Married to Enzo for three years, his heart had always belonged to his childhood sweetheart, Bianca.

The cut of the family business that was rightfully mine became her jewelry, and the keepsakes my brother Luca left behind were casually gifted to her by Enzo.

I gave him everything, yet I remained invisible.

I chose to step aside, turn my back, and vanish from his world completely.

After that, the cold-hearted man lost control. He tore Little Italy apart looking for me, begging me to return.

But this time, I’m never going back.

"Sir, I'm applying for the 'Nightingale' Program."

When I arrived at the Federal Building, Handler Smith was just lighting a cigar.

"Elena Rossi," he read my name out loud. "Are you sure you want to sign the agreement for the 'Nightingale Program'?"

"I'm sure."

Smith pulled a black folder from the safe.

As he opened it, I saw a photo of my brother, Luca—wearing CIA training gear, smiling brightly.

My fingers curled tight under the table.

Smith snubbed out his cigar. "Fingerprints destroyed, files sealed. This means the person known as Elena Rossi will cease to exist. Your brother Luca was my best student. Three years ago, he took a bullet for Enzo and died. How can I let you..."

"Besides, you're the wife of the Moretti family's most powerful Underboss. Can you really bear to leave Enzo?"

A cold laugh echoed inside my head. “Can I? Absolutely,” I thought, “because I'm done with him.”

All of Little Italy knew that Elena Rossi was the shadow Enzo Moretti couldn't shake.

But it took me three years to realize that a shadow can never be seen in his eyes.

Three days ago, when I pushed open the study door, I saw the silver crucifix necklace around Bianca's neck—the keepsake my brother Luca gave me right before he died.

"Elena, this thing will only keep you trapped in the past."

His voice was calm, stating it like a fact. "Looking at it and thinking of him does you no good."

Bianca ran her fingers over the necklace, sounding conflicted. "Elena, if you can't bear to part with it..."

"No need." Enzo interrupted her, his tone leaving no room for argument. "What's given is given; there's no taking it back. Besides, this is for Elena's own good."

In that moment, I looked at his self-righteous face. "For your own good"—it was all bullshit. He just wanted to take away the last memory I had to please the person he actually cared about.

Since the Moretti family rule is "only death parts us, not divorce," then I'll give him a "death."

"Two weeks to settle your affairs," Smith finally said. "We'll arrange a gas leak explosion. From then on, you'll be the CIA's 'Winter,' not Elena Rossi."

I took the folder. As I stood up, he stopped me. "One last question—is Enzo Moretti really not worth a single regret?"

I paused at the door, not looking back, and said every word clearly, "He never truly saw me, so what is there to regret?"

Walking out of the Federal Building, the late autumn wind cut through the Manhattan streets like a knife.

In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of a French restaurant, I suddenly spotted a familiar figure.

Enzo was wearing his usual custom black suit, his profile sharp and cold. Bianca, on the other hand, wore a white haute couture gown, looking like a pure swan as she looked up at him and smiled.

It was a match that would make anyone jealous.

Enzo held a peeled truffle chocolate, feeding it into her mouth, then gently wiped a crumb from the corner of her lips with his thumb.

My heart seized up, and I turned to leave.

"Elena!" Bianca saw me first and waved enthusiastically. "What a coincidence!"

Enzo turned around, frowning slightly. A flash of guilt crossed his eyes at being caught, but it was quickly replaced by indifference. "What are you doing here? Didn't I tell you to stay home and have dinner with Mamma?"

For the past three years, to please his picky Sicilian mother, I’d cowered in the kitchen like a cheap maid, learning every complicated Sicilian dish.

But the food I poured my heart into only earned a single comment from his mother: "Not as good as the takeout Bianca orders."

"Just running some errands," I said faintly.

A flicker of strangeness passed through Enzo's mind.

The old me would never have spoken to him in such a cold tone. But he didn't think much of it, just following up with, "What errands?"

"Personal stuff."

I refused to leak my plan to leave him. I turned to walk away.

But Bianca grabbed me. "Elena, Enzo bought out a whole theater on Broadway. Come watch with us! It'd be a waste if you don't."

A simple sentence, but it made me freeze instantly.

I suddenly remembered hearing him on the phone in front of me, ordering his men to book the theater. Back then, I thought he was arranging it specifically for me. I was so excited I couldn't sleep all night.

Turns out, I was just flattering myself.

"Let's go, Elena!" Bianca linked her arm through mine affectionately.

I was dragged into the theater.

The whole show, Enzo's attention was entirely on Bianca.

He draped his suit jacket over her, covered her eyes when she was scared, and finished her champagne.

While I sat next to them, shivering from the cold, like I was invisible.

Walking out of the theater, Enzo said to me, "Brooklyn isn't safe at night. I'm going to drop Bianca off first..."

I didn't object at all. I just said, "Okay, you take her."

A flash of surprise appeared in Enzo's eyes; he seemed shocked I agreed so readily.

In the past, I would have definitely made a scene. But I was leaving soon; there was no point in arguing with him.

