Samuel Costello, the Mafia heir I’d been seeing, sent a black card to my door.

It was his version of a severance package.

The PIN was 9999. He was trying to humiliate me with his money and power, waiting for me to cave like I always did.

But this time, I sent the card back, along with a blood-stained dagger. That dagger was the "talisman" he'd given me for protection. Now, I was using it to sever our last tie.

I cut off all contact.

Three days later, his sister, Fiona Costello, called.

"Samuel has a seat reserved for you at the dinner. Come back and admit you were wrong, or you will face the consequences. As long as you're willing to return, he'll pretend nothing ever happened."

I glanced at the plane ticket on my table and replied coolly.

"Tell him he'll have his own fires to put out."

As for me, I was heading to a museum in Seattle to start my new life as an art restorer.

From this moment on, in life and in death, we were nothing to each other.

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1

I found Samuel Costello in his family's private club. A tattoo artist was reworking the ink on his back. I slapped him across the face.

In the room, Samuel was shirtless. Next to the thorny rose he’d once had inked for me, another woman's name was being etched into his skin: Roxanne.

I stood before him, my voice trembling. "Really, Samuel?"

He clicked his tongue in annoyance and rubbed his brow as if he had just heard a ridiculous joke.

"Trinity, we're dating, not swearing a blood oath. Do I need your approval to get a name tattooed on my body?"

After speaking, he shot a glance at Roxanne Rinaldi, who was perched on a nearby chair.

Roxanne spoke softly, her voice a sickeningly sweet tremor of victory, "Trinity, I'm sorry, it's all my fault. Please don't blame Samuel…"

"Enough," Samuel cut her off, but his gaze stabbed into me like an icicle. "I did this willingly. It's not a big deal. Did you have to make a scene? What's next, another one of your disappearing acts?"

Walking out. It was my only move.

This was the eleventh time we had talked about breaking up over Roxanne.

It had been four years since we first met at an art museum. We had argued countless times, and every single time, I was the one to cave.

Samuel had probably grown accustomed to it.

But this time, I was done compromising.

I didn't have the energy to fight him anymore. I just nodded and turned toward the door.

Suddenly, Roxanne rushed over and grabbed my hand. Her fingertips were ice-cold, her voice filled with undisguised gloating.

"Trinity, don't be angry. Samuel really loves you. When he told the tattoo artist to start, he was crying out your name…"

I yanked my hand away.

A violent wave of nausea churned in my stomach.

Samuel strode over, shielding her behind him, and stared at me. "If you can't handle it, get out," he hissed. "Don't stand there being an eyesore."

I saw the way he shielded her, and a bitter laugh escaped me.

"Fine," I said calmly, then closed the door on them.

The elevator descended. I didn't cry.

When I reached the lobby, the uniformed doorman offered a sympathetic glance, then bowed his head and pulled the heavy oak door open for me.

A sharp wind cut through the night. I walked two blocks before I could hail a taxi.

The driver asked me where I was going. I said, "Just drive."

Encrypted messages from Samuel flooded my phone.

"Are you done throwing a fit?"

"Come back."

"Trinity, don't test my limits."

The last one read: "Are you sure you want to do this? You'd better think about the consequences."

I didn't reply.

The neon lights smeared into chaotic streaks, a perfect mirror for the last four years of my life.

My relationship with Samuel began with an art restoration. I spent three months restoring a damaged Baroque oil painting for the Costello family. The first time we met privately, my heart nearly beat out of my chest.

He had once cleared out an entire gallery for me, appeared at my door covered in blood after a late-night gunfight, and even commissioned a private fireworks display for my birthday.

But he was also the one who pushed me away, time and again, for the sake of the alliance with the Rinaldi family.

A notification popped up from a group chat with Samuel's inner circle. Someone had tagged him.

"Heard you and Roxanne got your ink touched up at the club? Did the little artist throw another fit?"

Samuel had added me to this group three years ago, but I’d never said a word. They had probably forgotten I existed.

Samuel replied immediately.

"Don't get me started. It's so damn annoying. Now she's giving me the silent treatment, won't even reply to my messages."

"Ha, she's getting bold! Daring to ignore you? I say take the chance to have a few quiet days. You find her clinginess annoying anyway, don't you?"

"I bet she won't last until morning before she comes crawling back."

Samuel replied: "You're right."

Immediately after, he sent the black card. Our breakup "severance package."

No one knew the full story, but everyone understood the humiliation.

I accepted it, and sent back my own "gift."

The card, and the dagger.

Samuel messaged me almost instantly.

"What the hell is this supposed to mean?"

The meaning was obvious. A clean break.

I couldn't be bothered to explain. I simply popped the SIM card from my phone, snapped it in two, and logged out of every app that connected me to him.

