Chapter 2

The next day, Dominic didn't show up at Russo's office.

I waited for him two hours.

I called. He didn't answer.

It wasn't until eleven-thirty that he finally sent a message.

[Serena's signing with Paramount is today. Can't step away.]

The next one popped up right after.

[Before you file anything, remember where you are. You're not some civilian wife walking into family court. You're inside the organization. Think very carefully about what "leaving" means in our world.]

I stood outside the brownstone law office, still holding the unsigned papers.

Wind swept up from the street, stinging my eyes.

I didn't reply. I went to the hospital.

The doctor said my mother's condition had worsened. Insurance had denied coverage for the experimental treatment she needed, and the out-of-pocket cost was crushing.

Without it, they could only keep her on the basic protocol.

"The family really needs to sort out the funding for the advanced treatment. The longer you wait, the greater the risk."

I looked down and said okay.

I listed my father's apartment—the one place that still smelled like him—for emergency sale. Signed the papers with a hand that wouldn't stop shaking,and maxed out my credit cards.

The realtor went quiet for a few seconds when he heard my asking price.

"Ms. Marchetti, this is way below market value."

"Can it close today?"

"It can, but—are you sure?"

I said:

"I'm sure."

After I hung up, I crouched in the hospital stairwell, palms slick with cold sweat.

A notification popped up on my phone.

Serena Kovac had posted something new on Instagram.

In the photo, she stood on a stage at a studio lot in a white blazer, shaking hands with a Paramount executive.

Dominic sat in the front row, looking up at her with a patience I hadn't seen from him in a very long time.

The caption read:

[Signed my first major deal with someone who has my back. So this is what it feels like to be chosen. ]

Someone commented below:

[Don Valenti is so generous with his people.]

Serena replied:

[He just said he didn't want to see me fail on my first try.]

I stared at those words, my fingertips going cold inch by inch.

That afternoon, Dominic came to the hospital.

He stood in the corridor, suit impeccably pressed, holding a manila envelope.

"Russo put this together. Private lenders, all vetted. Off the books, no family paper trail. Clean enough that it won't trigger any federal flags."

"A few of them have decent limits. Should bridge you through."

I stared at the papers. I didn't take them.

He pressed them into my hands.

"The money situation—that's your call."

Then he turned and left.

I looked down at the loan applications in my hands, tore them up one by one, and dropped the pieces into the trash.

A few minutes later, a nurse came running.

"Ms. Marchetti, your mother's blood pressure is dropping. The doctor needs you to sign off immediately."

My legs buckled. I grabbed the wall just in time to keep from falling.

The pain in my lower abdomen flared again.

This time, sharper than last night.