I pushed the door open and saw Giovanna standing there in my silk robe—my gift from Enzo—and wearing my heirloom pendant.

She lifted a brow and mocked me, “The robe fits, the pendant’s mine, and you—get out.”

I grabbed Enzo, demanding an explanation, but he shoved a fake contract in my face, saying, “You signed it.”

“I did not. Stop lying!” I snapped.

He snapped at me, “This is family business. You know nothing.”

It seemed three years together was nothing but an act.

That very night, I ran away to Milan. I had nowhere to go and no one to turn to until Mark showed up out of nowhere.

“Don’t be scared,” he said. “I’ve got you. As long as I’m around, no one touches you.”

He protected me, and for a moment, I really thought I’d finally found someone I could rely on. However, when we were practicing at the shooting range later, I stared at him.

“Why are you helping me?” I asked. “And don’t tell me it’s because of that mess I left behind.”

His eyes flickered for a second before he answered, “Just trust me. That’s all you need to do.”

Something about the way he said it made my stomach twist.

This whole disaster was all one giant setup. And now here I am, gripping a gun, fighting for justice, but am I really avenging myself? Or was I already someone else’s pawn from the very beginning?

I crouched in front of the safe, my fingers clenched so tightly around two documents that my knuckles had turned white. One of them was our marriage contract, signed three days ago, its edges already wrinkled from being crushed in my hand.

When Enzo shoved that gold-stamped contract at me, the mix of cigar smoke and his usual cedar cologne had been so thick it almost drowned me.

“Lily,” he’d murmured, his fingertip brushing over the thorned rose tattoo along my collarbone—my family’s crest, the one my Papa inked on me for my eighteenth birthday. “Sign it, and we’ll be officially bonded under the Moretti name. I’ll give you half the control of the docks.”

I’d told him I needed time to think. Yet now, as my fingertips trembled across the forged signature on the contract, I could see how perfectly he had copied my handwriting, because he’d forgotten one thing: a tiny rosebud I would always draw at the very end of my signature. However, on this document, there was nothing but a cold, lifeless ink dot.

The second document was a partnership agreement with the Camorra. Enzo’s name sat right beside Giovanna’s, stamped with a bright red seal.

The Camorra was a Naples-based mafia organization that only pretended to get along with the Moretti family while hating us behind our backs. As for Giovanna, she was the woman who always wore a timid little smile and had moved into the apartment next door just last week.

The sharp tap of leather shoes echoed down the hallway, each step pounding against my chest. Panic shot through me. I shoved the papers behind me and pressed my back to the safe, holding my breath. Alas, Enzo was already at the doorway. The cuff of his black suit was dusted with cigar ash and faint traces from last night.

“What are you looking through?” he asked, voice cold as steel, his eyes locked onto my clenched hand.

I opened my mouth, but he was already striding over. In an instant, he snatched the documents from my grip. His fingers brushed my palm, cool with the smell of tobacco.

“This is family business. Don’t get yourself involved.” He stuffed the documents into his inner jacket pocket so fast that he almost fumbled.

So all I was to him was a tool to secure his power.

I raised my eyes to him, feeling the thorned rose tattoo along my collarbone tug painfully against my skin.

“Family business?” My voice shook. “You forge a contract to fool the entire family, and then you partner with our biggest enemy?”

He flicked open a lighter with a click and lit a cigar. Smoke hovered around his face, hiding the flicker of panic in his eyes.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he muttered. “Giovanna has leverage against my mother. I’m trapped.”

“Your mother passed away ten years ago. What leverage does Giovanna have on her?” I whispered, my chest tightening, but I didn’t dare push him too hard, for fear he’d shut down my plans of leaving.

Still, I stared at his shoes. “And her, wearing my silk robe… Was that you being ‘trapped’ too?”

Last Wednesday, I saw his car parked outside the next-door apartment. Giovanna walked toward the building, wearing my cream-colored silk robe, with her arm hooked through his.

