Bianca froze, momentarily caught off guard by my words. She stood there in the borrowed couture, her gaze flickering as if weighing my intent, one manicured hand drifting up to touch her collarbone.

Lorenzo’s brows furrowed, though his expression remained as unreadable as the man who’d ordered blood spilled over dinner and never lost his appetite.

Seizing the chance, I silently slipped away from the kitchen, feeling a sense of liberation with each step I took across the marble.

The dissolution of the alliance would take effect in a week, and I had only that precious time to pack my life and leave this house behind, before the Falcone name could reach me again.

Back in the bedroom, I scrolled through rental listings on my phone, absorbed in my thoughts, when Lorenzo’s voice cut through the air.

"I need to see to some business for the Family. Bianca stays here, so you’ll take care of her."

I raised an eyebrow, the confusion creeping into my tone. "Am I now a housekeeper? Is she so helpless that she needs me to babysit her?"

I had always bowed to his commands without a second thought, the way every soul under this roof learned to. But today, something had shifted in me. I found myself questioning him, challenging his authority with every word.

His face darkened, his voice dropping low and menacing, the way a man’s does when he’s used to that alone being enough. "Adriana, don’t forget who’s been keeping you. You’re here because of me, and you’ll do as I say. Don’t push me."

I swallowed the bitter taste of my pride, nodding with reluctant compliance, the weight of his words pressing heavily on my chest.

Before leaving, Lorenzo issued one last warning, his voice low and edged with authority. "Bianca’s young. You’re responsible for her while I’m gone. If anything happens, don’t think I’ll let you off easy."

With those words lingering in the air, Lorenzo leaned down to kiss Bianca’s forehead, a tender, possessive gesture that marked her as his before every eye in the house, then strode out. The sound of the door clicking shut reverberated in the silence like a bolt thrown home.

Now, with only Bianca and me left in the sitting room, the atmosphere shifted. She slouched against the sofa, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips, arriving a half-second too late to be real.

"I heard you’ve been married to Lorenzo for five years," she said, her voice thick with amusement.

"Yes," I replied, my tone calm and measured, betraying nothing of the storm brewing inside me.

"But last night, he told me he’s never touched you!" Bianca’s posture shifted as she tossed her hair back, revealing the dark mark on her neck. "You must be twenty-six by now, still a virgin…" Her words hung in the air, sharp and probing.

She giggled, swaying gracefully like a delicate flower, before continuing, "You must’ve heard us last night, right? Lorenzo is such a tease. He made sure you could hear everything from the next room. Oh, and I almost forgot, you’ve never experienced a man, have you? Especially someone as strong as Lorenzo."

Her laughter was almost too much to bear. "What a shame. At your age, I doubt anyone would touch you, except for maybe you chasing after them, right?"

I furrowed my brows, disbelief creeping into my thoughts. I hadn’t expected the heir’s kept woman to speak with such venom.

Calmly, I answered, "Everyone lives their life differently. I don’t base my existence on any man."

Bianca’s laughter stopped abruptly, replaced by a sneer. "A woman who’s been living off a man, playing housewife for five years, probably has no room to talk, huh?"

I chose not to engage further, sitting down on the opposite end of the sofa as I continued my search for a place to rent.

Bianca couldn’t stand the sight of me remaining so calm and composed. It didn’t take long for her to start pushing my buttons, trying to boss me around as if the Costa blood in her veins outranked the servants in this house.

The last time, she complained that the coffee I made was too cold and demanded I pour boiling water to fix it. Then, with the slyest of smiles, she pretended to spill it. Most of the water splashed onto me while just a few drops landed on her wrist.

Her cry echoed through the room, sharp and dramatic, pitched for an audience that wasn’t there yet.

"Lorenzo, it hurts so much..."

By the time Lorenzo rushed in, his face twisted in alarm, Bianca was already in full meltdown mode.

She showed him the small burn on her wrist, and he fussed over it for a moment before turning to me, his anger flaring.

With a forceful slap, he sent me crashing to the ground. The band on my right hand pressed hard into the marble beneath my palm.

"Didn’t I tell you to take care of Bianca? Is this how you do it?!"

His voice was cold with fury. "If even the smallest mark appears on her, I’ll make sure you suffer ten times worse."

Without another word, Lorenzo grabbed Bianca and swept her off to be seen to, leaving me kneeling on the floor.

