Chapter 2

Something shifted in Dante's face.

"You really care about money that much? You were never like this…"

I swallowed the burn in my throat and forced out a careless smile.

"If I don't take the money, what else are you offering me?"

He stared. Those dark eyes went bottomless.

"Maybe you could beg me not to divorce you."

"Say the word, Ellie. I'll rip this contract right now."

Beg him.

I bit down on my lip until it bled. I remembered the months right after I first found out about him and Bianca.

I begged him a hundred times.

I slit my wrists once, just to make him come home.

I bled all over the bathroom floor. And all he said was:

"Don't do that again. Bianca faints at the sight of blood."

"And then what?"

I looked at him. Calm. Bitter.

"Then you tell me this was another bet. Another way to laugh at me."

I let out a broken little laugh. My throat burned.

"Dante. Stop testing me."

"Haven't you played with me enough?"

Something cold slid down my cheek.

Three years of tears. Finally spilling.

Dante lifted his hand. Wiped my face. His eyes flickered — but not with guilt. With irritation. Like a wife crying was one more thing he had to manage.

He sighed.

"Bianca gave me a son. She's young. A little spoiled. You're the older one. Cut her some slack."

"You're still Mrs. Moretti. Marrying Bianca is just paperwork. Just to put my name on the birth certificate."

He paused. Softer.

"You'll still get the hundred million. Take it. Travel. Have fun. Once I clean things up here, we'll get remarried."

"That works for you, right?"

I lifted my face and smiled. Made a small sound of agreement.

"Then book me a ticket to Switzerland. You promised me once. We were going to see Lake Como together."

He let out a breath he'd been holding. Pulled me in tight.

"Okay."

"Go ahead. When this is done, I'll meet you there."

"Wait for me, Ellie."

I rested my head against his shoulder. I didn't say anything.

Because I already knew. I wasn't waiting.

Once he was sure I'd caved, he spoke again.

"Give me the keys to the house. You'll need to move out for a while."

"Bianca's moving in. You know she's been fragile since the baby. Pack your things up clean. Don't leave anything behind that upsets her."

"The place is getting old anyway. Don't fight her over it."

He cleared his throat. Slid a new set of keys and a deed from the drawer.

"I bought you a new place on the south side of the city. Move your stuff there."

I said nothing. But I remembered the day we bought that house.

We designed every room together. Picked out the curtains, the artwork by the front door. We agreed on two nurseries — one pink, one blue.

He called it our nest. He carved a plaque with his own hands and hung it on the front gate.

Dante & Elle.

Later, he spent his nights with Bianca in his office. And I lost our baby, alone, in that empty house.

I smiled. I put the keys in his hand.

"It's fine."

"A new place is better."

From now on, everything I own is going to be new. Not just the house.

---

I left the Moretti tower and drove straight to the asylum.

For three years, I'd pushed open that door a hundred times. Cried until I passed out over the "father" and "brother" who were just pretending to lie there catatonic in those beds.

But nobody knew — in that place, I'd met someone else.

I pushed open a different door. Sunlight poured through the window. A boy sat on the sill, staring at the sky.

Sharp features. Cold, wild eyes. Blond streaks in his hair where the sun caught it.

If any reporter had seen him, they'd have recognized him instantly. The youngest son of the Vane Syndicate — the family that ran shipping and arms across half the world. The kid the tabloids said had been locked away for a breakdown.

I spoke softly.

"I have the money now. I'm taking you home."

Dante has no idea. I'm not going to Switzerland.

I'm going to Sicily.