Elena POV:

I awoke some time after nightfall to the sound of the heavy front door clicking shut. It was a small, mechanical noise I had not been able to perceive for a decade, and yet, I knew precisely whose bed Alessandro was now seeking.

I sat up in the darkness and turned on the bedside lamp.

A stack of gold-embossed wedding invitations sat on the dresser-heavy, expensive paper that bound me to a man of no substance.

I picked up my telephone and opened my contacts, my thumb hovering over the screen before I scrolled to my uncle's name.

He ran a massive, legitimate enterprise in London, a respectable front for the Family's affairs abroad.

In the days after my parents' funeral, he had invited me to live with him and my grandparents.

I had refused that sanctuary then, captive to a blind, girlish devotion for Alessandro.

With a hand that shook, I composed a message to my uncle.

I told him I wished to leave the Family territory; I told him I wished to live with them in London.

The response came almost at once.

My uncle typed back, asking what was wrong, demanding to know if I had been harmed.

My vision blurred, making the keyboard swim. I pressed the voice record button and held the device close to my mouth.

Tears spilled over my lashes and rolled, hot, down my cheeks as I spoke.

I told him only that I missed them.

The screen showed he was typing for a long, agonizing time.

Then, instead of a message, his name appeared, signaling a call.

I answered and put the telephone to my ear, a gesture my body had unlearned.

My uncle's voice was thick with shock the moment he understood I was not reading his lips but hearing his words.

He demanded to know the state of my hearing and my safety.

I confessed that my hearing had returned that morning.

Through a choked sob, I told him I needed to get out of New York.

My uncle, knowing well the volatile consequences of a broken mafia union, did not ask for details. He told me he was booking a one-way flight for the day of the wedding.

He said he would provide a true fortress of love and protection the moment my feet touched British soil.

After the call ended, I looked at the messages on my screen, and a deep remorse washed over me.

I had abandoned my own blood for a man who saw me as mere collateral.

I stayed awake for hours, staring into the shadows.

Just before dawn, the bedchamber door opened softly, and Alessandro slipped into the bed beside me.

His skin reeked of the cold city air and the acrid tang of gunpowder.

Beneath that violence, he carried the unmistakable scent of Sophia's floral perfume.

He reached out to pull me into his possessive embrace, but I shrank from his touch.

I rolled over and faced the window.

For the first time in ten years, my mind was entirely clear.

I closed my eyes and at last fell into a peaceful sleep.

Elena POV

When I woke the next morning and walked into the bath chamber, the first thing I saw was a slip of unworn black lace, fallen from his carelessly tossed jacket and lying atop my own clothes in the laundry basket.

It was Sophia's deliberate mark of territory-a vicious postscript to the conversation I had overheard.

My gaze lingered on the flimsy fabric for three seconds. The stale perfume clinging to its edge stung my nostrils. I picked it up between two fingers, as one might a decaying rat, and dropped it into the rubbish bin.

I walked out to the kitchen, where Alessandro was standing by the stove.

He was cooking a lavish seafood porridge, its rich, savory steam filling the penthouse.

His sleeves were rolled up, his posture relaxed; he was playing the part of the devoted Underboss to perfection.

He set a steaming bowl on the dining table before me, offering a warm, deceptive smile.

I pushed the bowl away without breaking my gaze from his.

Instead, I picked up my tablet and silently reviewed my visa and extraction protocols under the guise of reading the morning's news.

Suddenly, Alessandro's telephone chimed on the marble counter.

He tapped the screen, and Sophia's sweet, provocative voice note filled the quiet room.

She complained of his roughness the night before, her tone dripping with a false innocence as she demanded he make it up to her.

Alessandro's dark eyes flashed with amusement.

Without a shred of shame, he pressed the microphone icon.

He recorded an explicit voice note back to her, his voice a low, gravelly purr.

He called her his little demon, murmuring promises of a private session later.

I sat motionless, a forced witness to this brazen exchange. The seafood porridge bubbled on the stove, steaming. I pressed my palm flat against the cold marble of the center island, using the stone's unyielding chill to force down the bile rising in my throat.

Looking at him, I realized this sick display of power had been happening before my very eyes for years.

Alessandro put his telephone down and looked at me, his demeanor shifting seamlessly back to that of the doting partner.

He noticed I had not touched my food.

With an effortless flick of his fingers, he signed, asking if I did not like it.

I looked down at the bowl.

Raising my own hands, I signed back that there was a bug in the food.

I held his gaze as I signed that it was tainted and utterly disgusting.

Annoyance flashed across Alessandro's handsome face, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

He grabbed the bowl and dumped the expensive food into the sink.

Turning back, he signed, asking if I wanted a sandwich instead.

I shook my head and stood.

I walked past the large wall calendar in the hallway.

Reaching out, I ripped off the page marking my final wedding dress fitting.

I dropped the crumpled paper into the trash bin.

The loud, harsh snap of the paper caught Alessandro's attention.

Even with my back to him, I could feel the focus of his eyes, a sudden, dangerous shift in the atmosphere of the penthouse.

His heavy footsteps echoed as he followed me down the hallway.

I stepped into the bedchamber and immediately began composing a message to the airline, confirming my one-way flight ticket.

I hit send and quickly locked the screen.

Alessandro pushed the door open just as I hid the device behind my back, his large frame invading my space.

His eyes were dark with suspicion.

He demanded to know who I was texting, his voice sharp.

My hands moved with a fluid calm as I signed that it was only a telemarketer.