Chapter 4

Luka’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the cathedral. I stopped dead in my tracks. Slowly, I turned around. 

Serena blinked, her doe eyes widening in a surprise. "Evelyn? What a coincidence. I didn't see you there." She touched Luka’s arm gently. "Darling, I’m feeling a little faint. Could you go get me some water?"

Luka’s dark eyes stayed locked on mine. Then, he nodded. "I'll be right back."

He turned and disappeared down the arched stone hallway. The moment his footsteps faded, the sweet, angelic warmth completely vanished from Serena’s face. She crossed the aisle, her expensive heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. 

"Let's skip the small talk," Serena said, her voice dropping its sugary pitch. "He’s mine now. We are getting engaged this weekend. I want you out of his life. Completely."

I looked at her, keeping my face entirely blank. "I’m moving to Geneva tomorrow. You have nothing to worry about."

"I don't trust you." Serena opened her designer clutch and pulled out a crisp, folded piece of paper. She held it out to me. "The Moretti family elders don't trust you either. They want a clean break. No loose ends."

I glanced down. It was a certified cashier’s check. 

Ten million dollars. 

"That’s twenty times your miserable annual salary," Serena sneered, her red lips curling into a mocking smile. "Take the money. Leave New York. Never show your face in front of Luciano again."

I didn't want to argue in a church. I didn't want to engage in a screaming match with a woman who had already won. I reached out and took the check, sliding it into my coat pocket. 

"Good girl," Serena whispered. 

A sudden scrape of a shoe against stone broke the silence. 

I looked past Serena’s shoulder. My blood ran cold. 

Luka was standing in the shadows of the stained-glass corridor. He was holding a plastic water bottle. He was perfectly still, blending into the darkness. How long had he been standing there? 

Serena gasped. She spun around, her face instantly draining of color. "Luka! I... I was just—"

Luka stepped out of the shadows. He didn't look angry. He didn't look betrayed. In fact, he didn't look at me at all. 

He walked straight past me, his broad shoulder brushing against mine like I was nothing but empty air. He stopped in front of Serena and unscrewed the cap of the water bottle. 

"Drink," he said, his voice terrifyingly gentle. 

Serena took the bottle with trembling hands. "Luka, let me explain. I didn't mean to—"

"No need to explain," Luka interrupted softly. He raised his hand and tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "It’s my fault. I haven't given you enough security. I’m sorry."

My chest caved in. 

"Go to the Lady Chapel and finish your prayers," Luka told her, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "I'll be right there."

Serena shot me a triumphant, venomous glare before turning and walking away. Her heels echoed down the nave until she disappeared around the corner. 

The gothic corridor was suddenly suffocatingly quiet. Just the two of us. 

Luka turned to face me, and the temperature in the room plummeted. The look in his eyes was pure, unadulterated ice. 

He took a slow step toward me. "You took it fast."

I stood my ground. "Luka—"

"Ten million," he laughed. The sound was harsh and grating. "Serena handed it to you, and you didn't even blink. You just pocketed it. But then again, you always were the rational one, weren't you, Evelyn? Always weighing the pros and cons."

He took another step, backing me against a heavy marble pillar. His massive frame trapped me completely. 

"Five years ago," he whispered, his voice dripping with absolute disgust. "It was between a worthless kid and your career. You chose your career. You locked me in a cage."

I gripped the strap of my purse, my knuckles turning white. "I did what I had to do."

"And today," he continued, leaning in until his lips were inches from my ear. "It was between me and ten million dollars. You chose the money. You are nothing if not consistent."

Every word was a knife twisting directly into my ribs. He thought I sold him out.

I looked up at him. My voice shook, just a fraction. "Is that really what you think of me?"

Luka looked down at me. His dark eyes searched my face for a long, agonizing moment. I waited for a flicker of doubt. I waited for the boy who used to kneel in the snow for me. 

Instead, his lips curled into a sneer of profound disappointment. 

"You're exactly who I think you are," he said flatly. 

He pushed off the pillar. He turned his back to me and walked down the aisle toward the Lady Chapel. He didn't pause. He didn't look back. 

I stood alone in the flickering candlelight. 

A single tear broke free and rolled down my cheek. I wiped it away instantly. 

Some truths were better left unsaid. If hating me made it easier for him to survive in his new world, then I would let him hate me. 

By 8:00 AM the next morning, a professional cleaning crew had completely emptied my Brooklyn apartment. The keys were on the kitchen counter. 

New York was weeping. Freezing rain lashed against the windows of my taxi as we sped down the Van Wyck Expressway toward JFK Airport. 

I sat in the back seat, staring blankly at my phone. The screen was lit up with the morning’s top headline. 

MAFIA HEIR LUCIANO MORETTI ENGAGED TO SOCIALITE SERENA VANDERBILT. LAVISH PARTY TONIGHT AT THE PLAZA.

I locked the screen. 

When I reached the international departure terminal, I stopped by a FedEx kiosk. I pulled a thick manila envelope from my bag. Inside was Serena’s ten-million-dollar cashier’s check. Tucked right behind it was a personal check of my own, written out for ten thousand dollars. The memo line read: Wishing you a lifetime of happiness. - E. Cross.

I handed the envelope to the clerk. "Overnight delivery. Signature required. Send it directly to the concierge desk at The Plaza Hotel, care of the Moretti engagement party."

"You got it, ma'am," the clerk said, printing the label. 

I turned away. I grabbed the handle of my sleek silver carry-on suitcase. The wheels rolled smoothly over the polished terminal floor. 

"Flight 409 to Geneva is now boarding at Gate B12."

I walked straight through the security checkpoint, handed my boarding pass to the agent, and didn't look back once.

I never looked up. 

If I had, I would have seen him. 

Up on the second-floor observation deck, half-hidden in the shadows, a tall figure in a dark suit stood completely frozen. 

His bloodshot eyes were locked dead onto my retreating back, his massive hands clenched into trembling fists as he fought every violent, desperate urge...