"I'm giving you three days. Get rid of this woman."

Isabella yanked her hand from Dante’s. The sweet, clinging fiancée was gone.

Clearly, the mafia princess had little patience for her husband-to-be's affairs.

She strode out on her high heels.

As she passed me, her purse brushed against my cut hand. Hard.

A sharp pain shot through me. I bit my lip to keep from screaming.

After she left, Dante closed the office door.

He stared at me, his eyes devoid of their old warmth.

"Antonio said you want to resign? I don't approve. But after what happened today, I'll give you two options."

He walked to the bar and poured himself a whiskey. He didn't pour one for me.

"Option one: you pay the Rossi family fifty million dollars for the damage to their name."

I stared at him.

"What?"

"Last night's scandal hurt both of our families' reputations," he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Someone needs to take responsibility."

"I didn't do anything!"

"Your presence there was the mistake." He took a sip of his drink. "Option two: you apologize. Publicly. To Isabella. To my capos. You admit you seduced me. You swear you'll disappear. In return, I'll transfer you to my estate on the West Coast. You can continue your work there."

I felt my blood run cold.

Work?

He just wanted to lock me away forever.

He wanted me to apologize... to say everything between us was my fault...

"Are you insane, Dante?" My voice shook. "You want me to apologize? For what? For loving you? You were the one who—"

"Choose, Elara."

His eyes flickered for a second, but then they turned to ice again.

"And if I refuse?"

He put down his glass and walked toward me.

"Then you'll lose everything. Even if you leave me, I'll make sure you can never work in this country again." He stopped in front of me. "You know I have that power."

I stared at him, this man I thought I knew.

"I'll take the second option," I said through gritted teeth. "But this is the last time."

"Family meeting. Tomorrow, 3 PM."

...

The next day, I stood in the Costello family meeting room.

About a dozen men in expensive suits, the core of the family, sat around a long table.

Isabella sat to Dante's right, a victorious smile on her face.

"Gentlemen," Dante stood up. "We are gathered today to resolve an...unpleasant misunderstanding."

His eyes met mine. "Elara, please."

I took a deep breath and stood.

"I... I want to apologize for what happened," my voice was a whisper. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have been there."

"Louder," Isabella commanded. "Let everyone hear you."

I clenched my fists.

"I apologize for my actions," I raised my voice, the words tasting like ash. "I was the one who pursued Mr. Costello. I acted inappropriately. It was a mistake, and I couldn't control myself."

The room was silent.

A few of the old men exchanged glances. Some shook their heads, others sneered.

"I promise... I will never bother this family again," I forced the words out. "I will leave. And I will not be back."

"Good," one of the white-haired men nodded. "It's not a crime for a young person to make a mistake, as long as they learn from it."

I remembered two years ago, in this very room, Dante had shown them a Renaissance painting I'd restored.

"Elara is a genius," he'd said then. "She can bring dead art back to life."

The pride and admiration in his eyes back then felt like a cruel joke now.

"Meeting adjourned," Dante announced.

As everyone left, Isabella brushed past me. Her shoulder knocked into mine. She leaned in, her perfume thick and suffocating. "Good girl," she whispered. "Next time, cry. It makes the act more convincing."

Soon, only Dante and I were left.

"Does the cut still hurt?" he asked, gesturing to my bandaged hand.

I stared at him, unable to believe he had the nerve to ask.

"Are you pretending to care?"

"After you finish your projects, I'll give you a week of paid leave. Then you can pack for the West Coast estate." He ignored my question. "Get some rest."

"Thank you for your mercy, boss," I sneered. "Can I go now?"

He nodded.

I turned to leave, but stopped at the door.

"Dante," I said, looking back at him. "Do you remember the 'Sleeping Venus'? I spent three months restoring it, and you said it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen."

His expression tightened.

"I finally get it." A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "You never loved me. You loved what I could do. I fix your broken things. I bring them back from the dead."

I met his eyes. "The difference, Dante, is that a painting can't love you back. And it can't cause you trouble."

I didn't wait for his answer. I just walked out.

Back in my apartment, I started packing.

I threw everything related to Dante into a trash bag.

