Chapter 2

I sent my resignation to Moretti Shipping's head of human resources before my car cleared the hotel drive.

She called almost immediately. "You're resigning as chief risk officer? Do your father and Matteo know?"

"They'll know tomorrow."

"Elena, the port accounts, alliance contracts, and security insurance all sit with you. There's no way you can hand over six years of work in four days."

"I've kept current backups since the day I took the job. You'll have the index, access list, and contingency files before midnight."

She went quiet. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "Are you sure about this?"

"I've never been more sure."

After I ended the call, the family group chat lit up fast enough to blur the screen. It had once been called The Moretti Family. Nine months ago, Bianca renamed it Help Our Princess Remember.

[Mom: Why did you leave without dinner?]

[Matteo: Bianca keeps asking for you. Tonight mattered to her. Did you really have to throw a fit now?]

[Dad: Family business stays in the family. Don't embarrass us in front of outsiders.]

The last message came from Adrian.

[Tonight was only a ceremony to keep Bianca calm. Just go along with me this once. When this is over, I’ll give you the real wedding you deserve—twice as big.]

I stared at his message for a few seconds and left the group.

The lakefront safe house still had a backup mechanical key because I had insisted no secure home should rely entirely on electronics. It was the only reason I could get through my own front door.

Dark green wallpaper had once covered the foyer. Now the walls were pale gold. The framed port maps I had restored were gone, replaced by photographs of Bianca at childhood ballet competitions.

My vinyl collection had vanished from the living room. Scented candles crowded the cabinet beside my turntable, all of them the powdery floral kind that made my head ache. In the glass conservatory, the rosemary and silver eucalyptus I had planted were gone. White hydrangeas filled every bed.

My life had been erased without a fight, one tasteful change at a time.

Upstairs, I pulled a suitcase from the closet. Two suits, a cashmere coat, and several pairs of work shoes were all that remained on my side. Months earlier, my mother had put the rest in storage because seeing another woman's clothes in the house might confuse Bianca.

The bottom drawer of my nightstand held a cedar box filled with Adrian's letters.

He had written the first on my twenty-second birthday.

[When I take over the De Luca family, the first thing I'll do is walk you through every door in this city with your hand in mine.]

The latest letter was dated two months ago.

[Wait a little longer. Once she's stable, I'll return everything they've taken from you. Even me.]

I closed the lid and set the box in the brass wastebasket beside the fireplace. A promise stopped being precious the moment the person who made it chose not to keep it.

My suitcase wasn’t full when headlights swept across the windows. My father and Matteo stepped out of the first SUV, my mother behind them. Adrian came through the door last, one arm around Bianca’s waist as she stumbled in on silver heels, drunk enough to miss the threshold.

Adrian released her as soon as he saw me and offered an explanation I hadn’t asked for. “She had too much champagne. I couldn’t leave her at the hotel.”

Bianca lifted her head, her eyes glassy and annoyed. “Hey. I’m your wife. Why do you care what she thinks?”

Adrian’s mouth tightened. He didn’t correct her; with everyone terrified of upsetting her, silence was easier.

Bianca gave a smug little huff and pointed at me. “Elena, you’ve been crashing at our place for months. Adrian and I are married now, and this arrangement is getting weird. It’s time you found somewhere else to stay.”

I almost laughed.

Adrian and I had bought this house three years earlier. I had chosen everything, from the reinforced windows to the exact angle of the dining table.

Bianca had lived here for nine months, yet she already spoke as if I were a guest she could evict.

Any trace of amusement left my face.

My mother rushed to smooth over the insult. "She isn't asking you to leave. There's a guest room on the lower level. You can stay there and help if Bianca has trouble during the night."

"Her medication is due every six hours," Matteo added. "You're good with schedules. We'd all feel better if you handled it."

My father spoke as though the matter were settled. "Once her memory returns, you can move back into the main bedroom."

They looked at me as if offering me a basement room and the privilege of medicating the woman living my life counted as generosity.

Adrian's jaw tightened. "That's enough. Elena isn't her nurse."

I nodded. “You’re right. I’m not her nurse, so there’s no need to make this complicated. I’ll leave now.”

Adrian crossed the room and reached for my suitcase handle. Before he could close his hand around it, Bianca stumbled behind him and sent the crystal decanter crashing off the side table.

My mother cried out. In an instant, everyone rushed to steady my sister and check whether she had cut herself on the glass.

Adrian looked back at me. Apology clouded his eyes, followed by the plea I had learned to read without words: please wait a little longer.

I let him believe I would.

While they fussed over Bianca’s scraped palm and blamed the champagne, I rolled my suitcase through the front door.

I didn’t look back.