Chapter Four - Elio

Her name burns on my tongue as Aleta disappears into the crowd. Women like her leave destruction in their wake without ever looking back to witness it. Still, my feet move before my brain catches up, driving me through clusters of New York’s elite who stare as I pass.

“Castellano,” Nico calls from somewhere behind me. “Stay away from my sister!”

Rain hammers the pavement outside by the time I push through the doors, turning the world into a glossy black mirror. Several yards ahead, Aleta’s silhouette stumbles down the marble steps. Her sequined dress has been transformed into a darkened second skin by the downpour.

“Aleta!” My voice drowns beneath thunder that shakes the ground beneath my feet.

People crowd the covered entrance around me, summoning drivers and valets while discussing the sudden storm. Puddles form around expensive shoes as I descend the stairs two at a time, searching the street for any sign of her.

Headlights flash through sheets of water. Tires screech against wet asphalt. Something—someone—flies through the darkness, and my heart stops.

“No!” My shout dies beneath the rumble of an engine accelerating away, and taillights vanish into the storm before I can catch the license plate.

My suit jacket lands forgotten on the sidewalk as I rush forward, expecting to find her broken body, but the street corner is empty. My curse cuts through the storm as security guards converge behind me, but their questions are lost to the pounding rain.

Minutes stretch into an hour as my men search a five-block radius, finding nothing. My phone remains silent despite a generous bribe to every hospital intake nurse in Manhattan. Thunder gives way to steady rainfall while my driver circles neighborhoods surrounding the gala venue, windshield wipers fighting a losing battle against the deluge.

“Check the harbor,” I tell Matteo, my most trusted lieutenant, after the second hour passes. “She wouldn’t go there intentionally, but if someone took her…”

Midnight passes. The city sleeps beneath a waterlogged blanket while my rage builds with each passing minute. Whatever remained between Aleta and me died years ago, yet my concern refuses to follow suit. Family rivalry or not, if Nico has harmed his own sister to keep her from me, there won’t be enough men in New York to protect him.

My phone vibrates at 2:17 AM.

“Found something by Pier 14,” Matteo’s voice crackles through the speaker. “You should come yourself, boss.”

Twenty minutes later, my headlights illuminate a scene from my nightmares. Matteo is standing beside a crumpled form half-hidden behind shipping containers, protected from the worst of the rain by a rusted overhang. Her dress resembles a tattered flag, once-brilliant sequins now dull beneath mud and what appears to be blood.

“Jesus Christ.” My knees hit wet concrete as I reach for her throat, praying for a pulse.

Matteo keeps watch with his hand resting inside his jacket. “She’s alive. Barely. Found her about ten minutes ago. Somebody dumped her here.”

“Call Nico,” slips from my mouth automatically before something cold settles within me. “No. Wait.”

Five years of hatred resurface as I brush soaked hair from Aleta’s face. Images move through my mind: Nico’s men holding me down while knives opened my skin; my business systematically dismantled; rumors spread that destroyed partnerships I’d spent years building. All because I dared fall in love with a Ricci.

“Take her to Dr. Moretti instead,” I decide as I gather her limp body against my chest. “Keep this between us for now.”

Matteo’s eyebrows lift to the top of his head. “Nico will tear the city apart looking for her.”

“Good.” Water drips from my hair onto Aleta’s pale face as I carry her toward the car. “Let him suffer not knowing. We’ll decide our next move after Moretti examines her.”

Dawn breaks through rainfall as Dr. Moretti steps out of his private examination room in the brownstone that serves as both his home and discrete medical practice for people in our walk of life. His weathered face reveals nothing as he removes latex gloves, one finger at a time.

“Concussion, three broken ribs, numerous contusions.” His Italian accent thickens with fatigue. “She’s fortunate to be alive.”

My fingers drum against mahogany armrests. “When will she wake up?”

“Hours, perhaps. Brain trauma doesn’t follow schedules. There’s something else you should know.”

“Tell me.”

“Initial tests show significant hippocampal damage. When she regains consciousness, she’s likely to experience memory impairment—possibly severe.”

Uncomfortable warmth spreads across my neck. “Temporary?”

“Impossible to predict. Could be days, months…” He spreads his hands. “Or permanent.”

Possibility blooms like blood in water. Nico believes I’m responsible for his sister’s disappearance by now, which means his men are hunting me through the city. Returning Aleta would save my life but surrender the best leverage I’ve stumbled upon in five years.

“Let me know the moment she wakes,” I tell Moretti before dismissing him with a nod.

Moonlight filters through blinds by the time I enter Aleta’s room again. Her breathing comes steady now, though bruises darken against her porcelain skin like violent watercolors. My fingertips hover above her cheek as I remember summer nights when touching her wasn’t complicated by years of bitterness.

Five years ago, her brother stole everything from me—my business, my reputation, nearly my life. Tonight, fate delivered his most precious possession directly into my hands. Complete amnesia. The words echo through my mind and settle like foundation stones beneath a plan that forms with each passing second.

“If you don’t remember who you are,” I whisper to her sleeping form, “then I’ll tell you exactly who you need to be.”

A wedding ring sits heavy in my pocket—a prop from an undercover operation last year that I had Mateo fetch. Perfect for convincing a woman with no memories that we share more than a forgotten past.

The revenge I’ve hungered for slides within reach at last.