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.

"I came to see Luca, too." She was carrying expensive offerings, her face wearing a mask of perfectly measured grief.

I looked at the simple white flowers in my hand and smiled self-deprecatingly.

Enzo's money all went to her; of course she could afford the best.

After paying respects, Enzo went to get the car.

Bianca's face changed instantly. She sneered, "Why do you think Enzo comes with you every year? Guilt. Because Luca died for him, and he was forced to marry you—his baggage."

"Three years as Mrs. Moretti and you still haven't warmed his heart? Pathetic."

I gripped the flowers tight and turned to leave, but she suddenly reached out to grab my wrist.

I dodged sideways.

Because she had used too much force and missed, she stumbled and knocked over a funeral urn that was being interred nearby.

The sound of shattering porcelain was piercing.

"What the hell are you doing!" A middle-aged man in a black suit rushed over, followed by several fierce-looking associates. He stared at the ashes scattered on the ground, his eyes instantly turning red.

"My father..." He pointed a trembling finger at Bianca. "You knocked over my father's ashes!"

Bianca collapsed onto the ground, tears flowing on command. "It wasn't me... Elena pushed me!"

I stood frozen, watching this ridiculous drama unfold.

From the distance, the sound of Enzo's hurried footsteps approached.

"What's going on?" Enzo walked up quickly, his gaze darting between the mess on the ground and me.

The man—the Underboss of the Marino family—pointed at Bianca and roared, "Enzo, your woman knocked over my father's ashes! According to the rules, you can't just walk away from this!"

Bianca grabbed Enzo's pant leg, weeping like a pear blossom bathed in rain. "Enzo, it really wasn't me... It was Elena. She's jealous that you treat me well, so she pushed me..."

"She's lying." My voice was so calm it surprised even me.

Enzo looked at me, his brow furrowed.

His gaze lingered on my face for a few seconds, then shifted to the trembling, crying Bianca.

I knew he was weighing it—on one side, his childhood sweetheart of twenty years who always needed protecting; on the other, his wife of three years.

"Bianca wouldn't lie. Elena, you have to pay for your mistakes." He finally spoke, his voice cold and hard.

In that moment, I heard something inside me shatter completely.

"Handle it according to the rules," Enzo said to the Marino family, not even glancing at me again.

As I was dragged away by two large men, the last thing I saw was Bianca leaning into Enzo's chest, the corner of her mouth quirked up in a victorious smirk.

The punishment took place in the basement.

Enzo didn't come down—Mafia rules. Punishment within the family is usually carried out by subordinates; having the Boss present would only make the enforcer hold back.

The whip was dipped in salt water. It made a dull thud every time it struck my back.

I bit through my lip on the first lash, the taste of rust spreading in my mouth.

By the tenth lash, my consciousness began to blur.

I stared fixably at a water stain on the opposite wall, counting silently in my head.

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen...

When the twenty lashes were done, I collapsed to the floor, the wounds on my back burning like fire.

Enzo's men dragged me back to the villa and dumped me casually on the floor, their tone filled with contempt.

"Enzo gave orders. You're to reflect on what you did. Without his permission, don't even think about contacting him."

I didn't speak. The pain on my back made every breath feel like torture.

At 2:00 AM, my phone rang. It was Smith.

"The plan has been moved up," his voice came through the encrypted line. "We move tonight. We'll stage a gas leak. Someone will meet you at Pier 3."

"Okay."

I fought through the agonizing pain to stand up. Every movement pulled at the wounds on my back.

My simple luggage was already packed—a few changes of clothes, Luca's photo, and some cash.

When I walked into the kitchen, I paused.

The gas valve was right there. One simple twist, and everything would end.

The life of Elena Rossi, the title of Mrs. Moretti, the joke of these last three years.

I opened all the valves, then struck a match.

Boom—

Flames instantly swallowed the kitchen.

I left through the secret tunnel behind the back door. It was an escape route Luca had told me about before he died—he said if Enzo ever treated me badly, I should leave through here.

I never thought I would use it under these circumstances.

When I stepped out of the tunnel, the entire villa was already engulfed in a sea of fire.

The flames painted the night sky of Little Italy red, like a grand funeral.

Enzo, I'm returning you to Bianca, fully and completely.

And as for me... from this moment on, I am officially offline from your world.