Chapter 4

After that day, I started clearing out everything Nico had left behind over the years, one by one.

This gold-plated Desert Eagle was his "token of love" to me.

He once held my hand, tracing the engravings on the grip, and whispered passionately, "Scarlett, this was custom-molded for your hand. It's the only one in the world, and it's just for you."

But not long after, I saw an identical gun on Chloe's social media.

The caption read: "Nico says they're a matching set."

And then there were the missing cufflinks.

They were engraved with the ancient Falcone family crest, an honor given to me by my adoptive father on my eighteenth birthday.

Nico claimed he'd lost them.

Now, they were pinned to the cheap suit cuffs of Chloe's gambling-addict father, visible in the corner of a casino surveillance feed.

And the diamond earrings from my confirmation ceremony, the custom perfume...

Every honor I thought was mine alone had been cheaply replicated or tossed aside like trash to impress his low-rent friends.

I thought of how Nico doted on Chloe, indulging her every whim.

A wave of nausea churned in my stomach.

If that was the case, then none of these things were worth keeping.

I threw all those so-called gifts, along with their tainted memories, into a high-temperature furnace.

The molten metal was the final testament to his death in my heart.

At two in the morning, the private jet's engines were already warming up.

The encrypted satellite phone suddenly vibrated.

Half-asleep, I groggily answered it, only to be met with dead silence and the sound of breathing.

Just as I was about to hang up, Nico's voice came through, strained with anxiety.

"Scarlett, I'm sorry."

My mind snapped awake. If he was finally going to confess, I thought maybe I could...

Nico's heavy voice continued, "Chloe was slashed in the arm. She took a knife from a rival family for me."

The flicker of hope in my chest was extinguished, pathetic and absurd.

So he was escalating his little act?

"And?" I asked.

Nico's voice went on. "Apologize."

I thought I'd misheard. "What did you say?"

His voice was crystal clear. "Scarlett Falcone, you really should apologize to Chloe."

"Are you telling me her getting hurt had nothing to do with you?"

I was suddenly speechless.

Because I realized that in moments like these, every word I said would be wrong.

Between Chloe and me, he had never chosen me. I was always the one to be sacrificed.

Nico spoke again, his voice cold and sharp. "Scarlett, you are a real disappointment."

"Go to the Don right now, admit you were being childish, and then apologize to Chloe. We can still go back to how things were."

"You wouldn't want to break the alliance between the Falcone and Moretti families over a little tantrum, would you?"

He called me childish. He said I was throwing a tantrum.

He threatened me with my family name, held my position hostage.

But now, I no longer felt a shred of resentment or heartache. I just wanted to escape this suffocating mess.

Besides, there was one thing Nico always forgot.

I let out a soft laugh, my fingers tracing the cool glass of the jet's window.

"Nico, have you forgotten? The only reason that alliance exists is because I do."

Without waiting for a reply, I ended the call, took out the top-secret encryption chip, and snapped it between two fingers.

With a click, the chip broke in two. I tossed it carelessly into the trash.

Ten hours later.

The Sicilian sun was bright and intense, carrying the salty humidity of the Mediterranean.

On the private airstrip, my eyes met a man's deep gaze. "Scarlett. Long time no see."

His well-tailored suit was unbuttoned at the neck, revealing the faint outline of a tattoo on his collarbone, the mark of the true Moretti heir.

I extended a hand, my smile radiant. "It's good to see you, Vincent."

The ring of my personal cell phone interrupted our greeting.

I glanced at the screen. It was a call from Nico's right-hand man.

I answered, curious. Over a noisy background, Nico's voice came through, laced with panic:

"Scarlett, where the hell are you?"

"Why are all our contacts in the North saying they have no record of your arrival?"