I exhaled through my teeth and picked up the phone again. The group message thread had blown up while I was dealing with the fallout, and I hadn't even glanced at it. When I opened it, every message was from Chiara. She had been updating the Family's inner circle on her injury, picture after picture, message after message. My jaw tightened as I scrolled through the photos she had sent. They were carefully framed. Every single one featured her and me. I lingered on the worst of them: Chiara lying on the medical cot in the compound's infirmary, her face arranged in an expression of fragile suffering, while I stood over her looking every inch the concerned protector.

I ran a hand through my hair and dropped the phone face-down on the desk.

Everything seemed to be spiraling out of my control, but none of it was my doing. Chiara needed me. My father had sworn a blood oath to her dying mother. I could not simply abandon that debt because of the ceremony. Neve should have understood how sacred the obligations of this Family were. She knew the life. She had always known the life.

Still, the guilt gnawed at me like a rat behind the walls. I had canceled our wedding. Our blood-bound union. For Chiara. And now Neve was furious, and the silence on the other end of that phone call had been the kind of silence that preceded war.

Maybe I could have handled it better. I should have called her first, spoken to her directly, asked for her understanding before making the decision. Or at the very least, I should have explained my reasons face to face instead of sending a message as if the union meant nothing. As if she meant nothing.

But what was done was done, and I had to deal with the fallout.

A knock on the study door pulled me from the spiral.

"Come in."

Ivo stepped through the heavy oak door with his usual measured calm, the kind of composure that had made him invaluable to me since we were boys running through the corridors of this very compound. He closed the door behind him without a sound, lowered himself into the chair across from my desk, and studied me with those sharp, patient eyes. If there was anyone in this world I could count on to help me make sense of this wreckage, it was him. My underboss. My brother in everything but blood.

"Dominic." His voice was low, almost gentle. "I heard what happened."

I leaned forward and pressed my knuckles against my temples.

"Yeah. Neve's furious."

Ivo raised an eyebrow, settling deeper into his chair, one ankle crossing over his knee with the ease of a man who had never lost a moment's sleep in his life.

"Furious at you for fulfilling your obligation?"

His words made me drag a hand down my face.

"I canceled the wedding, Ivo. The blood-bound union. She has every right to be upset."

He shook his head slowly, as though Neve's reaction was something he genuinely could not fathom.

"She might be upset, but you did what you had to do. Chiara was hurt. You're the Don. Your first responsibility is to the Family. That means ensuring every person under this roof is safe, especially when they're injured. Especially when they carry the weight of your father's oath."

"I know that." My voice came out rougher than I intended. "But Neve doesn't see it that way. She thinks I'm choosing Chiara over her."

Ivo's expression softened. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

"Dominic. You didn't choose Chiara over Neve. You chose the Family over everything. That is what being the Boss means. Neve knows that deep down, even if anger is blinding her right now."

I clenched my fists on the desk, the signet ring biting into my finger. Frustration coiled inside my chest like smoke with nowhere to go.

"I know she does. But it feels like I'm losing her, Ivo. I've been so consumed with the Family lately, with Chiara, with every crisis that walks through that door, that I haven't had a moment to breathe, let alone be with her."

"You're not neglecting her." Ivo's tone was firm, certain. "You carry responsibilities that most people will never understand. Neve is upset, sure. But she'll come around. You have always been there for her, and she knows that."

I didn't respond. I turned my head toward the window, where the city lights of Manhattan bled through the bulletproof glass like distant fires. A part of me knew Ivo was right. Neve had always stood by me. Through the wars, through the funerals, through every blood-soaked night that came with this throne. But lately, something between us had shifted. I could feel the distance growing, a silence that had nothing to do with loyalty and everything to do with loneliness.

Ivo must have sensed the turmoil behind my silence, because he pressed on.

"You're doing the right thing, Dominic. Chiara is part of this Family. Your father's oath binds you to protect her. That is sacred. That is debito d'onore. Neve will understand once the anger has passed and she can think clearly."

I turned back to him, doubt still heavy in my chest.

"You really believe that?"

"I'm certain of it." A note of quiet confidence threaded through his voice. "Don't let this consume you. It's nothing. Neve is hurt right now, but she will realize you were fulfilling your duty. Nothing more."

I nodded slowly. I had been so tangled in guilt and frustration that doubt had started to poison everything, distorting my judgment about what this would mean for us. I was doing the right thing. I could not be in two places at once. What I did for Chiara was what any Don would have done. What my father would have expected me to do.

"I just don't want to lose Neve." The words came out barely above a whisper, and I hated how vulnerable they sounded in the stillness of that room.

"You won't." Ivo's voice carried the weight of absolute conviction. "Neve loves you. That's precisely why this is hitting her so hard. But she'll come around. The two of you have been bound together too long for this to be undone by a single incident."

I let out a long breath, and some of the iron tension in my chest began to loosen. Ivo was right. He was always right about these things.

"Thanks, Ivo. I needed to hear that."

He smiled, and there was a glint in his eyes that caught the lamplight.

"Anytime. That's what I'm here for."

I pushed myself up from the chair, feeling lighter than I had since the moment Neve's voice had gone cold on the other end of that call. The conversation with Ivo had helped, but I still had a great deal of damage to repair. The fracture between Neve and me was real, and no amount of reassurance from my underboss could mend it. Only I could do that. But at least now, the guilt was no longer drowning me.