The books he gave me, the photos we took, even the files from my work projects.

I was cutting all ties with my past.

The next day, I stood at the grand opening of a new hotel funded by the Costello Group.

It was my last project before leaving New York. I was in charge of the restoration and display of all the hotel's art.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the host's voice boomed. "Please welcome our chief art consultant, Miss Elara Vance, to introduce the hotel's art collection."

I took a deep breath and walked onto the stage.

This was the peak of my career, and also my farewell.

"Thank you all," I adjusted the microphone. "Tonight, we are thrilled to present..."

But a sudden stir rippled through the crowd.

Guests started whispering, giving me strange looks.

Confused, I looked back at the large screen behind me.

My heart stopped.

It wasn't my presentation.

It was a slideshow.

High-definition photos.

Of me and Dante. In bed.

Me, on top of him, head thrown back in pleasure. His hands gripping my waist, his face a mask of pained ecstasy.

Another photo of me, kneeling before him.

My lips on his...

"Oh my god!"

"What is this?"

"That's disgusting!"

Gasps and murmurs erupted from the audience.

I stood frozen on the stage, feeling the entire world watching my most private moments.

When were these photos taken? I had no idea.

"Turn it off! Turn it off now!" I yelled at the tech crew.

But the photos kept changing.

Each one more explicit than the last.

I saw Isabella in the audience, covering her mouth with her hand to hide a smirk.

It was her. It had to be.

I stormed off the stage. Straight for her.

"You did this!" I grabbed her arm. "How did you get these photos?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Isabella said, feigning innocence. "Maybe you took them yourself? For blackmail?"

"You bitch!"

I raised my hand to slap her, but a strong hand caught my wrist.

It was Dante.

His face was a mask of cold fury.

He didn't look at me. He didn't look at Isabella. His eyes scanned the room, a predator assessing a threat.

"Enough," his voice was a low growl that cut through the silence. It wasn't directed at me. It was a command to the entire world.

He snapped his fingers, and two of his men instantly moved to the tech booth. The screen went black.

Then, his icy gaze finally landed on me. "You're done here."

"She did this! Dante, those photos—"

"Security," he cut me off, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "Escort Miss Vance out. Now."

Two guards in black suits moved toward me.

"Don't touch me!" I ripped my arm from Dante's grasp. "I'll walk out myself!"

But as I turned, my heel twisted.

I lost my balance and tumbled down the stage steps.

The back of my head slammed against the marble floor.

The world spun.

My vision blurred.

I heard someone scream, but the sound grew distant.

Then, everything went black.

...

I woke up in a hospital.

My head was wrapped in bandages, and an IV was taped to my arm.

"You're awake?" A gentle male voice.

I turned my head. A young man with glasses was sitting by my bed.

Mark. The accountant from my company.

"Did you bring me here?" My voice was weak.

"Yeah," he nodded. "You fell down the steps and hit your head pretty hard. The doctor said you have a mild concussion."

I remembered everything that happened, and tears started to fall.

"Those photos... they're all over the internet now, aren't they?"

Mark's expression grew heavy.

"I'm so sorry, Elara."

I closed my eyes.

My career was over.

My reputation was ruined.

Everything was gone.

"Actually... I've always wanted to tell you," Mark said suddenly. "I think you're special. Not just for your talent, but for who you are."

I opened my eyes and looked at him.

"You don't have to bow down to anyone," he continued. "You deserve better."

He pulled a bouquet of white roses from behind his back.

"These are for you. I hope you feel better soon."

I looked at the flowers, a warmth spreading through my chest.

In five years, no one had ever been this kind to me.

"Mark..."

The door to my hospital room didn’t open. It splintered inward.

The bang echoed in the small space, and Mark and I both flinched.

Standing in the doorway, silhouetted like the devil himself, was Dante Costello.

He ignored me. His eyes locked on Mark.

Three words snarled from between his teeth. A death threat.

"Get. The. Fuck. Out."

"I said, get out!"

Dante's voice boomed through the room like thunder.

Mark's face went pale, but he stood up, shielding me.

