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Matteo lowers himself and then presses his hand against my back so that we come together—chest to chest. His arms circle around me, pulling me in tightly. His assaults on my core relentless and merciless until I finally feel the thread snap and my walls collapse around him.

“Matteo!” I bury my nose into the crook of his neck and allow the orgasm to overtake me. My walls carry him over the edge, too, and he finds his release at the very end.

We ride out our orgasms until our bodies melt into each other, and we are left satiated and spent.

For a long moment, we stay like that, tangled in each other, our breaths mingling, hearts pounding in unison.

His arms remain wrapped around me, holding me against his chest as if he can keep the world at bay just a little longer.

I should move. I should pull away. But I don’t.

Instead, I let myself sink into the warmth of his embrace, memorizing the feeling of his skin against mine, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear.

Matteo’s fingers trace lazy patterns along my spine, sending shivers across my sweat-dampened skin. He presses a gentle kiss to my temple, so different from the desperate ones we shared earlier.

“I love you, Maria,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re the gravity that holds me together. Without you, I’ll fall apart.”

He doesn’t say the words, but I feel them—the plea buried in his silence: Don’t leave me. It trembles beneath the surface of every breath. He doesn’t dare ask, not out loud. Not with the weight of everything between us.

I want to answer him, to say something—anything—but the pain and betrayal tighten around my throat like a vice. The words die before they ever reach my lips.

So, instead, I shift from his chest and slide quietly to his side. “We should sleep,” I whisper, barely audible. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

He doesn’t fight me—thankfully. He simply pulls me in closer and presses his lips to my forehead one last time before we slip into silence.

I don’t know how long I lie there, waiting—until the steady rise and fall of his chest tells me he’s asleep.

For a moment, I allow myself to sink into his warmth, wishing this little bubble we’ve created could last forever. That maybe, just maybe, love could be enough.

But reality knocks—loud, insistent, unforgiving. I have to follow through—because if I don’t, everything I’m fighting for slips away.

Carefully, I slip out of his arms and move with practiced quiet. I retrieve the note I wrote before he came home and place it by the lamp, my fingers lingering on the paper for a beat too long.

Then I rush to the closet, pull on a pair of sweats, and grab the suitcase I’d stashed away.

I have minutes at most. I need to be quick.

I look at my phone and see that my mother has responded to the text I sent her a few hours ago.

I’m coming home, Mamá. I will explain when I get there.

Your room is ready, amore. Let me know when you’re on the plane.

I walk back into the room and see that Matteo is still fast asleep. The sheets pool at his waist, and his chest rises and falls gently. My heart squeezes, aching with the weight of what I’m about to do—but I know it has to be done. I have to leave.

I make my way out of the room carefully and shut the door behind me. I race downstairs, making sure to keep quiet to not alarm the guards that stand outside the door. If they catch wind of this, then I am finished.

There are two ways of leaving this fortress—the main door and the secret elevator by the kitchen. I choose the secret elevator. It’s the path of least resistance, and I need every advantage right now.

The kitchen is dark and silent as I slip through it, my footsteps barely a whisper against the marble floor. The service elevator is hidden behind a pantry door—the escape route Emily used. Ironic how I’m now using it to escape my husband.

The elevator descends slowly, each second stretching into eternity. I clutch my suitcase tighter, wondering if I’ve forgotten anything important. It doesn’t matter. I can’t go back now.

When the doors slide open, I’m met with the cool night air of the underground garage. My car is waiting, the keys ready in my hand. The car had been a gift from Matteo that I never got around to using until now.

With adrenaline pushing me forward, I slip into the sleek Range Rover and peel out of my spot, and head for the airport without looking back once. I am only four blocks from the building when I feel the pain behind my eyes.

Tears prick my eyes as I drive. I try to push it all down, but now that I’m alone with my thoughts, I can’t hold it back any longer. I allow them to trickle down my face so I can begin to grieve the man I love.

The night air bites at my skin as I step out of the car, dragging my suitcase behind me. The distant hum of airplanes fills the air, the glow of terminal lights stretching into the dark sky. I move forward, my breath slow and steady—my heart, anything but.

“Don’t look back, don’t look back,” I repeat the same low chant to myself, trying to find the willpower to do this. “Do this for your baby.”

The pain is too much. The love I have for him, deep, soul-consuming, clashes violently with the truth and the betrayal that sticks to the chambers of my heart.

I can’t pretend I didn’t see it. I can’t pretend he didn’t shoot my brother down like it meant nothing.

No matter how hard I try to justify it—no matter how many times he says it was a mistake—I can’t erase the moment he raised that gun.

The image is seared into my memory.

Burned into me.

And it won’t let go.

Tears prick at my eyes again, but I force them back. There will be time to cry—later. Right now, I need to get off American soil.

I weave through the parking bay, the small wheels of my suitcase dragging against the pavement. The terminal entrance is just ahead, glowing like a beacon—my ticket home.

Then, I feel a sudden movement in the air. The hairs on the back of my neck raise in awareness, and my head whips around, trying to see the threat that seems to be looming just around the corner.

My pulse quickens, my instincts screaming at me to move, but my feet feel like they’re sinking into the ground. I inhale sharply, trying to convince myself that I am overthinking. I take another step forward?—

“Gotcha, bitch.” Strong arms come around me, and a cloth covers my mouth.

I have no sense of my bearings. My head is tilted upward, and the sharp scent of some chemical fills my nostrils as I try to struggle against the person who has me gripped.

I thrash, my suitcase slipping from my grip as strong arms yank me backward. A muffled scream claws its way up my throat, but the fabric they hold against my mouth blocks the sound, turning it into nothing more than a desperate whimper.

No, no, no!

I kick, twisting in my attacker’s grip, but whoever they are, they’re too strong.

I feel myself being lifted, my feet barely brushing the ground as I’m hauled toward something—a car, maybe.

The more I fight, the more strength I seem to lose, until my muscles eventually give way, and my vision blurs as it slowly dips into darkness.

The last thing I remember hearing is a familiar voice. One that only sends fear to my belly.

“Time for a joy ride, step-mommy.”

And just like that, the darkness swallows me whole.

I thought leaving Matteo would hurt the most… until the real nightmare begins.