Chapter 3

Matteo rushed over without thinking, and I followed him.

The fitting room curtain was yanked open, and there stood Raffaella.

She was wearing the wedding dress my mother had left me. The crescent moon embroidery at the neckline was stretched out of shape, and a huge tear ran from her armpit to her hip.

She'd forced herself into that dress and ripped it apart.

The dress my mother left me.

The dress three generations of Siciliano brides had worn.

I rushed over, my hands shaking.

"Take it off!" My voice was raw. I grabbed the edges of the torn fabric. "Take it off!"

"Elena!" Raffaella shrieked and backed away, tears pouring down her face. "I didn't mean to. I just grabbed the wrong dress..."

She looked at Matteo, sobbing, and curled into herself.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Matteo grabbed my wrist and yanked me back.

I lost my balance and fell backward. My lower back hit the corner of the tailor's table, and pain shot up my spine.

I hit the floor among scattered thread and fabric scraps. A pin pierced my palm.

Blood welled up and stained the white cloth beside me red.

"Are you out of your mind?!" Matteo stepped in front of Raffaella. "It's just a dress! Is it really worth all this?"

Just a dress.

He knew exactly what that dress meant to me.

I braced myself against the table and slowly sat up. My back hurt so badly I gasped.

The blood from my palm dripped down my wrist.

I looked up. Matteo was taking off his jacket and wrapping it around Raffaella's shoulders as he led her toward the door.

"Matteo, my dress..." Raffaella sobbed against his chest.

"It's okay." Matteo's voice floated back from the doorway, gentle as he soothed her. "I'll buy you a new one. Don't cry. Elena hasn't been herself lately. Don't take it personally."

Their footsteps faded.

The wedding dress lay in a heap on the floor like an old rag, its satin crumpled. I buried my face in the soft fabric. I didn't cry. I just held it for a long, long time.

Then I handed it to Mr. Antonelli and asked him to do his best, even if it couldn't be saved.

I couldn't remember getting to the hospital, having my hand bandaged, or making it through the examination.

The doctor said that if I got hurt again, I would lose the baby for sure.

Only when I stepped out of the hospital and the cold wind hit my face did my head finally clear.

My phone buzzed.

It was a text from Raffaella.

"Elena, I know today was my fault. I want to apologize."

I stared at the screen for three seconds, then shoved the phone into my pocket and kept walking.

It buzzed again.

"Don't you want to know why I've been doing this to you?

"I'll be waiting at the old warehouse on the East Side tomorrow. Let's settle this face to face."

I stopped walking.

It was getting dark, and a thin layer of dust covered the street.

Why? The question kept running through my head.

Before Matteo and I got together, Raffaella was good to me. She was the first real friend I made after I left home.

The day Matteo and I made it official, I practically ran to find her.

She was the first person I told.

But that was also the day my things started becoming hers, one after another, while I lost ground inch by inch.

I needed to know why.

I texted back, "Okay."

The old warehouse sat by the river on an abandoned cargo dock. Its metal walls were covered in rust, and the wind off the water moaned through them.

Inside, it was dim. Only one shaft of daylight came through.

"Elena."

I heard the voice, but before I could turn around, something slammed into the back of my head.

Everything went black.

When I woke up, my hands were tied behind my back to a metal chair, and my ankles were bound with rope.

The back of my head throbbed. The cut on my palm had split open again, and blood was seeping through the gauze.

I looked up. Raffaella was sitting across from me in another chair.

I looked around. Five masked men stood under the harsh white light, holding baseball bats.

The warehouse door burst open.

Matteo charged in, his face dark. His eyes swept back and forth between Raffaella and me.

"Let them go. Whatever you want, we can talk about it."

"Matteo Calderone." The leader of the kidnappers stepped forward. "Word is you've got a fiancée and a sweetheart on the side. So here's your chance. You only get to walk out with one of them."

Matteo froze.