Chapter 3

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The next morning, I went to my shift at a café on Madison Avenue.

Most days, I worked behind the counter. But the café was launching a summer menu, so my manager handed me a giant coffee-cup costume and sent me outside with coupons.

By noon, the Manhattan heat had turned the costume into an oven.

I slipped behind the building, pulled off the foam head, and raised a bottle of water to my lips.

“Valentina?”

I froze.

My family stood near the entrance to an Italian boutique across the street.

Father and Mother were there, along with Dante, Luca, and Bianca. This was probably another shopping trip for Bianca.

Dante and Luca carried several designer bags between them.

Bianca carried nothing. She never had to.

Mother stared at my uniform, then at the ridiculous costume beside me. Surprise crossed her face first, followed by something that almost looked like concern.

“What are you doing here?” She hurried toward me. “You’re soaked with sweat.”

“Working.”

“Working?” Her brows drew together. “Valentina, your account receives eight thousand dollars every month. Why would you need a job?”

“It used to.”

Dante’s expression hardened. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Only five hundred dollars has reached my account each month since January.”

“That’s impossible,” Mother said. “The family office transfers the full amount automatically.”

“They transfer it,” I replied. “Just not to me.”

I had discovered the missing money four months ago.

When I confronted Mr. Russo, the manager of our family accounts, he had looked deeply uncomfortable.

Bianca had told him I had agreed to give her most of my allowance. Since she lived at the estate and I didn’t, he had believed her.

I told Mother, Father, and Dante immediately.

Bianca cried and insisted it had been a misunderstanding.

My family decided I was using the money as an excuse to accuse her—and force my way back into the estate.

After that, I stopped asking.

I found the café job instead.

“You already told us this story,” Dante said coldly. “Why are you still lying about it?”

“I’m not.”

Bianca moved closer to Mother.

“Mr. Russo made a mistake, and I already apologized for the misunderstanding,” she said softly. “I suppose my apology still wasn’t enough for Valentina.”

Mother touched her arm reassuringly before turning back to me.

“If you were genuinely struggling, you should have come to me.”

“I did.”

But no one had believed me.

They never questioned Mr. Russo or asked to see the account records. Bianca gave them her version of the story, and that was all the proof they needed.

Luca had been silent the entire time.

I looked at him, still stupidly hoping he would remember the nights I had called him because I couldn’t afford another cab home.

Instead, he sighed.

“Val, you’re taking this too far.”

My fingers tightened around the water bottle.

“You made an accusation,” he said. “That isn’t the same as explaining that you needed help.”

His voice was calm and reasonable—the voice people used when they wanted cruelty to sound like common sense.

“Mr. Russo made a mistake. You turned it into proof that your entire family was against you. If you really need financial support, you could have called your mother again.”

Luca’s jaw tightened.

“This isn’t the place for a scene. Apologize to your mother, and we can move past it.”

I stared at him.

Even if I showed them the account records, nothing would change.

Bianca hadn’t taken my money. Mr. Russo had simply misunderstood her.

And somehow, I should have explained everything more clearly.

There was nothing left for me to say. I picked up the foam head.

“You should go. I have to get back to work.”

I pulled it over my face, shutting them out.

The world became dark and unbearably hot.

Behind me, Bianca’s breathing suddenly turned sharp.

“I’m so sorry—” she gasped. “You’re angry with me.”

I turned instinctively.

Bianca stumbled backward into a metal display stand. I reached for her, but Dante shoved between us and pulled her away.

The force sent me into the brick wall.

My forehead struck the hard frame inside the costume.

Pain exploded behind my eyes.

I caught myself against the wall, dizzy and half-blind.

“Easy, Bianca,” Luca murmured behind me. “Look at me. Breathe.”

Mother was already calling for water.

Father ordered one of the guards to bring the car around.

No one asked whether I was hurt.

I slipped through the café’s back door before they could see me cry.

By the end of my shift, a dark bruise had risen across my forehead.

At least it was payday.

Two more days. Then I would leave this place behind and board my flight to Boston. I just needed this paycheck to make it there.

I had asked to be paid in cash because the Bellini family office still monitored my bank account.

My manager handed me an envelope containing two weeks of wages, and I headed toward a halal cart a few blocks away.

All I wanted was chicken over rice and a cold lemonade.

For the first time that day, I almost smiled.

Then the vendor held one of my bills up to the light.

His expression darkened.

“Are you trying to scam me?”

“What?”

“They’re all counterfeit.”

People nearby began turning to stare.

The vendor pointed at me, his voice rising over the sidewalk.

“You come to my cart with fake money and expect me not to notice? Get out of here before I call the cops!”