Chapter 7

Arie's pov:

By the time the plane landed in Seattle, I had been travelling for so long that my body no longer understood what time it was. The announcement came through the speakers, welcoming us to the city, but I barely heard the rest. Rain streaked across the small window beside me, turning the lights outside into blurred lines of white and gold. The sky was covered in thick grey clouds, even though it was still early in the afternoon.

I stared through the glass as the aircraft moved toward the terminal.

I had made it.

An entire ocean now separated me from Italy, from the wedding, and from the man who had destroyed everything I believed about us. Relief should have been the first thing I felt. Instead, a strange emptiness settled inside me. For most of my life, I had been surrounded by people. There had always been someone waiting at home, someone asking where I was going, or a driver standing outside before I even requested one.

Now, no one was waiting for me. The loneliness frightened me.

But it was mine.

Passengers began collecting their belongings as soon as the seat-belt sign disappeared. I remained seated for a moment, watching everyone rush toward the aisle. A businessman complained loudly into his phone, a tired mother struggled to calm her crying child, and two students discussed where they would eat after leaving the airport. Their lives sounded so ordinary. No guards. No family alliances. No secret relationships hidden behind locked doors.

I wanted ordinary.

When I finally stood, my gaze moved instinctively toward the seats behind me. The man in the black suit who had sat three rows away was gone. I couldn’t remember seeing him leave, but I dismissed the thought. He had probably been among the first passengers to enter the aisle. Exhaustion was making me suspicious. It took almost an hour to pass through immigration and collect my luggage. By the time I walked outside, the cold air struck my face so sharply that I stopped beneath the airport canopy.

Seattle smelled like rain, wet concrete, and unfamiliarity. I pulled my coat tighter around myself and searched for the taxi area. Nobody recognised me here. Nobody lowered their voice when they heard my surname. I was not Angelo Romano’s niece or Bianca Contini’s cousin. I was simply Arielle Romano, standing alone with two suitcases and no idea whether she had just made the bravest or most foolish decision of her life.

The taxi driver helped load my bags into the trunk.

“Where to?” he asked.

I gave him the address of my apartment. As we left the airport, I watched the city through the rain-covered window. Seattle was different from everything I knew. Glass buildings rose against the grey sky, surrounded by dark green trees that seemed almost too vivid beneath the rain. Cars moved through shining streets while people hurried along the pavements carrying umbrellas. No ancient estates. No guarded gates. No Contini men dressed in black at every entrance.

My apartment was in a quiet neighbourhood nearly twenty minutes from the office where I would begin working the following week. I had chosen it from photographs sent by the rental agency: small, furnished, and affordable enough that I wouldn’t need Uncle Angelo’s help. When the taxi stopped outside, I looked up at the building. It wasn’t luxurious. The brick exterior had darkened with rain, and one of the lights above the entrance flickered. The Contini estate probably had storage rooms larger than the apartment waiting for me upstairs.

But my name was on the lease. That made it more valuable than any mansion Nico could have offered me. The woman from the rental agency met me in the lobby. Her name was Claire, and she spoke quickly while guiding me through the building. She showed me the mailboxes, explained how the security code worked, and warned me that the elevator occasionally stopped between floors.

“I promise it sounds worse than it is,” she said with an apologetic smile. “Maintenance usually fixes it quickly.”

Usually. I almost laughed. Back home, one displeased call from Nico could have brought an entire team of engineers to replace the elevator before sunset. Here, I would have to telephone maintenance and wait like everyone else. I liked that thought more than I should have. The apartment was on the fourth floor. It contained one bedroom, a narrow kitchen, a small living area, and windows overlooking the wet street below. The furniture didn’t match, the kitchen table had scratches across its surface, and the bedroom wardrobe leaned slightly to one side.

“It’s perfect,” I said.

Claire appeared surprised. “You don’t want to look around first?” I already had. There were no cameras in the corners, no guards outside the door, and no man deciding when I could enter or leave.

“It’s exactly what I need.”

After she handed me the keys and left, silence filled the apartment. I stood in the centre of the living room, listening to the rain tap against the windows. The place smelled faintly of fresh paint and the lavender cleaning product someone had used before my arrival. This was supposed to be the beginning of my new life. So why did I suddenly want to cry? I sat on the floor beside my suitcases because unpacking felt impossible. For several minutes, I did nothing except breathe. The silence that had seemed peaceful moments earlier now felt enormous.

There would be no aunt calling me downstairs for dinner. No Uncle Angelo discussing business over the phone in his study. No Bianca entering my room without knocking because she needed help choosing a dress. And no Nico. My chest tightened. I hated that his absence was the one I felt most. After everything he had done, some disloyal part of my heart still expected him to walk through the door. I imagined the sound of his footsteps, the controlled anger in his face, and the way he would look around the small apartment with open disapproval.

You left Italy for this?

I could almost hear him saying it.

“Yes,” I whispered into the empty room. “I did.”

My voice sounded stronger than I felt. I opened my handbag and switched on my phone. Notifications appeared before the screen had fully loaded. Twenty-three missed calls. Nine from Nico. Six from Leon. The remaining calls belonged to my aunt, Uncle Angelo, and numbers I didn’t recognise. I ignored Nico’s messages and called my aunt first. She answered before the first ring had finished.

