"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.

The air in the Blue Moon’s private room was dead.

I followed Dante inside and immediately felt it.

Isabella sat at the card table, her face chalk white, her hands shaking.

On the table was a silver-plated revolver.

"Dante!" She saw us and threw herself into his arms. "Save me! I'm so scared!"

Across from her sat Marco Valenti, a cruel smile on his seventy-year-old face.

"Right on time," he said to Dante. "Your fiancée owes me fifty million. Plus interest."

"I can give you the money," Dante said, holding Isabella tight. "Right now."

"No, no, no." Marco shook his head. "Money is boring. I want her to play a more interesting game."

He pointed to the gun on the table.

"Russian Roulette. Six chambers, one bullet. If she's lucky, she walks out of here alive."

Isabella started sobbing. "I won't do it! Dante, I don't want to die!"

"She knew the stakes when she sat down," Marco sneered. "The penalty is death."

Dante shielded Isabella behind him, his eyes filled with killing intent.

"Let me take her place."

"No." Marco shook his head. "It must be her. The pact is clear. Or..."

His gaze shifted to me, a wicked glint in his eyes.

"Let the girl take her place. Who cares if she dies?"

"Absolutely not," Dante refused instantly.

A flicker of warmth went through me. At least he was still protecting me.

"Then your fiancée can do it herself." Marco picked up the gun, loaded a single bullet, and spun the cylinder. "I'll count to three. The game begins."

"One."

Isabella screamed, clinging to Dante.

"Dante, save me! I can't die! We're supposed to get married! I'm supposed to have your children!"

"Two."

"Wait!" Dante suddenly shouted.

He looked at the weeping Isabella, then he looked at me.

I saw the struggle in his eyes, the agony.

Then, he made his choice.

He looked at me, his face blank. His voice was flat. Devoid of emotion. "Elara. Take her seat."

My world collapsed.

"What?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"That's an order." He wouldn't meet my eyes.

Isabella stopped crying immediately, a hint of a triumphant smile on her face.

"Thank you, darling." She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. "I knew you'd protect me. After all, I'm the one you're going to marry."

She looked at me, her eyes full of venomous satisfaction.

"And she's just a disposable employee, isn't she?"

Marco clapped his hands in delight. "Excellent! This is much more interesting! It seems Mr. Costello knows how to make the right choice!"

Two guards pushed me into the chair.

I looked at Dante. His expression was as cold as a stranger's.

"Why?" My voice was barely a whisper. "You saved my life ten years ago. Are you going to be the one to kill me now?"

"It's the only choice," he said, his voice flat. "Isabella is a Rossi. Her life is tied to an alliance that keeps my men safe. Her life has value." He paused, his gaze turning me to stone. "And you... you work for me."

Just an employee.

The words were a knife to the heart.

Isabella was smiling smugly. "Did you hear that? That's your place in his heart. Don't delude yourself any longer."

Marco pushed the gun across the table to me.

"The rules are simple. Spin the cylinder, put it to your temple, and pull the trigger. If it's empty, you win. If it's not..."

He made a throat-slitting gesture.

My hands were shaking.

"I won't play."

"Then all three of you die," Marco's voice turned dangerous. "No one breaks my rules."

He leaned in, his breath a cold whisper against my ear. "Play the game, Elara. Do as I say."

His jaw tightened. He went rigid, hard as stone.

"This is for the greater good." The words were ground out between his teeth.

The greater good.

I laughed, a broken sound. Tears streamed down my face.

"You know, Dante?" My voice broke. "I never asked for anything. I just wanted to be more than a stranger to you."

I picked up the gun. The weight of it was real in my hand.

"But now I get it. To you, I’m not even a stranger."

Isabella watched, a smug smile on her face. She was enjoying this.

"You should have learned your place," she sneered. "Did you really think fucking him for a few years would change anything?"

Marco started the countdown.

"Ten seconds, sweetheart. Make a choice."

I pressed the muzzle to my temple.

The metal was cold against my skin. I could feel death breathing on me.

I saw Dante flinch, a sharp, violent jerk, as if the bullet had already hit him.

"You know what I hate the most, Dante?" I stared at him. "It's not that you don't love me. It's that you let me believe you would protect me."

"You saved my life once. Now I'm giving it back."

I pulled the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

I was alive.

But there was no relief.

I saw Dante’s eyes squeeze shut for a second. His throat worked, a hard swallow, like he was forcing something down.

"Again," Marco said, his voice giddy with excitement. "Best two out of three."

I raised the gun again. Spun the cylinder. No hesitation this time.

The second pull.

I saw Dante's hand, hanging by his side, clench into a fist.

His knuckles were white.

His eyes never left me, but the coldness was gone.

Replaced by something I couldn't read.

A mix of pain and raw fear.

Click.

Still empty.

The third time.

I closed my eyes.

I thought of all the good memories from the last ten years.

All of it was a lie.

This time, I didn't look at Dante, but I could feel his stare burning into me.