"Don't worry, I'll come back to pick you up." He left me with that sentence and hurried off with Bianca.

I didn't wait for him. I walked home alone, my heels rubbing bloody blisters onto my feet.

I had just taken out the ointment when my phone rang.

"Elena," Bianca's voice came through. "I'm so sorry to bother you this late. There was thunder just now, and I screamed. Enzo just refuses to leave... I tried to tell him to go pick you up, but he insisted you could make it back on your own."

"He's in the shower right now and can't come to the phone, so he asked me to let you know he won't be coming home tonight. Be careful on your way back."

She said she was passing a message for Enzo, but the smugness of being the favorite was practically dripping through the phone.

"Mm." I didn't want to talk, so I hung up.

The next morning, I started packing.

The expensive watches, ties, the scarf I knitted myself... I boxed them all up and gave them to the maids.

"Ma'am, this..." The maid hesitated.

"Take it," I smiled. "It's all trash anyway."

Just as I was handing them out, the front door was pushed open.

Enzo stood in the doorway in a black trench coat. Seeing the scene, his brows knitted together. "Elena, what the hell are you doing?"

"Getting rid of some things I don't need." I didn't look up.

He stood there for a moment before suddenly speaking. "Let's go to Sicily next month. You've always said you wanted to see the ocean there."

My hand, holding a stack of photos, froze.

He remembered.

I had mentioned it three times in our first year of marriage, twice in the second, and stopped mentioning it altogether by the third. Every time, his answer had been: "When I have time."

And now, this "time" had come so abruptly. It felt... like compensation.

"Is Bianca coming too?" I asked.

Enzo was silent for a few seconds. "She hasn't been feeling well lately. She needs a distraction."

I closed the metal tin and looked up at him. "So you aren't taking me to see the ocean. You want me to tag along while you two clear your heads?"

"Elena..." He took two steps closer, raising his hand as if to touch my shoulder, but stopped in mid-air. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" I asked back. "Enzo, for the past three years, every time you're nice to me, it's because you feel guilty after doing something for Bianca, isn't it?"

His expression changed. His lips moved, but in the end, he said nothing.

He pulled a check from his inside pocket, changing the subject. "This is the profit from the casino last month. I promised to give it to you."

In the past, every cent of this money would have gone to Bianca.

It wasn't until last month, when I was so sick I couldn't afford medical bills—coughing up blood until I nearly suffocated—that the hospital had to contact him. Only then did he seem to remember he had a dog at home to feed, tossing me a little money like charity to shut me up.

Money is money. I wasn't going to say no.

Just as I reached out to take it, a soldier burst through the door.

"Boss! Bad news! Miss Bianca is being harassed by some street punks in Little Italy!"

Enzo's face changed instantly. He turned and sprinted out.

When I caught up, I saw him acting like a raging lion, beating one of the punks until the guy's face was covered in blood.

"Enzo! Stop! You're going to kill him!" I rushed forward to pull him back.

In his blind fury, he violently backhanded me away.

I was thrown backward, my forehead smashing against a roadside fire hydrant. Blood instantly streamed down my face.

Bianca, scared to tears, rushed up and hugged him around the waist. "Enzo, stop hitting him! I'm scared..."

Hearing her voice brought Enzo back to his senses. He stopped, immediately pulling her into his arms. His large hand gently stroked her back as he whispered soothingly, "It's okay. It's over."

He threw the check onto the beaten punk. "That's for your medical bills. Get lost!"

The punk scrambled away for his life.

Enzo looked down at Bianca. "Are you hurt?"

A passerby pointed at me and shouted, "Sir, that lady is bleeding!"

Only then did Enzo turn around, his expression shifting. "What happened?"

I used a dusty hand to wipe the blood from my eye, looking at him in a state that was pathetic yet calm. "Didn't you push me?"

Enzo's face turned ugly in an instant. "I'm sorry, I..."

He reached out to help me up. "I'll take you to the family doctor."

"Do you still have any money?" I asked.

Enzo froze. He had just given the check to the punk.

"This is the last time," his voice was low. "There won't be a next time."

I smiled internally.

He was right. There wouldn't be a next time.

Just as Enzo was about to support me, Bianca suddenly cried out in pain. "Ah! My foot..."

Almost instinctively, he turned and caught the teetering Bianca. "Did you twist it? I'll drive you home."

When he looked back at me, his eyes had returned to their usual coldness. "Bianca needs me right now. Elena, go home and patch yourself up. I know you've always been strong."

I didn't say a word. I turned and walked away.

The setting sun stretched my shadow long against the pavement. Blood flowed down my neck, dripping onto the ground like blooming crimson flowers.

But I couldn't feel the pain.

Yeah, I was strong. Strong enough that from this moment on, I didn't need him anymore.

The next day.

The fog in the cemetery hadn't yet lifted. I stood in front of Luca's grave, holding a bouquet of cheap white chrysanthemums I'd bought from a corner florist.

Enzo stood beside me.

This was the only occasion in three years he would accompany me—the anniversary of my brother's death.

On the way out, we ran into Bianca.