The night Enzo was made boss of the Moretti family, I gave him my virginity. He was the heir I'd been promised to since before I could speak.

We kissed against the floor-to-ceiling windows, tangled in the humid, twilight heat...

His rough, urgent hands hurt me, but I didn't pull away.

Even the pain felt sacred, a sacrifice I was willing to make for love.

Lost in the heat of the moment, he promised me a pair of the most beautiful crystal shoes, so I could dance the opening waltz with him at his coronation ceremony the next day.

The first dance is always reserved for the new boss and his future bride.

I cried with joy, believing my years of secret pining and patient waiting would finally culminate in a fairytale ending.

But I was wrong. So terribly wrong.

The next morning, I dragged my aching body out to get his favorite espresso, only to overhear the guys joking as I returned:

"So you finally popped the family cherry, huh? How was Vivian on your first night as boss?"

Enzo's voice was lazy, mocking. "Face of an angel, body of a devil. She's a hot little viper in bed."

The room erupted in sleazy whistles. "So, you really gonna marry her, young boss?"

"Are you kidding me?" Enzo scoffed. "Vivian's just a warm-up. Once I get some practice in, I'll go tame the Falcone ice princess. When I get bored, I can always circle back and put a ring on her."

I stood frozen in the doorway, my vision blurring, the coffee cup trembling in my hand.

Before the world faded to black, I sent a coded message to the Don: "Uncle Romano, for the promotion in three days, get me a transfer. As far away from Enzo as possible."

The night Enzo was made boss of the Moretti family, I gave him my virginity. He was the heir I'd been promised to since before I could speak.

We kissed against the floor-to-ceiling windows, tangled in the humid, twilight heat...

His rough, urgent hands hurt me, but I didn't pull away.

Even the pain felt sacred, a sacrifice I was willing to make for love.

Lost in the heat of the moment, he promised me a pair of the most beautiful crystal shoes, so I could dance the opening waltz with him at his coronation ceremony the next day.

The first dance is always reserved for the new boss and his future bride.

I cried with joy, believing my years of secret pining and patient waiting would finally culminate in a fairytale ending.

But I was wrong. So terribly wrong.

The next morning, I dragged my aching body out to get his favorite espresso, only to overhear the guys joking as I returned:

"So you finally popped the family cherry, huh? How was Vivian on your first night as boss?"

Enzo's voice was lazy, mocking. "Face of an angel, body of a devil. She's a hot little viper in bed."

The room erupted in sleazy whistles. "So, you really gonna marry her, young boss?"

"Are you kidding me?" Enzo scoffed. "Vivian's just a warm-up. Once I get some practice in, I'll go tame the Falcone ice princess. When I get bored, I can always circle back and put a ring on her."

I stood frozen in the doorway, my vision blurring, the coffee cup trembling in my hand.

Before the world faded to black, I sent a coded message to the Don: "Uncle Romano, for the promotion in three days, get me a transfer. As far away from Enzo as possible."

...

Enzo's words were a blast of arctic air in the suffocating June heat, freezing the blood in my veins. I couldn't stop shivering.

I retreated to the bedroom without a sound. Outside the massive window, the neon lights of the city began to flicker to life. I leaned against the cool glass, tears sliding silently down my cheeks.

Last night replayed in my mind.

Enzo's hands roaming my body, hot and possessive. His lips brushing my ear, his voice a raw whisper. "Vivian, you're mine. You'll always be my only one."

I had nearly melted in his arms. I thought ten years of devotion had finally paid off.

How laughable.

I finally understood that for a man like Enzo, sex, love, and power were three entirely different things. He could take what he wanted from my body while plotting his conquest of the Falcone princess. Those sweet nothings were just cheap tricks to lube up his "practice run."

My phone vibrated. An encrypted message from Marco, Enzo's underboss.

[Boss says to handle it. Package at the door.]

I stared at the screen, my mind blank.

I pushed the bedroom door open. At the end of the hall sat a small black bag.

The morning-after pill. And a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills.

Standard procedure for paying off a whore.

I picked up the bag, my fingers trembling. Last night, he had held me and promised he would take care of everything. "Vivian, you just need to worry about protecting yourself. Let a man handle the rest."

Now, "handling the rest" was nothing more than a cold text from his underboss.

He couldn't even face me.

I walked into the bathroom and tore open the box. A small white pill sat in my palm. What I had mistaken for tender care was just routine.

I threw the pill and the cash into the toilet.

And flushed.

Everything disappeared into the vortex. Including the last shred of my illusions.

Back in the living room, I collapsed onto the Persian rug—the one I"d spent a month sourcing for him. Just like everything else I had done for him.

I was only eighteen when my father put the Moretti family's finances in my hands.

"Vivian," he'd said, "remember, our value is in making every dollar this family has bleed for us."

I remembered.

I built the financial empire that paved Enzo's path to power. Every transaction passed through my hands. Every number was etched into my brain.