"I'll talk to her later tonight. Give her time to cool down first."

"Smart. Neve has a soft spot for you, Dominic. Always has. Use that to your advantage."

We walked to the study door together, and for the first time in hours, I felt prepared to face whatever came next.

Ivo clapped a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm and familiar.

"You've got this. Just remember you're not alone in this."

"Thanks, Ivo."

He left, and the weight on my shoulders had lifted enough that I could breathe again. But now came the harder part. I had to find a way to make things right with Neve.

I drove across the city to the apartment Neve and I shared. It was our private space, separate from the compound, the one place where we were not the Don and his betrothed but simply two people who had chosen each other. Or so I had believed.

When I opened the door, the apartment was dark. The kind of dark that had nothing to do with the hour and everything to do with absence.

"Neve?"

My voice echoed off the marble floors and died against the walls. No answer. I moved through the rooms, checking the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom. Everything was in its place. Everything except the things that mattered.

Instinct seized me, cold and sudden, and I walked to the closet. I pulled the doors open.

Empty. Every hanger bare. Every shelf cleared. Her shoes, her coats, the small leather case where she kept her grandmother's rosary. All of it, gone.

Neve had left me.

My legs gave out, and I sank to the floor of the closet, surrounded by nothing but the faint ghost of her perfume and the hollow click of empty hangers swaying in the draft. The silence pressed in from every side, absolute and merciless, and for the first time since I had become the Don of the Valente Family, I felt completely and utterly powerless.

I never thought packing could break a person. Every item I folded into the suitcase felt like tearing a piece of my life with Dominic free from the bone. The life I had imagined would last until they put me in the ground.

I bit back tears when I stared at the empty closet. The hangers swayed gently, catching the faint light from the window like skeletal fingers waving goodbye. I couldn't believe this was happening. We were supposed to be bound for life. A sacred betrothal, sealed in blood and witnessed by the Family. Instead, here I stood in a half-stripped room, shoving silk blouses into luggage like a woman fleeing a war zone. I pressed the heel of my palm against my eyes and wiped the tears away before they could fall. Now was not the moment to be weak. I was worth more than this.

My phone vibrated against the dresser. Ivo. He seemed unfinished with his lecture from earlier, as though the first round hadn't been enough.

"Neve, please don't make any rash decisions. I'm sure Dominic will fix this. He's just dealing with a lot right now. Give him time to make it up to you."

I scoffed and rolled my eyes hard enough to feel the pull in my temples.

"Fix this? How could he?" My voice came out low and venomous, barely above a whisper. "Where was he, Ivo? He canceled without thinking twice. He didn't even think of me. And I'm supposed to understand him." I hissed the last word like it was poison on my tongue and pulled the phone away from my ear, ignoring whatever he said next.

I shoved the last blouse into the suitcase, pressing it down with both hands, trying to crush the memory of the blood-bound union that was supposed to happen today. I had dreamt of it for months. Walking through the grand hall of the Valente compound with the entire Family watching. The candlelight. The oath. The ring of witnesses. Dominic's hand closing over mine as the Consigliere read the vows that would bind us before God and the Family both.

But today, when it was supposed to happen, Dominic's eyes had gone to Chiara. Sweet, fragile Chiara Mancuso, who had faked another injury during her training session. Collapsed in the gym like a porcelain doll with a cracked spine. I couldn't count how many times she had pulled this act, and I couldn't fathom how blind Dominic remained to the performance. Every time, the same script. The trembling lip, the wide doe eyes, the whispered "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause trouble." And every time, Dominic dropped everything. Dropped me.

"Damn them."

I zipped the suitcase with a vicious pull, grabbed the handle, and walked out. I told no one. Not even Nonna Lolita, who loved me more than anyone left in that house. She would have stopped me, and I couldn't afford to be stopped. Not tonight.

The car I had called was already idling at the curb outside the compound's service entrance, its headlights cutting pale lines through the October dark. I rushed down the gravel path, stuffed my luggage into the trunk, and slid into the back seat, instructing the driver to go. No hesitation. No looking back.

I looked back.

The compound shrank in the rear window, its iron gates and limestone walls dissolving into the amber blur of passing streetlights. My heart sat like a stone behind my ribs. Every block we passed carried a memory. The corner café where Dominic had bought me espresso the morning after our betrothal was announced. The park where he had walked with me in silence, his hand warm against the small of my back, saying nothing because nothing needed to be said. I had fought for so long to make this work, to earn my place beside him, to prove that I was more than just a name on an old arrangement between our fathers. But now I was done. I was taking back control, even if it carved me hollow.

When I arrived at my old apartment in the Village, I stood on the sidewalk and stared at the building before going in. A narrow brownstone with a fire escape that zigzagged up the facade like a scar. I had lived here less than a year before moving into the compound, and it had felt like home then. Comforting but painful now, the way a childhood bedroom feels after a funeral. I wished I could become the old Neve. The one full of hope. The one who still believed that Dominic Valente's love was something she could hold in her hands.

I dragged the suitcase up three flights of stairs. Its weight felt lighter than whatever sat crushing my chest. When I reached the bedroom, the small space felt foreign, the air stale and cold, the bed stripped to a bare mattress. But I welcomed the change. Anything was better than that compound tonight.