Chapter 2

The rain washed over the windshield of the taxi.

Returning from the gala, I watched the neon lights blur outside the window, as the memories of the past three years clawed at the edges of my mind.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. When Dante Moretti first saw me at the Continental Hotel, the Rossi family was already bleeding out, but we still had our pride.

It was a single night of vulnerability, a one-night stand born of mutual, intoxicating attraction. He was the rising Don; I was the falling aristocrat. But the morning after, my father was indicted, our assets were seized, and my mother suffered a massive stroke. We were destitute overnight.

Dante stepped in. He offered a marriage of convenience. He would pay the millions required for my mother's experimental treatments and protect my father; in exchange, the Moretti family would absorb the legitimate, historical prestige of the Rossi name.

I thought he was my savior.

But Dante was a man built on violence and paranoia. He convinced himself that I had orchestrated the entire downfall, that the one-night stand was a trap to secure his wealth.

And so, he handed the keys to my life over to Elena Costa.

Elena. The underboss. The woman who had fought beside Dante in the streets, who harbored a venomous, unrequited love for him.

Dante trusted her implicitly. "Elena handles the finances," he would say dismissively whenever I tried to speak to him. "Follow the protocols."

The memories were nauseating. I remembered the harsh winter of my second year of marriage. The heating in my wing of the estate had broken. I had gone to Elena’s office at the syndicate headquarters to ask for funds to fix it, or at least to unlock the wardrobe so I could get a heavy coat.

Elena was sitting behind her desk, getting a manicure from a terrified-looking salon girl. She didn't even look up when I entered.

"Mrs. Moretti," Elena had purred, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "To what do we owe the honor?"

"The heating is broken in the East Wing," I said, keeping my voice level. "I need you to authorize the repair. Or give me the passcode to the closet."

Elena inspected her freshly painted red nails. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Seraphina. But all non-essential maintenance funds have been reallocated to the port expansion project. The Don's orders. We must all make sacrifices for the family."

"It's twenty degrees below zero, Elena. It's not a sacrifice, it's freezing."

"Then wear a sweater," she smiled, a sharp, predatory grin. "As for the closet... you know the protocol. You need to submit a requisition form for luxury items. It takes three to five business days to process. I can't just hand out passcodes. Security, you know."

"It's my clothing," I had gritted out, my hands trembling with humiliation.

"It's Moretti property," Elena corrected sharply, her eyes flashing with triumph. "Bought with Moretti money. Money your bankrupt family doesn't have. Fill out the form, leave it with the receptionist. Now, please, I have actual syndicate business to attend to."

I had walked back to the estate in the snow, wearing a thin autumn jacket, my lips turning blue.

When Dante came home that night, he found me shivering by the fireplace. I told him what Elena did. He barely looked up from his whiskey.

“Elena is just doing her job, Seraphina. She’s protecting the family’s assets. Stop being so dramatic and learn to manage your resources better.”

That was the reality of my marriage. I was the Don's wife, yet the cleaning staff received a higher monthly stipend than I did. I had to justify the purchase of feminine hygiene products to a woman who wanted my husband. I lived like a parasite, constantly reminded of my worthlessness.

But I endured it. I endured the locked closets, the frozen nights, the sneers, and the utter lack of humanity. I endured it because every month, Elena's signature authorized the quarter-million-dollar payment to the private clinic keeping my mother alive.