That robe was my birthday gift from him. I’d told him it was too long, and he had laughed, saying I’d get used to it. But now, seeing it draped over another woman burned like staring into a spotlight.

The cigar slipped from his fingers, and the ember hit the floor, scorching the wood.

He crushed it under his heel, stomping down hard. “Lily, don’t push me.”

My nails dug into my palm, pain shooting up my arm. Papa always said Moretti women needed to stay composed.

“I’m not pushing you.”

I rose slowly and walked to the closet. One by one, I placed my neatly folded clothes into a suitcase, moving so gently it was as if everything might shatter. “I’ll be staying with Papa for a few days. It’s loud here. I won’t interfere with you and Giovanna… coordinating.”

“Don’t you dare leave,” he snapped, blocking the doorway with a straight, rigid arm.

“I won’t say anything I shouldn’t,” I murmured, lifting my eyes to him, doing my best to look obedient and harmless. “I won’t cause trouble for you or Papa.”

He stared for several seconds before finally stepping aside. With that, I walked into the guest room and shut the door behind me. Cold sweat soaked through my back.

Three years of love, one forged contract, my loyalty, and my devotion—everything had been nothing but stepping stones for his rise.

I reached under the mattress, fingers finding the hard edge of my passport.

At six in the morning, the sky was barely turning bright when I walked into the living room with a cup of coffee. The heat from the mug burned my palm, yet somehow my chest felt frozen stiff.

Giovanna was already sitting on Enzo’s lap, twirling my thorned rose pendant between her fingers. It was my coming-of-age gift from Papa. I’d torn the whole place apart looking for it last week and never found it. Now, she dangled it by the chain, giving me a smile sharp enough to cut me.

“Morning, Lily. Enzo said this pendant belongs to me now.”

“Can you give it back?” I tightened my grip on the cup, knuckles going white. The rim dug painfully into my palm, and my own voice shook.

She let out a snort and pushed up her sleeve. A twisted burn scar snaked down her arm from elbow to wrist.

“I got this ten years ago from saving Enzo. Do you have anything like that?”

She leaned closer, her perfume brushing against me. It was her last year’s birthday gift from me—the same perfume Enzo told me to buy because he said Giovanna would love it.

Enzo helped her off his lap, trying to sound soothing. “Enough.”

Then, he turned to me, his tone colder. “Giovanna’s staying in the master bedroom. It’s easier for us to discuss the partnership. You’ll stay in the guest room for a few days. Once the deal with the Camorra is done, things will go back to normal.”

“Okay.” I nodded without arguing and walked into the guest room.

The moment the door clicked shut, tears burned behind my eyes, but I didn’t let a single one fall.

I reached into the hidden compartment of the wardrobe and took out a metal box. Inside were the things he’d given me over the past three years. There was a silver rose brooch with our initials carved into the pin, a few empty bullet casings from our first trip to the shooting range that he’d said we should keep as souvenirs, and a faded handkerchief, blood-stained with dark red.

Three years ago, during a shootout at the docks, he took a bullet for me. Back then, he’d told me, “Keep this. It’s proof I’ll protect you for the rest of my life.”

I pinned the brooch to the inside of my coat, right above my heart, as if holding on to a tiny bit of warmth. I folded the handkerchief into a neat square and slipped it into the side pocket of my backpack, while the casings went into the lining of my suitcase. Then, I reached under the bed for the stash of cash, threading it into the coat’s inner seams, every stitch small and tight.

By evening, Enzo walked in carrying a plate of raspberry macarons. They used to be my favorite, and he used to drive halfway across the city just to get them.

“Don’t be upset. My feelings for you are real,” he said, softer this time. “Once the deal with the Camorra is settled, I’ll cut things off with Giovanna.”

I picked up one macaron and took a bite. The sweetness tasted bitter, like swallowing a needle dipped in sugar, scraping down my throat.

“I understand. You should go. She’s waiting in the living room,” I said, keeping my voice calm, hiding everything underneath.

