Chapter 4

I was about to speak when a commotion erupted outside. "Princess, you can't go in there. This is Ms. Russo's private residence."

Colette ignored my bodyguard's attempts to stop her and barged straight in.

Dante immediately rose to greet her, a tenderness in his eyes I had never seen before.

"Dante, I'm here!"

Dante never allowed anyone in the organization to address him as anything but "Don."

Even in front of the staff, I could only call him "Don Moretti."

Colette's eyes lit up at the sight of the buttercream cake. "Dante! You actually made me a cake yourself!"

Dante was allergic to eggs and never went near anything made with them. A cook who'd joined the staff once made the mistake of asking about it, and by the next day, the cook had vanished.

Colette ignored my presence entirely, smiling as she drew a revolver from the holster at her hip. "Dante, I've been practicing my aim. It's gotten so much better. Want me to show you?"

She scanned the room for a target, and her gaze landed on me. "How about her?"

My bodyguard stepped forward. "Watch yourself. This is Ms. Russo. She's the underboss of this organization."

Tears spilled down Colette's cheeks. "I'm sorry! I just got here. I didn't know. It's just... Dante told me I wouldn't have to answer to anyone once I joined the organization."

Dante raised a hand to stop her apology, his tone indulgent. "It's fine. Not your fault. Valentina's tough. A few bullets won't kill her."

Ten years of taking bullets for him. Ten years of surgical pins holding my bones together.

Colette winked playfully, deliberately glancing my way. "Someone with skin as delicate as mine definitely can't compare to a battle-hardened veteran like Valentina."

Dante sneered. "She's as rough as they come. Nothing feminine about her. Why would you even compare yourself to that?"

One careless sentence erased ten years of sacrifice and restraint. I clenched my jaw, fighting back tears, grabbed my bags, and walked to the door.

This might be the last time I'd ever see him. I turned and said quietly, "Dante, I'm leaving."

But he was too busy cutting cake with Colette to spare me even a glance.

In the days after I left, Dante was busy taking Colette on trips around the world, leaving the organization's affairs completely unattended.

Whenever his men called, all he said was, "Ask Valentina," before hanging up.

When he finally returned, the Family was in chaos. He tried to confront me about it, only to find that he couldn't get through no matter how many times he called.

He went to the castle. It was empty.

In Dante's mind, I was just angry about what had happened.

He was busy figuring out how to placate me when a headline in the latest newspaper caught his eye.

"Welcome Back, Elite Designer Valentina Russo: A Triumphant Return."

At the European International Arms Design Summit, I stood under the spotlight in a crisp, tailored suit.

Precision blueprints in hand, a calm and confident smile on my face.

He traced his fingers over the photo in the newspaper.

In the picture, I looked poised and self-assured, the exhaustion that once marked my face replaced by a radiance he had never seen before.