Chapter 3

When I returned to my apartment, I was suddenly grateful I had refused to give it up.

Alessandro had wanted me at the Moretti estate from the beginning. A Don’s future wife belonged behind guarded gates, he said—not in a Manhattan apartment with a doorman and neighbors who complained about his security detail.

I refused to move before we were married.

So Alessandro compromised in his own way.

He bought the apartment across the hall for his men and began spending most nights in mine.

Over three years, his presence had spread into every room. Italian suits filled half my closet. His razor sat beside my toothbrush. A second humidor occupied my bookshelf, and six pairs of handmade shoes lined my entryway.

That night, I packed every trace of him into two large garment cases and three boxes.

It was almost midnight when I finished.

Exhaustion settled over me as I lay down, yet for the first time in months, I could breathe.

Alessandro returned the next morning.

I was eating gluten-free toast and a hard-boiled egg when he walked into the kitchen. He stopped at the sight of my plate.

After his late nights, I usually made him a prosciutto frittata, rosemary potatoes, and the double espresso he claimed no one else could get right.

Today, I had made breakfast for one.

Alessandro removed his coat and draped it over the back of a chair.

“A new strategy, tesoro?”

I kept eating.

“No breakfast? After ignoring me for a week, you’re not even going to admit you missed me?”

The week had felt long.

Long enough for me to realize my life continued perfectly well without him in it.

“Don’t forget my award ceremony on Friday.”

I wanted to end our three years together with some dignity. After the ceremony, I would tell him face-to-face that I was leaving and that we were over.

He glanced at me. “This Friday?”

“Yes. The International Society for Neuroprosthetics is presenting me with its Innovation Medal. We talked about this weeks ago, and you said you’d be there. I already reserved a seat for you.”

Alessandro’s expression barely changed.

“I can’t. I’d take Lucia to a fitting for her cousin’s engagement party.”

Of course he was.

Alessandro had never cared about my work. Three times in the past year, I had rearranged important events around his schedule.

Each time, he promised to attend. Each time, Lucia gave him somewhere else to be.

Once, she had a fever. Another time, she wanted his opinion on a new apartment. The third time, her dog needed to see a specialist.

Alessandro had doctors, drivers, and hundreds of men willing to handle any problem with a single phone call.

But whenever I asked him to stay, he went to her personally.

I swallowed the last bite of toast.

“You promised you’d come,” I said. “Lucia can take a stylist to the fitting.”

His eyes cooled.

“Here we go again.”

“This isn’t about Lucia. That ceremony represents years of my work. I’m asking you to keep your word and show up for me just once.”

“And I’m telling you I have another obligation.”A humorless smile touched his mouth.

“Still trying to give me orders? ”

“I’m trying to have an opinion.”

“Why can’t you learn to be a gracious, understanding Donna?”

I looked at him in silence.

Alessandro leaned closer, one hand braced against the table.

“Maybe I forgave you too quickly last night.”

He picked up his coat and headed for the door.

I waited until he reached it.

“Alessandro.”

He stopped, then turned with a knowing look.

“I thought so.”

I pointed toward the garment cases and boxes beside the sofa.

“Take your things.”

For the first time that morning, his composure cracked.

His gaze moved over the boxes I had carefully packed.

“You want to test me again?” His voice dropped dangerously. “Fine.”

He opened the door.

“But this time, don’t expect me to forgive you so easily.”

The door slammed behind him.

Usually, the sound of Alessandro leaving would have sent panic clawing through my chest.

This time, I felt nothing.

My replacement phone arrived that afternoon.

The moment I activated it, a message from Zurich appeared.

Welcome to the Helvetia Institute, Dr. Laurent. We are honored to have you lead the International Neuroprosthetics Program. Your flight departs in six days.

For three years, Alessandro’s family had treated my work like an amusing hobby.

His mother called me the little lab girl and reminded me that scientific publications carried no weight beside the Moretti name.

But in Zurich, one of Europe’s most prestigious research institutes was placing an entire international program in my hands.

I looked at Alessandro’s belongings scattered across my floor.

By the time he decided I had been punished enough, there would be no one here to forgive.