Chapter 2

Vito's expression twisted into something complicated as he looked at me.

"Do you really care about money that much? You never used to be this kind of person..."

I swallowed the pain slicing through my chest and pushed out a careless, indifferent smile.

"If it isn't money, what else have you got to give me?"

He stared at me, those blue eyes flashing with an arrogance he couldn't quite hide.

"Don't you love me? You could beg me not to go through with the divorce. I might just be gracious enough to accept."

"Say the word right now, and I'll tear this agreement up."

Beg him?

I bit down hard on my lip, remembering those first months after I'd discovered him and Gina.

I had begged him. Countless times.

I had slit my wrists to force him to come home.

And all the blood I bled onto that floor had earned me one line:

"Don't do that again. Gina can't stand the sight of blood."

I looked at him, calm now, my voice edged with contempt.

"How do I know this isn't just another one of your little bets? Another game to watch me humiliate myself?"

I laughed bitterly, my throat raw.

"Vito. Stop testing me."

"Haven't you toyed with me enough these past three years?"

The tears I'd been holding back for so long finally spilled over.

Vito reached up on instinct to wipe them away.

He sighed, and there was something almost like guilt in his eyes.

"Gina is carrying my child, after all. She's young. A little willful. As her older sister, you could stand to indulge her a bit."

"Don't worry. The lady of the Romano family will still be you. Marrying Gina is just so my first child isn't born a bastard."

He paused, then added, as though not entirely reassured:

"You'll still get the hundred million. Take the money, go enjoy yourself for a while. Once I've sorted everything out here, we'll remarry."

"That should make you happy, no?"

I lifted my face, gave him a soft smile, and hummed my assent.

"Then book me a flight to Switzerland. We always said we'd go see the lakes under the Alps together."

He let out a relieved breath and pulled me tight against him.

"Alright."

"You go on ahead. Once things are settled here, I'll come join you."

"Luciana. Wait for me."

I rested my head against his shoulder and said nothing more.

But I knew, in my heart, I would never wait for him again.

Once he was satisfied I'd surrendered, Vito spoke again.

"Give me the villa keys. Move out for now."

"Gina's going to move in. You know how fragile she's been since the birth—clean the place out properly, don't leave anything behind that might upset her."

"The villa's old anyway, we've lived there for years. Don't hold it against her."

He cleared his throat and produced a set of keys and a property deed from the drawer.

"I've already bought you a new villa in Rose Valley. Move your things over there first."

I said nothing, but my mind drifted to the day we'd first bought that villa.

We had designed the layout together, argued for hours over the color of the bed curtains and the painting for the entryway. We'd agreed to leave two children's rooms—one pink, one blue.

He'd said it was our love nest. Carved a nameplate himself and hung it by the door: *Luciana's Home*.

Later, he spent his nights tangled up with Gina in his office until sunrise, while I lay alone on the floor of that empty villa after a fall, losing our baby, with no one to help me up.

I smiled and placed the keys in his palm.

"It's fine."

"A new one is fine, too."

From here on, everything I owned would be new. Not just the house.

After I left the Romano Building, I made one last stop at the psychiatric hospital.

Over the past three years, I had pushed open that ward door countless times, watched my father and brother play their parts in the beds, and cried myself into unconsciousness.

But none of them knew—I had met someone here.

I pushed the door open. Sunlight poured through the window frame, and a young man sat perched on the sill, staring out at the horizon.

His features were sharp, carrying a cool, detached, defiant edge. Loose strands of hair fell across his forehead, gilded pale gold in the light.

If any reporter had been in the room, they might have recognized him: the youngest son of the New York shipping magnate, committed to a psychiatric hospital several years ago.

I spoke softly.

"I have money now. I'm getting you out of here."

Vito had no idea. My real destination was never Switzerland. It was America.