I turned Enzo from a soldier into the Don with a net worth in the tens of millions.

And what did he do? He used me. On his balance sheets, and in his bed.

My phone screen lit up. Flight information.

Three days from now. To Los Angeles.

I gave myself 72 hours.

72 hours to say a final goodbye to this city. And to make a clean break from Enzo Moretti.

The city that never sleeps was finally quiet, but for me, the night was endless. I watched the distant lights go out, one by one, just like the warmth in my heart, fading to nothing.

From now on, I answered to no one but myself.

The chime of a video call shattered the night's silence.

I pushed myself up from the floor, my knees leaving two damp spots on the expensive Persian silk. Tears or sweat, I could no longer tell.

"Vivian, you look like hell." Mia's face appeared on the screen, her expression a mix of pity and fury.

"I'm fine." The lie slipped out, a habit I was never good at.

"Don't lie to me, honey," Mia said, her voice softening. "But you need to see this."

She held up her iPad. A Page Six exclusive. The headline was a gut punch.

"New York's New Mob King, Enzo Moretti, Dances with Falcone Heiress Stella, Hinting at a Union of Two Crime Empires."

My chest tightened.

The first dance of the coronation.

Last night, tangled in the sheets, he'd sworn I was his only partner. Now, another woman was on his arm, wearing the crystal shoes that were meant for me.

He hadn't even told me the ceremony had begun.

In the photo, Enzo wore the black suit I had picked out for him. An eight-thousand-dollar custom job. I remembered the placement of every button.

His hand was wrapped around Stella's slender waist, his fingertips sinking into her pale skin. They were pressed close in a heated dance, her blood-red gown a slash of color against his black suit.

She was tilting her head back, a triumphant smirk on her lips.

"Keep scrolling," Mia's voice was gentle, but it landed like a sledgehammer.

My fingers trembled as I swiped, my eyes drinking in every torturous detail.

Enzo's hand cupped the back of Stella's neck, pulling her impossibly close. Her leg was practically wrapped around his.

I stared at the screen. His palm was on the nape of her neck, the same spot he had kissed on me just last night.

So this was how Enzo conquered women. Passion, violence, an undisguised sexual charge.

"Vivian, I just wanted you to see it for what it is. You see it now, don't you?" Mia's voice was an icicle piercing my chest.

It had been less than twenty-four hours since he'd left my bed, murmuring "You're my only one" in my ear.

I closed my eyes, my stomach churning. I tilted my head back, refusing to let another tear fall. "Thank you, Mia. Thanks for showing me."

My own voice sounded terrifyingly calm, as if it belonged to someone else.

"Are you okay, honey? Do you want me to come over?"

"I'm fine," I said, forcing each word through clenched teeth. "Besides, this isn't exactly a surprise, is it?"

The moment I hung up, my fingers were typing a password only I knew. The Moretti family's secret accounts materialized on the screen. Every dollar I had laundered for this family over ten years, every return on investment, every legitimized project.

The number that materialized on the screen was staggering.

My fingers trembled over the keyboard.

I thought I had chased a fairytale for ten years, but in the end, these cold, flickering numbers were the only thing I had left to hold onto.

The transaction began.

I checked the time. 48 hours until my flight.

Just enough time.

Enzo Moretti, this is my final gift to you.

I stood up and staggered to the bathroom. The woman in the mirror was pale, her skin a map of his possession in angry purple bruises—all of them from Enzo.

The hot water was like lava, scalding my skin. I grabbed the loofah and scrubbed at every inch of myself. Arms, shoulders, neck, chest.

I had to scrub away every trace of him: the dig of his nails, the brand of his lips, the salty taste of his sweat, the echo of his low gasps.

All of it. Gone.

The rough fibers tore at my skin. Beads of blood mixed with the soap suds, swirling down the drain. The pain was grounding.

A brutal reminder that I could still feel something other than my shattered heart.

My phone lay silent on the marble countertop. For the first time in seven years, there was no goodnight text from Enzo. Now even that ritual was gone.

I turned off the faucet. The only sound was water dripping against tile. Bloody water pooled at my feet in a pale pink stream, slowly draining away.

Like the last bit of warmth in my heart, seeping out drop by drop.

At five in the morning, the soft click of the electronic lock jolted me awake. Only one person had a code to my apartment besides me.

Enzo.

I feigned sleep, listening as his footsteps drew closer. The mattress dipped beside me, and his scent enveloped me—the familiar smell of cedarwood cologne.

But it was different today. It was mixed with the cloying scent of roses. Stella's scent.

Bile rose in my throat.

I could feel his hot gaze on me. Warm lips pressed gently against my forehead, just like on that damn night. Just like he would do to any woman.

"Morning, baby." His voice was hoarse and sexy. And goddammit, my body still reacted to it.