I lifted the hem of my nightgown, the red welts on my thighs already burning with the sting of the water. In the silence he left behind, I turned the plain silver band on my right hand once, pressed it hard, and let my face go smooth again.

I lowered my gaze, and the world before me slipped into a haze. Large, hot tears splashed onto my swollen knees.

The pain from the wound was sharp, but it barely scratched the surface compared to the ache in my heart.

I flagged down a cab outside the private clinic the Family kept on retainer, and the loneliness in the backseat was a cruel reminder of what I was leaving behind.

As the doctor dressed my injury, she muttered about the patient in the next room, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"These girls today are just so spoiled," she sighed. "A tiny burn, barely the size of a fingernail, and the young Falcone had half the city calling. Threatened to burn this place to the ground if she scarred..."

She paused, a wistful tone taking over. "You don't get it. That's what it means to be loved. I envy her. She has it all. Handsome, powerful, devoted. She's got a man who'd do anything for her..."

I stared down at the grotesque burn on my thigh, and an involuntary sneer twisted my lips.

Lorenzo was, from the outside, the perfect man. Handsome, feared, and all-consuming, heir to the whole Falcone name. But what did any of it mean without love?

After the doctor finished, I sat on a bench outside the ward, trying to steady myself, lost in thought.

Then Lorenzo and Bianca appeared, walking toward me.

When Lorenzo saw the bandages on my leg, his frown deepened.

"You got hurt too? Why didn't you say anything?"

Before I could answer, he went on, his tone judgmental. "Well, that's your fault. You can't even carry a cup of water properly. Lucky Bianca wasn't hurt. Otherwise..."

Lorenzo, ever the picture of cold indifference, stood there with his arms wrapped tightly around Bianca. His thumb worked the wedding band down to his knuckle and back, though I doubt he knew he was doing it.

Bianca leaned sweetly into him, her voice soft with feigned innocence. "Don't blame her, Lorenzo. It's my fault. I shouldn't have been so selfish, asking her to look after me..." Her free hand drifted to her collarbone, touching the pendant there as if to be sure it was still hers.

Lorenzo's arms tightened around her, protective, as though shielding her from any harm.

"Don't be foolish. I've kept her five years. Even if you treat her like a servant, that's what she's for."

"As long as you're happy, you can make her do anything," Bianca added, her voice dripping with sweetness. The smile came a half-second too late, and dropped the instant his eyes moved off her.

With that, they left, walking off as if nothing had happened.

Not once did Lorenzo care to ask about my injury. Never once sparing a thought for the pain I was in.

I lowered my head, my limbs too weak to move. I tried a few times, but I couldn't find the strength to walk.

"Signora, would you like me to send word to your husband?" the nurse asked gently, her voice full of concern.

I watched them disappear down the corridor, and a bitter smile curled on my lips.

"No. The alliance will be dissolved soon," I murmured, my voice barely audible.

A week passed, and still no sign of Lorenzo.

He had taken Bianca across the country to New York, leaving me behind in the empty estate.

Each day, Bianca sent me photos. Pictures of them wrapped around each other beneath the Statue of Liberty, kissing in the crush of Times Square, kneeling before a sky ablaze with fireworks.

There were too many to count.

On the last night before the five-year mark, I hid beneath the covers, alone in the vast emptiness of the estate. Outside, one of Lorenzo's men still stood his post at the gate, guarding a house with nothing left in it worth guarding.

I flipped through the photos, my hands trembling, each image a sharp reminder of the love I would never have.

By the time I reached the last one, my tears fell uncontrollably, slipping through my fingers like sand.

That night, I finally pulled away the light that had once warmed me, casting me into a cold, unfamiliar darkness.

When the dissolution of the pact took effect, Lorenzo still hadn't come home.

I never got the chance to say a proper goodbye.

With a heavy heart, I packed up everything that was mine and laid the dissolution papers neatly on the low table.

I turned the plain silver band on my right hand once, pressing it hard, and took one last, lingering glance at the estate that had held me captive for five years, its walls now nothing more than cold memories, before walking away without a single look back.

From that moment on, I would be free.

A free soul, no longer bound by the chains of anyone or anything.

It was half a month later when Lorenzo called, just as I was holding an invitation from the master jeweler Salvatore Marchetti.