“Arie? Are you all right? Did you land? Why didn’t you call immediately?”

Despite myself, I smiled. “I landed safely. I’m at the apartment.”

“How is it?”

I looked at the scratched table and the wardrobe leaning against the bedroom wall.

“It’s lovely.”

“Are you sure? I still think you should have allowed me to find something better.”

“It’s mine,” I said quietly. “That makes it good enough.”

Her voice softened. “You sound tired.”

“I am.”

“Eat something and sleep. Your uncle has been walking around with his phone in his hand all day, pretending he isn’t worried.”

“Tell him I’m safe.”

“You can tell him yourself tomorrow.” She paused. “Bianca returned this morning.”

My fingers tightened around the phone.

“Oh.”

“She found your note.”

“Was she upset that I left without saying goodbye?”

“She was surprised. She asked why you changed your flight.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That your company wanted you earlier.”

The same lie I had given them.

“Thank you.”

There was another pause. I wondered whether my aunt could hear the fear in my voice even from thousands of miles away.

“Arie, is there something you aren’t telling me?”

My eyes burned. For one reckless moment, I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted to confess that I had loved Nico before he became Bianca’s husband. I wanted to tell her about the locked room, the kiss, and the way his ring had felt against my face. But the truth would destroy more than me.

“I’m only tired,” I said.

“All right. Call tomorrow.”

“I will. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

After ending the call, I found another message waiting.

Leon: Please answer me. I need to know you arrived safely.

I typed a short reply.

Me: I’m safe. Don’t tell Nico where I am.

Leon responded almost immediately.

Leon: Arie—

I switched off the phone before he could finish. Perhaps asking Leon to hide my location from his brother was unfair. Nico was not merely his brother; he was his Don. Leon’s loyalty belonged to him in ways I would never completely understand. Still, part of me wanted Leon to choose me just once. I spent the next two hours unpacking. I hung my clothes inside the uneven wardrobe, arranged toiletries in the bathroom, and placed my books on the narrow shelf beside the window.

The framed photograph of my father went on my bedside table. I touched the edge of the frame and studied his smiling face.

“I did it,” I told him. “I left.”

I wished he could tell me whether I had made the right choice. By evening, hunger finally overcame the sickness in my stomach. There was nothing in the kitchen, so I walked to a small grocery store at the end of the street. The rain had softened to a mist. I kept my hood over my head and moved quickly, still unaccustomed to walking alone after dark. Every engine behind me made my shoulders tense. Whenever someone moved too close, I expected a hand to close around my arm.

Nothing happened. I bought bread, pasta, coffee, fruit, and enough basic food to last several days. No one followed me through the aisles. No one reported what I purchased or asked when I planned to return. By the time I walked back carrying two heavy bags, my arms hurt. It felt wonderful. This was what freedom looked like—not private aircraft or diamonds, but carrying my own groceries through the rain because no one controlled where I went.

At the entrance to my building, I noticed a black car parked across the street. Its windows were tinted, and the engine appeared to be running. I stopped. The car looked like hundreds I had seen in Italy. Nico’s men always used dark vehicles that revealed nothing about the people inside. My pulse quickened as I stared at it. Then another resident pushed past me to enter the building, and the black car moved away from the pavement without anyone stepping out.

Coincidence. It had to be. Nico couldn’t already be here. Back inside my apartment, I locked the door and checked it twice. I prepared pasta but ate only a few mouthfuls before exhaustion took over. After showering, I changed into an old shirt and climbed into bed. For the first time in years, no one knew precisely where I was sleeping. At least, that was what I wanted to believe.

Rain continued tapping against the glass. I closed my eyes, but Nico’s face appeared immediately. I saw him standing at the altar and then inside the private room, his mouth against mine and his hand covering my voice. I rolled onto my side and pulled the blanket higher.

“You chose her,” I whispered. “Now leave me alone.”

Sleep came slowly.

A sharp knock woke me sometime after midnight. I sat upright, my heart slamming against my ribs. For several seconds, I wondered whether I had imagined it. Then the knock came again. Three slow, deliberate strikes. I climbed out of bed and moved toward the door without turning on the lights. My phone remained switched off on the kitchen counter, and I had nothing nearby that could be used as a weapon.

“Who is it?” I called.

No one answered. I looked through the peephole. The corridor was empty. My hand trembled as I unlocked the door but kept the security chain in place. When I opened it a few inches, cold air entered the apartment. There was no person outside. Only a small black box resting on the floor. Every instinct told me not to touch it. But I already recognised the gold emblem printed across its lid.

Contini.

My breath stopped. I opened the door and carried the box inside. There was no address label, no courier information, and no explanation of how it had reached my apartment. Beneath the lid lay a delicate gold chain. An emerald pendant caught the light. The necklace I had left inside my bedroom drawer in Italy. A folded card rested beneath it. My fingers shook as I opened it. Only one sentence had been written across the paper.

You can cross an ocean, Arie. You still belong to me.

There was no signature.

There didn’t need to be one.