Click.

Still empty.

"Damn it!" Marco slammed his hand on the table. "Lucky bitch! Get out! Both of you!"

The game was over.

Isabella threw herself into Dante's arms.

"Oh, thank God! We're safe!" She turned to me, her eyes dripping with poison. "So sweet of you to be willing to die for me. But that's your job, isn't it?"

I stood up, watching them hold each other.

Dante stroked Isabella's hair, comforting her.

But he looked drained, all the strength gone from his body.

He was paler than she was.

His eyes were locked on me, right over her shoulder.

The look of a dying animal.

I walked to the door.

"Elara."

Dante's voice stopped me. It was raw. Hoarse.

I turned back.

"You did well," he said, and I could hear the tremor in his voice. "I'll give you what you want." I pushed the door open and stumbled out onto the street.

My legs trembled until I couldn't stand anymore.

Where the muzzle had pressed against my skin, a cold imprint remained, like a kiss from death.

I looked back at the man who had sacrificed me for another woman without a second thought.

The last bit of love I had for him was buried forever, along with those three unfired bullets.

Maybe death was the only way I could ever truly be free of him.

Three days later, I finally had the termination agreement.

Dante had kept his promise and signed the document.

I looked at the paper, feeling a lightness I hadn't felt in a long time.

"Congratulations, Miss Elara," Antonio said, handing me a folder. "Here are the files for your projects."

I opened it. Inside was a record of my five years of work.

Every painting, every artifact, held a piece of my soul.

"There is one last event you need to attend," Antonio continued. "Tonight at eight. A celebration hosted by the Rossi family. It will be your final duty."

I frowned. "I thought the contract was terminated."

"It officially takes effect tomorrow," Antonio explained. "Consider tonight a farewell."

Fine.

One last time.

I went back to my apartment and changed into a simple black evening gown.

The woman in the mirror looked calm, but the light in her eyes was gone.

This was the price.

The price for loving the wrong man.

At 8 PM, I arrived at the Rossi family estate.

A lavish party was underway to celebrate the engagement.

Dante and Isabella were officially announcing their wedding date.

Three months from now.

I stood in the crowd, watching the couple embrace on the stage.

Isabella was in a red gown, a blooming rose.

Dante's arm was around her waist, a rare smile on his face.

"Honored guests," Isabella said into the microphone. "Thank you all for joining us at our first celebration since our engagement."

The room erupted in applause.

"Tonight, I have a special surprise for my fiancé."

She gestured for Dante to roll up his shirt sleeve.

My heart suddenly hammered against my ribs.

He had a tattoo on his wrist. A star compass. Ours. From three years ago.

"Guidance," he'd said. Because I was his.

I remembered that afternoon, lying on the tattoo parlor beds, he held my hand and said, "This is our secret. It will never change."

But when Dante rolled up his sleeve, I didn't see our tattoo.

The star compass was still there, but it was surrounded by a new design.

The Rossi family crest.

A coiled serpent, encircling the compass.

The new ink completely changed the meaning of the original.

"We've... updated it," Isabella announced, her voice dripping with triumph. "It symbolizes our future. Not his past."

She took his hand and kissed the modified tattoo.

More applause.

I stood in the corner.

My numb heart couldn't feel a thing.

The tattoo that once symbolized our love had been completely covered by her family's crest.

Just like my mark on his life was being erased, piece by piece.

"Isn't it beautiful?"

Isabella had appeared beside me.

She raised her wine glass, a victorious smile on her face.

"Did you see it? The tattoo," she continued. "Dante told me it was an impulsive mistake from his youth. It's finally been corrected."

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms.

"Dante said it himself. Some mistakes are so ugly, they need to be completely buried." Her eyes raked over me, a smug, vicious smile playing on her lips. "You understand what I'm saying, don't you, Elara? You are the mistake he's trying to bury."

I looked at her, the woman who would be Dante's wife.

"You win," I said quietly.

"Of course." Isabella smirked. "It was never a competition. Did you really think an art restorer could compete with a mafia princess? That whole business with Marco? The Russian Roulette?" She let out a little laugh. "It was a test. My test. To see who he'd protect when the chips were down. He chose me." She leaned closer. "He served you up on a silver platter, darling. You never stood a chance."

So my life was on the line… just for a mafia princess to punish her fiancé's mistress.

And when faced with her, Dante would never choose me...

She turned to leave, then looked back.

"By the way, the tattoo artist said the original design was hard to cover completely. But Dante insisted. He wanted it gone."

Her smile turned even more vicious.

"He said he didn't want to leave any trace behind."

Didn't want to leave any trace behind.

Those words finally pierced through my numbness.

I looked at Dante on the stage, laughing and talking with his guests.

On his wrist, the altered tattoo glinted under the lights.

Our past, my existence—he had erased it all.

Isabella's high heel stepped on my foot.

"Remember this. Some things were never meant for someone as low as you."