He let out a relieved breath and left, not noticing that I hadn’t taken a second bite.

I leaned toward the door and peered through the thin crack. The living room lights were still on. Enzo sat on the couch, with Giovanna curled against him.

I spat the macaron into the trash. The last bit of hope in my chest dissolved with that sugary taste.

At four in the morning, a violent pounding on the door snapped me out of my shallow sleep. The pounding was heavy and frantic, shaking the door so hard that it vibrated on its hinges.

I jolted upright, instinctively keeping my steps quiet so I wouldn’t wake Enzo. However, the second I cracked the door open, Giovanna shoved it wide with full force. The impact knocked me backward. I stumbled two steps and hit the wardrobe hard.

She marched straight into the guest room, hands on her hips, her eyes wide and wild.

“Where’s my coat? Where did you hide it?” she yelled, her voice shrill as she started ripping through my closet, and hangers clattered loudly as she yanked them off the rod.

My shirts and dresses flew across the floor, my neatly folded clothes scattering like torn paper.

“I haven’t seen your coat,” I said, standing at the doorway as a cold dread spread through me.

She wasn’t looking for anything. She was picking a fight—one she wanted Enzo to walk in on.

Suddenly, Giovanna spun around and lunged at me, grabbing my arm. Her nails dug into my skin so hard I gasped. Before I could pull away, she threw herself backward, and her forehead slammed into the doorframe with a sickening thud. Blood welled instantly, sliding down her temple.

“Enzo! Lily pushed me! She threw my things everywhere!” she screamed, her voice sharp enough to slice through the quiet dawn.

Enzo’s footsteps thundered from the master bedroom. In seconds, he was there. He yanked me away with such force that I crashed into the wall. A dull ache shot up my spine, but I bit down hard, refusing to cry out.

He didn’t even look at me. Instead, he crouched beside Giovanna, holding her gently.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt? I’ll take you to the hospital.” His voice was full of worry, and his fingers brushed her cheek, wiping the blood with a softness that I had never seen before.

Giovanna leaned into his arms, sobbing as she shook her head. “I’m fine. I fell on my own. Don’t blame Lily for it.”

Then, she glanced at me. Her eyes glinted with triumph, like a cat proudly showing off the mouse it had cornered.

Enzo finally turned my way. His gaze was as cold as winter frost.

“Lily, I’m very disappointed in you.” The disappointment in his tone stabbed my heart.

“I didn’t push her,” I said quietly, voice trembling. “She hit the door herself, and she threw my clothes–”

“That’s enough.” He cut me off sharply, irritation showing in his frown. “I’m taking Giovanna to the hospital. Clean this place up.”

He stood, lifting Giovanna into his arms. “We have a video conference with the Camorra at three o’clock this afternoon. Don’t mess things up.”

He started toward the door, then paused to give one final command. “Don’t go anywhere. Stay inside. It’s not safe out there.”

“Okay.” I nodded and watched them disappear down the hallway.

As I leaned against the wall, my tears slipped out at last, falling onto my shirt and soaking through the fabric. However, I didn’t have time to cry for long. If he came back early and found anything off, everything would be over.

Dropping to my knees, I started gathering my clothes one by one, folding them quickly. Then, I pulled out the suitcase hidden behind the entryway cabinet, unzipping it slowly so it wouldn’t make a sound and attract unwanted attention.

I checked my essentials. My clothes, passport, and cash were all there. On the living room table, I scattered the documents he would need for the afternoon meeting, just enough to make it seem like I’d only stepped out for a bit and would return soon.

I left the house key on the entryway cabinet, pinning it under a note that said, “Hope the partnership goes well.”

After that, I eased the door shut behind me, as quietly as if I were trying not to wake a sleeping giant.

Outside the building, the early-morning air was cold against my cheeks.

I waved down a cab, pulled the door open, and slid inside. “The central train station, please. And can you go fast? I’m in a hurry.”

The driver nodded and stepped on the gas. I took one look back at the building and didn’t look again.