I snapped my eyes open. The familiar line of his jaw filled my vision. The morning light, filtering through the blinds, cast shadows across the high bridge of his nose, his thin lips, and those deep, dark eyes I"d once let myself drown in.

"Enzo!" I twisted, trying to escape.

He was faster. A powerful arm pinned me to the bed.

"Miss me?" He leaned down, a low chuckle in his throat, and tried to kiss my lips.

I thrashed my head to the side. "Get off me!" I shoved at his chest.

But at five-foot-three, what chance did I have against a six-foot-three man? He easily captured my wrists, pinning them above my head.

"Still feeling shy, hmm?" he murmured. "Why didn't you text me goodnight? Was your phone off?"

What texts? I hadn't received any texts.

"You're getting bold, Vivian." He slid under the covers, caging me completely. "Shh, I know you're angry. Is this about last night?"

His hand began to wander.

"I brought you breakfast. Your favorite croissants, from that Michelin place," he cooed. "Or... would you rather I eat you first?"

His breath fanned across my ear. I thought of Stella's picture. Of them kissing.

His touch was a spark to gasoline. I went rigid, every muscle in my body screaming. "Don't," I choked out, the word barely a whisper.

"Don't what, baby?" Enzo's voice was a low, placating purr, but his eyes held a glint of impatience. "Don't be like this. I know you're upset about the ceremony. It was business, that's all. You know how it is."

Business. The word hung in the air, cold and sharp. He dismissed my deepest hurt so easily, as if it were just another line item on a balance sheet.

"By the way," he continued, his tone shifting to something more serious, his hand pausing on my waist. "You took that pill yesterday, right? We need to be smart about this."

I flinched, turning my face away from him, staring at the wall as if it could save me. The dam inside me broke. A single, hot tear escaped, then another, tracing a silent path to the pillow. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, trying to stifle a sob.

My tears seemed to genuinely throw him off. He stopped, his condescending smile faltering. "Hey," he said, his voice softening slightly. "What's this? Don't cry, Vivian."

He loosened his grip, trying to turn my face towards him. "What is this, Vivian? Tears? Now?"

"Don't do this. You're not some child throwing a tantrum over a stupid party."

A stupid party. That's all it was to him. The crystal shoes, the first dance, the promise of forever.

The dam broke. Tears streamed down my face, sudden and uncontrollable. Yesterday's humiliation and today's coldness crashed over me, a tsunami that swallowed me whole.

Enzo was clearly taken aback. He froze. "Look, I'm sorry. I drank too much last night." He set down his glass, taking a step toward me. "I shouldn't have said that."

I backed away. "Don't touch me."

His hand stopped in mid-air. Just as he was about to say something else, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and his expression changed instantly.

"It's business," he said, his voice clipped and all traces of false tenderness gone. He was already turning towards the door.

He paused, looking back at me with an expression that was part annoyance, part command. "We'll talk later. Pull yourself together, Vivian. This is beneath you."

The door slammed shut, leaving me alone in the vast, empty living room.

Half an hour later, Mia sent me a screenshot. Stella's private Instagram. A photo of a man's hand, wearing the Moretti family signet ring, resting suggestively on a woman's smooth thigh.

The caption: [Good morning, my King.]

Timestamp: twenty minutes ago.

Just then, I also received a selfie of Stella, pouting playfully at the camera, holding a man's arm.

The message below the picture was simple, and devastatingly cruel: "He says good morning. And thanks you for the training."

He left my apartment and went straight to hers. He hadn't even changed his shirt.

A cold, broken laugh escaped my lips, a bitter sound that fought with the fresh tears tracing paths down my cheeks.

I walked to the bar, picked up the whiskey Enzo had left behind, and downed it in one go. The liquor burned a fiery trail down my throat, but it was nothing compared to the inferno in my heart.

My phone buzzed. An apology text from Enzo:

[Stop, stop sulking, okay? I know what happened this morning was out of line—on your part.]

[But this business with the docks is critical. I had thought you, of all people, would understand that.]

He thought a simple apology would be enough. He thought I'd come running back.

As I tried to scrub the whiskey from the carpet, I realized how ridiculous my love for him was. But my traitorous tears kept falling, mixing with the spilled liquor, a stain that just wouldn't come out.

I finally gave up scrubbing. The stain was a part of the rug now, a dark, permanent mark. A reminder.

With a strange sense of calm, I stood up and walked to the closet. I pulled out a black suitcase, the one he'd given me for my birthday last year. Methodically, I went through the apartment, collecting every trace of him.

His spare razor from the bathroom cabinet. The worn copy of The Prince he kept on my nightstand. The expensive silk tie he'd left draped over a chair. I didn't smash them or tear them.

I folded each item neatly, placing it in the suitcase as if packing for a trip he would never return from.

Each object was a memory, and I was filing them away, closing the book on us, one page at a time.

He wouldn't even notice.

I checked the time. 24 hours until my flight.

Soon, I would be free.