When I looked up, the car had pulled up in front of the safe house where we used to live.

Samuel didn't come back that night. He'd probably gone back to finish what I'd interrupted with Roxanne.

With that thought, I began to pack my bags.

As I packed my things, I found a pristine letter of offer.

It was a job for the position of chief restorer from the Seattle Art Museum, an offer I had never dared to accept. Samuel didn't want me to leave Chicago, so even though I coveted the position, I had never seriously considered it.

I had tucked the letter away carefully, filing it under "impossible dreams." I was even still planning our upcoming fourth anniversary, just five days away.

Now, I pressed the letter to my chest, my heart filled with a profound sense of relief that I hadn't been so foolish as to throw my entire self away for him.

I sat on the floor, looking around the penthouse apartment we had shared for over two years, and memories still surged uncontrollably.

It wasn't until Samuel and I had been dating for six months that I officially entered his world.

Initially, we were just an employer and his restorer.

He was handsome, dangerous, the king of Chicago's underworld, always flanked by a group of deferential Soldati. And I was just an ordinary art restorer. My boldest move had been pretending to study pigments just to steal a glance at his profile while he cleaned his gun on the sofa.

We were worlds apart.

After that painting was restored, however, he began appearing at my studio frequently. Sometimes he'd bring a new piece from his collection; other times he would just sit quietly to the side, watching me work.

"Trinity?"

One time, he suddenly spoke. I looked up and saw Samuel standing against the light, his features sharp and dangerous in an expensive, custom-made suit. He remembered my name.

I was stunned into silence.

"Trinity Thorne, right?" He strode closer, examining the brush in my hand. "A graduate of the Florence Academy of Art, youngest to graduate with honors. I remember."

My heart was pounding. I could only nod.

Samuel picked up another porcelain piece I had just finished restoring and asked if I wanted to see his private wine cellar. Along the way, he chatted casually about art history, about the bloody stories behind his collection, his tone casual, yet laced with an undeniable pressure.

When we reached the cellar, he handed me a glass of red wine and smiled.

"From now on, you're my exclusive restorer. We'll be in touch."

From that day on, we truly began to "keep in touch."

It started with professional correspondence, which soon bled into dinners together. Before long, he was bringing me to less formal family gatherings. Samuel wasn't much of a talker; most of the time, he would just watch me quietly, his deep eyes swirling with emotions I couldn't comprehend. I would take small bites of food while secretly feeling his gaze on me, my chest thrumming with a dangerous thrill.

On New Year's Eve, he took me to see the fireworks from his private yacht. The sea breeze was cool, and the yacht insulated us from the world's clamor.

As I was lost in the spectacle, he suddenly hugged me from behind, and all his men tactfully turned their backs.

As the fireworks exploded in the night sky, he shouted, "Trinity, I've wanted you since the first moment I saw you! Be my woman!"

I looked into his sparkling eyes, my heart thumping like a drum, and shouted back with all my might, "I will!"

Our beginning was a whirlwind.

He would send someone across half the city in the early morning just to bring me my favorite croissants. When I was sick, he would drop everything to stay by my side, fumbling awkwardly to take care of me. He remembered an out-of-print art book I had casually mentioned wanting to see and would use all his connections to find it for me.

He made me believe I had chosen right.

But then, about six months into our relationship, Roxanne appeared.

She was Samuel's supposed fiancée, the Principessa of the Rinaldi family. It was a well-known fact in the underworld that the two great families were joined by an alliance for mutual benefit.

The first time I met Roxanne, I finally understood what it meant to be "a perfect match."

Roxanne, wearing a couture gown, walked over with a smile and laid a familiar hand on Samuel's shoulder.

"Samuel!"

Only then did she notice me. Her eyes swept over my face before she said with a smile, "So this is the little project you've been keeping? She looks clean enough. Though that dress is a bit…"

She let out a small laugh, the disdain in her eyes unconcealed.

I lowered my head, twisting the hem of my dress until the fabric was wrinkled, my cheeks burning. This was the best dress in my wardrobe, but compared to the diamonds she wore, it looked shabby.

Samuel casually pulled out a chair for Roxanne and asked her why she had come so suddenly. She said she was in a bad mood, that there was some trouble in her family.

That afternoon, Samuel and I had planned to attend a private auction together.

But after listening to Roxanne complain for a while, he turned to me and said, "We'll go to the auction next time. I need to help Roxanne with something first."

I was stunned for a moment, then nodded.

Roxanne immediately linked her arm with his and winked at me apologetically. "Sorry about that. You don't mind if I borrow your man for a bit, do you?"

No one noticed my humiliation. Not even Samuel.