For five long years, Lorenzo never let me step beyond the walls of the estate. Trapped in my gilded cage, behind wrought iron and men who watched every gate, I poured my soul into sketching jewelry designs.

During that time, I worked more than once with Salvatore Marchetti's atelier, pieces passing quietly through the hands of dons and their wives across the old country, and a few from their latest collection bore my signature touch.

Over the years, Salvatore had extended countless invitations for me to take my place beside him, but bound by the alliance pact with Lorenzo, I had always declined.

This time, when the offer came, I finally said yes.

The phone rang not long after, and Lorenzo's icy tone cut through the line.

"Where are you?"

His voice dripped with entitlement. "Didn't I make myself clear? I don't want my wife parading around for everyone to see. Get back here. Bianca is moving into the estate, and you're supposed to take care of her."

Take care of her?

I let out a dry laugh and replied as coolly as ever. "What's the matter, Lorenzo? Did Bianca lose her hands or her legs? Or has the great Falcone Family suddenly grown too poor to keep a single servant on the payroll?"

Lorenzo's fury crackled through the phone like a storm.

"Who gave you the right to talk to me like that?" His voice was sharp, brimming with contempt. "Get back here right now, or I'll choke off every channel you touch! Let's see how long you last in this city without me!"

The call ended abruptly, his anger lingering in the silence.

I couldn't help but chuckle as I tossed my phone onto the couch. His threats, once suffocating, now felt almost laughable.

Matteo Rossi, my brother and confidant, picked up my phone and glanced at the screen, his frown deepening. He tapped two fingers against the case, twice, before he spoke. "Have you made up your mind? Once the alliance is dissolved, there's no turning back."

He paused, his tone softening. "Are you really okay with that?"

Over the years, Matteo had been my rock, the only one I could trust with the truths I didn't dare admit to anyone else. The blood we shared meant more than any oath the Family ever swore. Even the hidden feelings I had buried deep in my heart were no secret to him.

Just then, my phone buzzed with a new message. I hesitated before checking it, and there it was, another photo from Bianca.

In the picture, Lorenzo was on one knee, his smile radiant as he slipped a dazzling diamond ring onto Bianca's finger. Her laughter, frozen in time, seemed to mock me.

The image hit me like a punch to the chest. My heart, long numbed by years of neglect, suddenly felt as if it had been shattered into a thousand pieces. Each jagged edge tore at me, making every breath feel like a struggle.

For five long years, I had waited, waited for something I never dared to hope for. Yet, with nothing more than a flick of her finger, she had it all handed to her on a silver platter.

"At peace with it," I murmured, shutting off my phone as a hollow smile tugged at my lips.

This was nothing new. I had anticipated it all along.

From the very beginning, I had known what this was, a pact, plain and simple. A bride bought to placate the elder capos, nothing more.

Time and clean cash exchanged like currency, and with the blood oath finally reaching its end, it was my turn to walk away.

The next day, Lorenzo called relentlessly. I watched his name flash on my screen over and over but didn't answer even once.

When his calls were met with silence, his anger came through in a text instead.

[If you don't come back now, then don't bother coming back at all!]

I almost laughed at the irony. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to remind him to read the dissolution papers waiting neatly on the coffee table, but before I could send anything, another message appeared, this time from Bianca.

The photo loaded slowly, but the moment it appeared, it was like a slap to the face. There she was, draped in a pristine white gown, her radiant smile glowing as she leaned into Lorenzo's arms. The pictures kept coming, photo after photo of their apparent happiness.

The union of the houses.

My chest tightened, but I forced myself to scroll through the messages that followed.

[We're already preparing for the wedding. So when is the intruder planning to leave the Falcone family?]

[If you behave yourself, maybe I'll even let you attend the wedding. Wouldn't that be fun?]

[Jealous, aren't you? He never even thought about a wedding for you. But the moment I mentioned it, he couldn't wait to make it happen.]

Each word cut deeper than the last. My hands trembled, and with every message, the pain buried deep within me surfaced like a tidal wave. I couldn't take any more.

My thumb found the plain silver band on my right hand and pressed it once, hard. Then my face went smooth again. Without reading the rest, I blocked her number and set the phone down.

After doing that, I opened my email and finally replied to Salvatore, confirming the time I would cross the water and take my place at his atelier.

October 23rd.

The day Lorenzo and Bianca joined their houses.

He embraced his happiness with open arms, while I silently vowed to vanish from his world forever.