I could see the countdown above a person’s head when they had already decided to leave their partner. The day my father’s countdown hit zero, he slapped a lawyer’s letter on the breakfast table and walked out on my mother and me.

The day my best friend’s countdown hit zero, she finally threw her parasite of a fiancé out of her apartment and changed the locks before sunset.

That was why I’d always been terrified of seeing a countdown above my fiancé, Lucian Bellandi. Luckily, for seven years by his side, the space above his head had stayed clean.

Lucian was the youngest Don the Bellandi family had ever seen. He owned the docks, the casinos, and half the South Side’s dirty money, yet he saved every soft part of himself for me.

Until last month, when he picked me up after a family auction. I looked up and saw blood-red numbers stabbing into my eyes.

[702 days, 14 hours, 22 minutes.]

Less than two years.

My heart tightened like a cold hand had closed around it. I started searching for an answer like a woman losing her mind. Had I done something wrong?

Then, during a blizzard by the lake, we ran into Mia Crane at the back entrance of the Bellandi Hotel. Lucian had just brought her into his charity foundation as a new assistant.

Snow clung to her hair and lashes. She was shivering from head to toe, but her smile was bright and painfully innocent.

Lucian pulled a black silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and handed it to her. His face was calm. There was nothing openly improper in the gesture.

But in that exact second, the countdown above his head jumped.

[327 days, 4 hours, 47 minutes.]

More than three hundred days, gone. And I knew I had found the reason.

“Mr. Bellandi, Miss Vale, I’m so sorry. South Dock is blocked off, and I couldn’t get a car anywhere” Mia Crane climbed into the back seat, soaked from the rain. Her satin blouse was wet at the shoulders, and strands of hair stuck to her face, but she still gave Marco a bright smile.

Lucian pulled a black silk handkerchief from his suit pocket and passed it over my shoulder. “Wipe your eyes. Don’t let the ice burn your skin.”

Mia took the handkerchief. Her fingers brushed the back of his hand, light as a whisper. She smiled up at him through damp lashes. “Thank you, Mr. Bellandi. I knew you wouldn’t leave one of your people out in the snow.”

Lucian withdrew his hand and rubbed his thumb over the steering wheel. “A girl running errands for the foundation down at the docks has it rough enough.”

The second those words left his mouth, the red numbers above his head twisted.

[327 days, 4 hours, 47 minutes.]

A pulse of red light flickered, and then it changed.

[289 days, 10 hours, 12 minutes.]

One careless sentence of pity had shaved more than a month off the time he would stay with me. I closed my eyes. A thin cramp curled in my stomach.

“Is it too cold in here?” Lucian asked. I thought he was talking to me and almost said I was fine, but Mia inhaled sharply in the back seat.

“A little. My clothes are soaked. It feels like ice against my skin.”

Lucian turned up the heat, then his eyes landed on the silver-gray mink wrap across my knees. He had bid on it for me at an auction in Milan the year before. Tonight was the seventh anniversary of the night we started dating. And I’d worn it for the private underground opera dinner he had reserved months ago.

“Elena, let Mia borrow the wrap. She’ll freeze like this.”

I turned to look at him. Streetlights slid over his handsome face in broken strips. He looked calm, open, almost righteous.

I said nothing and took the wrap from my shoulders and passed it back.

“Thank you, Miss Vale.” Mia tucked herself into it, her smile growing sweeter. “Mr. Bellandi is lucky to have you.”

My eyes lifted to Lucian’s countdown.

[260 days, 5 hours, 8 minutes.]

Another twenty-nine days gone. Silence settled over the car. Only the snow hit the bulletproof glass in dull, steady bursts.

The intersection ahead split the road in two. A right turn led to the underground opera house where our seats were being held. Straight ahead led toward Mia’s old apartment building by South Dock.

Lucian put on the signal to go straight.

“We’re not going to dinner?” I asked softly. The snow almost swallowed my voice.

He braked and glanced at me, apology in his eyes. “South Dock is messy tonight. I don’t feel right dropping her off alone. We’ll take her home first. Being a little late won’t kill us.”

“They’re holding the seats until eight,” I reminded him. “It’s already seven thirty.”

Lucian frowned, the apology in his eyes cooling into impatience. “Elena, Mia works for my foundation. She’s Bellandi now. I don’t leave my own people stranded. It’s one dinner. If we miss it, I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

“Mr. Bellandi, I can get out near that bar up ahead. Please don’t ruin your dinner because of me.” Her tone was sincere. But this stretch of road sat on the gray line between Bellandi territory and our rivals’. No sane woman walked it alone after dark.