"Sir, please calm down. Elara was just injured—"

"Her injuries are none of your fucking business." Dante took a step forward, a predator stalking prey. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm her friend." Mark's voice trembled, but he held his ground. "I have a right to be concerned about her."

Dante let out a humorless laugh.

"Friend?" He turned to me. "Elara, since when did you start making normal friends?"

"Dante, don't do this." I struggled to sit up. "Mark was just being kind—"

"Kind?" Dante cut me off. "Do you know what 'kindness' can get you? Killed."

He pulled out his phone. "Find me everything on a Mark Thompson. Everything." His voice was lethally quiet. "I want his family tree. His mother. His father. And find out where his little sister goes to high school."

The color drained from Mark's face.

"Don't!" I screamed. "Dante, are you crazy?"

"I'm not crazy." He hung up and looked at Mark. "I'm protecting my property."

"That's a threat!" Mark said angrily.

"Yes, it is," Dante said without a hint of shame. "Now, get out. And never go near her again."

Mark looked at me, his eyes full of apology and helplessness.

"I'm sorry, Elara." He set down the white roses and hurried out of the room.

The door closed, leaving me alone with Dante.

"Are you satisfied?" I looked at him coldly. "Another innocent person hurt because of you."

"Innocent?" Dante walked to my bedside. "Elara, you're so naive. In my world, there are no innocent people."

"What about me? Am I not innocent?"

His expression faltered for a second.

"You're different."

"How am I different?" I gave a bitter laugh. "You hurt me, too."

Silence.

After a long moment, he spoke. "I'll make it up to you."

"I don't want your compensation."

"A top-tier restoration project in Milan," he said, ignoring me. "An original from the Renaissance. Only five people in the world are qualified to touch it."

I had to admit, my heart skipped a beat.

It was the opportunity I'd dreamed of my entire career.

"What's the catch?" I asked warily.

"Forget what happened. Isabella won't bother you again." His voice softened. "I promise."

"What's your promise worth?"

"Elara." He suddenly sat on the edge of the bed. "I know you hate me. But we have to keep working together. You have to work for me."

"No." I shook my head. "I'm quitting."

I reached for my bag on the nightstand, intending to pull out the new resignation letter I'd prepared.

Just then, his phone rang.

"Isabella?" He answered, his voice instantly softening. "What is it, baby?"

I watched his expression change, my heart twisting in my chest.

"What? Now?" He frowned. "Alright, I'm on my way."

He hung up and stood.

"I have to go," he glanced at me. "Rest up. Be back at the office tomorrow."

"Wait—"

But he was already gone.

Just like always. One call from Isabella, and he dropped everything.

I lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling.

The next day, I went back to the office and found Mark's desk empty.

"Where's Mark?" I asked a coworker.

"He was transferred to the London office," she said quietly. "Left last night."

My heart sank.

Dante always kept his word.

I stormed into his office.

"You transferred Mark?"

"I did." He didn't look up from his papers. "Is there a problem?"

"I'm terminating my contract, effective immediately." I slapped my resignation letter on his desk. "I refuse to work for you another day, even if you get me blacklisted from every gallery in the country."

He finally looked up at me.

"Early termination requires my special approval."

"Then approve it."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I still need you." He stood up. "Your contract has two years left."

"Two years? I can't wait two years!"

"Then you'll have to live with it." He walked toward me. "Elara, you belong to me."

"I don't belong to anyone!"

Just then, his phone rang again.

"Isabella?" He answered, his voice immediately tense. "What? Where are you?"

I watched his face shift from gentle concern to outright panic.

"The Blue Moon Club? What are you doing there?" his voice rose. "Dammit! I'm on my way!"

He hung up, his face grim.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Isabella got into a game with Marco Valenti," he said, shrugging on his jacket. "She lost. Big."

Marco Valenti. I'd heard the name.

The most sadistic old Don in New York, known for being unpredictable and brutal.

"What does that have to do with me—"

"You're coming with me," he cut me off. "Now."

"I'm not going."

"It wasn't a request." His eyes turned dangerous. "You want out?" He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing me. "Fine. One last thing. Come with me tonight. Do exactly as I say. And then you get your 'freedom.'"

I looked at him, knowing I had no other choice.