Chapter 3

I attended the Falcone family's annual charity gala. In my last life, it was my final public appearance before leaving Verona.

When I arrived, the ballroom was already filled with the low thrum of jazz, the clinking of champagne glasses, and the quiet, performative sobs of my half-sister.

Sofia was surrounded by a gaggle of girls from allied families, her eyes perfectly red-rimmed, her voice trembling with just enough fragility to inspire pity without losing her dignity.

She clutched a lace handkerchief, which only made her look more pathetic.

"So next month, Sofia is being sent to Ashpoint..." one of the debutantes sighed dramatically.

"It's a death sentence," another whispered. "And our dear Alessia does nothing. Just stands by and watches. Too busy chasing Mr. De Luca."

"At least Sofia understands the greater good," someone added. "To sacrifice so much for the family..."

Sofia's slender shoulders trembled. But beneath the silk handkerchief she used to dab at her eyes, a triumphant, defiant glint flashed in their depths.

Then, she saw me. Her breath hitched.

I had always detested these theatrical social events. Normally, I wouldn't be caught dead at a gala so thick with lies.

She had been counting on my absence. Across the ballroom, I met her gaze with a faint, unreadable smile and silently took a seat in a corner.

The surrounding whispers suddenly grew louder, grating on my nerves.

"Was that a threat?"

"That woman's blood runs cold. Her own sister is about to be sacrificed for the family, and she's just watching the show."

"If she thinks she's so high and mighty, why doesn't she go marry that tyrant herself?"

"Just because her mother died young, she acts like the world owes her something..."

I ignored them.

In my last life, when a rival family's guns flattened this place, the screams of these same women were just as shrill.

But by then, there were no gunmen left to protect them.

These whispers were nothing compared to the dismembered limbs and pools of blood I remembered from the fires that followed.

I didn't touch my champagne. I left the ballroom and walked out to the estate's glass conservatory for air.

The late autumn air was cold. A few vintage kerosene lamps were lit inside, casting a warm glow.

"Alessia."

I stopped. Sofia walked slowly toward me, her high heels silent on the soft earth, a sickly sweet smile plastered on her face.

She came right up to me. Then her gaze flickered over my shoulder, and a look of irrepressible joy flooded her eyes.

Before I could react, she grabbed my arm and lunged, pulling us both into a heavy kerosene lamp.

With a loud crash, the lamp toppled. Hot oil ignited the dry vines and carpet, and flames shot up around us.

We both fell at the edge of the fire. She held me down, pinning me, and screamed at the top of her lungs, "Help! Alessia, why did you push me? Are you insane? You're trying to burn me alive!"

The fire raced up the drapes. Thick smoke billowed, filling my lungs and choking me, robbing me of any chance to fight back.

The scorching heat seared my skin. I struggled in the suffocating smoke, and then I saw him, a tall, familiar figure in the doorway.

"Dante!"

I tried to call for help, but only a choked cough escaped my throat.

He didn't even glance at me. He charged straight through the fire, making a beeline for Sofia.

I reached out, my fingers brushing the fabric of his trousers as he moved past.

In the next second, Dante scooped Sofia from the ground and strode out of the wall of fire. She was unharmed, her makeup barely smudged.

Only then did my own bodyguards finally react, shouting in alarm as they rushed in, dragging me from the edge of the flames.

I was covered in soot, the hem of my gown scorched and blackened. My head was hazy from the smoke.

Sofia was sobbing against Dante's chest. He took off his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders before turning his dark, furious gaze on me.

His jaw was tight, his eyes burning with more than just disgust. It was a white-hot rage that was about to boil over.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" he demanded. "Did you really think killing her would change anything?"

His voice dropped, less an accusation than a mask for his own disbelief.

"If you had killed her tonight," he stared, his eyes burning into me, "did you really think you'd suddenly become everyone's beloved princess?"

"Did you think I would fall in love with you?"

The very thought seemed to offend him.

As if the idea itself was something he refused to entertain.

I coughed violently, the smoke still raw in my throat. Every spasm felt like fire.

"Dante... I didn't."

"Shut up."

He clenched his jaw, the muscle in his cheek twitching.

"I used to think you were just spoiled," he said, his voice like ice.

"But tonight, I see you for what you really are. Vicious. Consumed by jealousy. There is no line you won't cross."

"You've mastered the cheap tricks of a back-alley schemer."

Every word was a bullet, piercing my chest.

"You're a disgrace to the title of Principessa," he continued. "The Falcone family deserves a better eldest daughter than you."

"It's a good thing your mother died young. She didn't have to see what you've become."

"Dante De Luca."

The sharp, metallic click of a hammer being cocked cut through the air. I staggered to my feet and pulled the Glock from my guard's holster, aiming it squarely at his forehead.

On pure instinct, he drew his own weapon in the same instant, aiming it at me.

Just as it would happen, again and again. In our suffocating seven-year marriage, we aimed guns at each other's heads over Sofia countless times.

But no one ever pulled the trigger. And no one ever backed down.

But my strength was gone. My legs gave out, and I pitched forward, the gun still in my hand.

A strong arm caught me. And for a split second, I could have sworn I saw a flicker of panic in his eyes.

"...Alessia?"

With the last of my strength, I gripped the collar of his smoke-stained shirt.

"You don't," I squeezed out through my teeth, "get to talk about my mother."

The world began to spin. I felt myself being lifted into strong arms.

Behind me, I heard Sofia's pitiful, trembling voice. "Consigliere... I'm scared..."

He didn't stop. Didn't even look back at her.

Dante just held me and walked out of the ballroom, leaving Sofia and a truth he was still blind to in his wake.