Sure enough, Lucian’s frown deepened. “Don’t be ridiculous. This street isn’t safe tonight.”

When the light turned green, he took his foot off the brake and drove straight through the intersection, putting more distance between us and the opera house with every second.

Above him, the numbers changed again.

[201 days, 2 hours, 30 minutes.]

From the back seat, Mia whispered, “Thank you, Mr. Bellandi.”

By the time we dropped Mia off, it was past nine. The snow around the lake came down harder, glazing the road with thin ice. When the Cadillac finally rolled into the underground garage beneath our penthouse, my fingers had gone numb.

Lucian killed the engine and leaned over to unfasten my seat belt. “I’m sorry, Elena. I’ll cancel the dock meeting tomorrow and book the opera house again. Just you and me. All right?”

I looked at his face, close enough to touch. He was still beautiful in that dangerous, unfair way. He still looked at me like I was the softest weakness in his ruthless world.

But the red above his head wouldn’t fade.

[198 days, 11 hours, 45 minutes.]

I opened the car door. “No. I don’t feel well. I just want to rest.”

We didn’t speak again that night. After my shower, a migraine stabbed behind my temples. I hadn’t eaten dinner, so my blood sugar crashed too.

My fingers trembled, and black spots flickered at the edge of my vision. Lucian came out from behind the bar and went still when he saw my face.

“Why are you so pale?” He helped me to the sofa. Then he brought the emergency kit, found my migraine capsules, and poured me a warm electrolyte drink.

“Take these first.” He put the pills in my palm and watched me swallow. Then he went into the kitchen, sliced honeyed lemon, and steeped a pot of hot tea.

I lay against the pillows, listening to the soft tap of glass against marble. That was the maddening thing about Lucian. He had never been cheap with me. When I was sick, he fussed over me. When someone insulted me at a family dinner, he made sure that person vanished from every guest list in Chicago by sunrise.

On paper, he was a perfect fiancé. That was why I’d let his gentle warmth numb me for seven years. Then the countdown appeared, and the paper-perfect engagement began to rot in front of me.

Lucian came in with the honey-lemon drink and set it carefully on my nightstand. “Let it cool for a minute. Don’t burn yourself.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and took my hand. “Still mad at me? I only felt sorry for her. Elena, I swear. You’re the only woman in my heart.”

I looked at him for a long second. Was I? My eyes lifted to the numbers above his head.

[198 days, 10 hours, 20 minutes.]

They hadn’t gone up by even a heartbeat. His apology, his guilt, his little attempts to make peace hadn’t earned back even one second. I slowly pulled my hand out of his. “I’m not mad.”

The private phone on his nightstand rang at that moment, slicing through the quiet bedroom. Lucian paused, then picked it up.

The screen lit, and I saw the caller ID. Mia Crane. He glanced at me.

Then he answered and put it on speaker. He always liked proving his innocence with this kind of open honesty.

“Mr. Bellandi…” Mia’s voice came through thick with tears.

“What happened?” Lucian’s voice tightened at once.

“The boiler pipe in my building burst, and the fire department cleared everyone out.” Mia was shaking so badly I could hear her teeth chatter. Wind and raised voices roared behind her.

“I had just changed into a nightdress. My wallet, ID, and key card are still upstairs. I’m hiding by the back stairwell, and I’m calling from the doorman’s desk.”

She sniffed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bellandi. I really didn’t know who else to call.”

Lucian shot to his feet. “Stay inside the lobby. Don’t go out on the street. I’m coming.”

He ended the call and reached for his holster and keys. “Elena, something happened at Mia’s building. I need to go.”

I sat against the headboard and watched him. “There’s a blizzard outside.”

“I know.”

“I almost passed out ten minutes ago.”

His hands paused on the straps of his holster. He came back to the bed and touched my cheek. “You took the medicine. Drink something warm and sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning. She’s a young woman stuck in South Dock in a nightdress. You know what that neighborhood is like.”

“Wait for me at home. I’ll deal with it and come right back.” Then he strode out of the bedroom.

The penthouse door closed with a heavy, final sound. I looked at the honey-lemon drink steaming on the nightstand, then at the empty space where he had stood. The air still seemed stained with the red glow of his countdown.

