him floods my senses as I open the heavy doors.

My hand reaches for one of his large black T-shirts—soft cotton, oversized against my frame.

It smells like him. That dangerous mixture of smoke, cedarwood, and something uniquely his.

I slide it on, pulling it down to my thighs. It’s too big, but it makes me feel wrapped in something safe, even if only for a moment.

I stand in front of the mirror, taking in my reflection. The haunted eyes. The bruise still faint on my temple. The birthmark on my shoulder, my mother’s one gift to me. The girl who used to smile in these mirrors is gone.

I pull my hair into a loose bun and inhale sharply. There’s no time for hesitation.

As quietly as I came in, I slip out of his bedroom, shutting the door behind me with a soft click. My bare feet move quickly but silently down the long hallway. My destination is clear.

Brother Stefano.

With my memories returned, I remember him now—the only person who ever truly stood by me. The one who whispered his warnings when I first agreed to marry Serevin. My father’s confessor. My only confidant. He knows everything. He was part of the plan. And if anyone can help me now, it’s him.

After my father died, Stefano had come to me, not with condolences, but with warnings.

“You are not safe under this roof, child,” he’d told me, eyes full of that quiet wisdom that used to irritate me. “Vittoria’s ambitions run deeper than you know. Serevin may smile at you, but that house was built on blood.”

But I had shaken my head, young and so desperately naive.

“No, Brother. I trust him,” I had whispered. “Serevin isn’t like the others.”

And Stefano had looked at me the way one looks at a bird flying straight into a storm.

“Child, a goal is a goal,” he’d said gravely. “You cannot abandon things that carelessly.”

But I did.

I was foolish. I was in love.

And now, I’m here. Full circle. Betrayed. Used. And with every memory snapping into place like shards of broken glass finding their original shape.

It’s time to see him.

Time to face the only person who can help me measure just how much I’ve truly lost—and how much I still have left.

But first, I need to get out of this house. And I know how.

I turn down the corridor, feet light on the floors.

My pulse quickens as I push open the door to Emilia’s room.

She startles, her head snapping up, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

Around her are boxes and half-packed bags—chaos scattered across the once-pristine space.

She’s dressed in a loose hoodie and jeans, hair thrown up carelessly.

Her eyes narrow as I enter, instantly defensive.

“I see you’re busy,” I say, my voice calm, but there’s a sharp undercurrent. My gaze sweeps the room. “Packing, are we?”

She swallows. “Serevin kicked me out.”

I click my tongue, feigning sympathy. “Ouchie.”

She crosses her arms, her jaw tightening. “What do you want?”

I step closer, each movement calculated. “I want to get out of this house. And you’re going to help me.”

Emilia’s mouth opens slightly, her chest rising and falling. She stiffens, clutching the edge of one of her boxes. “I would be a fool to make Serevin angrier than he already is with me,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “Leave me out of this.”

I tilt my head, smiling sweetly—a smile that never reaches my eyes.

“You’ll do exactly as I ask.” My voice drops, razor sharp. “That’s the only way you’ll have your life after betraying me.”

Her eyes widen. The blood drains from her face as realization floods in.

She knows. She knows that I remember everything.

Her lips quiver, but no words come out. Fear shines through her fake bravado.

She opens and closes her mouth like a stranded fish, struggling to breathe under the weight of my stare.

I point toward the large storage box sitting by the wall. “I’ll enter in there. You’ll get me out.”

Emilia stares at the box, horror swimming in her eyes. “You’re insane,” she breathes.

But she moves, legs shaky, hands fumbling as she unzips the massive black case. She pulls out the clothes stacked inside, her fingers trembling, glancing at me like she expects me to change my mind at any second.

I slide into the box smoothly, pulling my knees to my chest, folding into the cramped space. My heart hammers in my ears, but my face remains blank. Emilia’s pale hands quickly begin layering the clothes over me, her breath quickening with every fold.

She zips the box slowly, sealing me inside. I hear the teeth of the zipper pull shut above my head, plunging me into darkness.

Then—the door opens. Heavy footsteps. Cassian’s voice.

“The car is ready. I’ll drive you.”

There’s a beat of silence. Emilia’s voice comes out too fast, too high-pitched. “I’ll drive myself.”

Cassian pauses. “Why? I was hoping we would talk about last—”

“I can drive.” Her voice cracks slightly. “Can you ask the men to come help me move these?”

A tense silence fills the room.

Finally, Cassian’s voice responds, cool and professional. “Yes.”

I press my lips together, steadying my breathing as I hear him leave.

I’m curled in tighter than I thought my body could manage. My knees are practically glued to my chest, my spine screaming in protest. The air in here turns thick fast, wrapping around me like a hot, sticky cloth. Every bump of the box sends my stomach lurching.

I hear footsteps, heavy ones. Then a grunt.

“God, what did you pack in here? Cement?” a man mutters outside.

Emilia’s voice follows, light and sharp like a blade masked in sugar. “Well, it’s all my things, you know? A girl needs options. Don’t be dramatic. Get someone to help you if you’re too weak to lift.”

There’s a pause. I hear her breath catch. She’s nervous. Good.

Another pair of footsteps joins. Now there are two of them. The box shifts, tilts dangerously, and I bite down hard to stop from yelping. My head slams gently against the side. They’re moving me.

“Lift it from there. No, no—wait—you’ve got it? Careful,” one says, huffing.

I count the paces as they carry me out and down a staircase—I feel the dips beneath me. My stomach flips again as we reach what must be the front of the house. The breeze slips through the zipper seams, just enough to tease my face.

Then the car trunk pops open with a loud clunk.

“Here we go.”

They heave me inside, the box scraping against the trunk’s edges as I land with a solid thud. My head knocks again, and I squeeze my eyes shut, biting back a curse. The trunk slams shut, and everything goes black.

I’m trapped. Fully.

The air grows thinner with every breath I take. The heat wraps tighter around me. My chest rises faster. I try to slow it down—deep breath in, long breath out. I count. Over and over.

One. Two. Three.

Outside, I hear Emilia’s voice again, strained but steady. “Thank you, boys. I’ve got it from here.”

A pause.

“You sure? The Don told Cassian—” one of them says, hesitant.

“I said I’ve got it,” Emilia snaps. There’s panic hiding behind her faux confidence. “Besides, you want me to trip down the driveway with you hovering over me? I can handle my own bags.”

Silence. Footsteps retreat. The engine starts.

The car jolts forward, and my box shifts slightly, making the little air I have feel even thinner. Sweat slides down the back of my neck, soaking my shirt. My head pounds. My arms are numb from how tightly I’ve been holding them against my body.

Breathe, Fioretta. Just breathe.

The minutes crawl. My vision swims, bright dots flickering behind my eyelids. My throat is dry as dust, and my lungs tighten like I’ve wrapped a rope around my ribs. The box rocks with every turn Emilia takes. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.

And then—blessedly—the car lurches to a stop.