Chapter 3

Alessia POV:

The nerve center of Dante's empire was the top floor of Moretti Tower, a space of smoked glass and black steel that offered a god's-eye view of the city. I'd come to drop off the signed documents with Felix, but I found Isabella first.

She was draped over Dante's massive mahogany desk as if it were her throne, laughing at something he'd said. Her presence here wasn't a social visit; it was a power play, a declaration of her place in his life-made right in front of his most trusted men.

She saw me and her smile tightened. "Alessia. Be a doll and get me a coffee. Black, two sugars."

It was a public test of dominance: a Mafia princess ordering me-the Don's wife-like a servant. Dante's men watched, their faces carefully blank. Dante just watched me, a silent command in his eyes: obey.

My love for him had been dying a slow death for weeks. In that moment, I felt the last ember of it extinguish, leaving only cold, hard ash.

"Of course," I said, my voice a perfect mask of calm compliance.

I went to the small kitchenette and prepared the coffee, my hands moving with deliberate slowness. When I returned, I walked toward the desk. Isabella rose in a single, fluid motion, turning just as I drew near. Her body slammed into mine.

Boiling coffee sloshed over the rim of the cup, directly onto my right hand. The hand I paint with.

A searing pain shot up my arm. I gasped, dropping the cup and saucer. It shattered on the marble floor.

"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry!" Isabella cried, but her eyes were glittering with triumph. "How clumsy of me."

Dante moved instantly-not toward me, but toward her. He put his arm around her, shielding her as if I were the threat.

"Are you alright, Bella?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

He didn't even glance at me. He didn't see my hand, already red and blistering.

He turned his glare on me, his lip curled in a snarl. "Look at this mess. Clean it up. And for God's sake, watch where you're going."

His indifference wasn't neglect; it was a verdict, delivered before his entire court. His wife was disposable. An inconvenience.

The burn was excruciating, a fire spreading under my skin. But it was nothing compared to the cold, hard certainty that settled in my soul. This wasn't an accident. It was a targeted attack, meant to cripple not just my hand, but my spirit.

The love was gone. All of it.

In its place, something new and terrible was taking root. A quiet, chilling resolve for retribution.