[120 days, 8 hours, 15 minutes.]

By morning, the migraine had eased, but my body still felt hollow. Lucian hadn’t come home all night. At six, his message arrived.

[The repair crew never showed. I let her stay in a family safe house for the night. I’m back at the hotel now to handle the dock books. Remember to eat.]

I stared at the words. A family safe house.

The Bellandi safe houses were not hotels. They were not favors. They were the most private shelters the family owned, reserved only for people the Don had personally decided to protect.

I didn’t believe they’d slept together. Lucian had lines he wouldn’t cross. But those words still hurt to look at.

That afternoon, I went to the Bellandi Hotel. Ava had borrowed my car the night before and said she’d drive it to the hotel for me. She also asked me to bring over a few contracts Lucian had left at the penthouse.

The frosted-glass door to the top-floor office opened into silence. Lucian was downstairs in a casino meeting. Mia sat at the assistant’s desk, sorting through a stack of chip ledgers. The second she saw me, she stood.

“Miss Vale. What are you doing here? Are you feeling better?”

Her smile was bright, her eyes clean, as if nothing strange had happened at all. She wore a gray wool skirt and a black cashmere scarf around her neck.

I knew that scarf. Lucian wore it every winter because it had belonged to his father before the old Don died. Everyone in the family knew no one touched Lucian’s personal things unless his eyes gave permission first.

Mia followed my gaze and stroked the edge of the scarf with her fingertips. “Please don’t misunderstand, Miss Vale. Last night was chaos, and my coat got soaked. Mr. Bellandi said the casino floor was freezing, so he lent me the scarf. I’ll have it dry-cleaned later.”

“He’s such a good man. Nothing like the monster people make him out to be.”

I walked over and placed the contracts on her desk. “Is that so?”

My eyes moved past her to the space beside her monitor. A Venetian crystal hourglass sat there.

The glass was clear, and fine blue sand slid through its narrow middle in a slow, shining stream. I had bought a pair during a work trip to Venice. One sat on my bedroom desk.

The other I had sent to Lucian’s office. I told him I hoped that every time he looked at it, he’d remember to leave a little time for me. Now it was on Mia’s assistant desk.

Mia noticed me looking and tapped the hourglass lightly. “Oh, this? Mr. Bellandi saw me losing track of meeting times this morning, so he gave it to me. It’s gorgeous. You have great taste, Miss Vale.”

She wasn’t taunting me. She didn’t even sound malicious. That was what made it worse. It was a dull blade grinding slowly into my chest.

I didn’t answer. I pushed open the door to Lucian’s office. It was empty.

On his desk, where the hourglass used to sit, only a faint round mark remained. Ten minutes later, Lucian came back from his meeting. He froze when he saw me sitting on the sofa.

“Why are you here? I told you to rest at home.” He came over and reached for my forehead out of habit.

I turned my face away. His hand stiffened in midair before he slowly lowered it.

“Still angry?” He sighed and sat in the armchair beside me. “Last night was a special case. Her building boiler blew, and South Dock was a mess. I couldn’t leave her standing in the street alone.”

I lifted my eyes to him. “You once said no one but me could touch that scarf.”

Lucian frowned, the apology in his eyes cooling into impatience. “Elena, don’t make it sound ugly. Her coat was wet. What was I supposed to do, let her freeze through a workday?”

“And the hourglass?” I cut in. “Was that another casual little favor?”

For once, something unnatural flickered through his eyes. Then it vanished, replaced by the same righteous calm.

“It was just sitting on my desk. She has to track my schedule from her side. It was useful there. If you like it that much, I’ll have a whole crate shipped from Venice. You never used to be this petty, Elena.”

“Making a scene in front of staff over a scarf and an hourglass—is that really worth losing your dignity?”

I looked at the numbers above his head.

[89 days, 12 hours, 5 minutes.]

From a hundred and twenty days to less than ninety. When a relationship had already been sentenced to death in someone else’s heart, even breathing could become a crime.

I stood and picked up my bag. “You’re right. It’s not worth it.”

I had once feared the countdown hitting zero. But in that moment, I stopped being afraid.

Because I finally understood that waiting for someone to leave was more pathetic than leaving first. When the elevator doors closed, I messaged Rosalind, my lawyer.

[I’m done with Lucian. Help me remove my name from every Bellandi account and private arrangement. Fast.]