2

Even after they destroyed my wine cellar, it wasn't over.

The night of the police raid, Luca's most trusted right-hand man, Matteo Bianchi, was killed.

Because Luca had named me as the suspect, his crew naturally blamed me.

I stayed home, waiting for them to clear my name. But even by the day of Matteo's funeral, Luca hadn't contacted me once.

I went to the church anyway, because Matteo had helped me so much.

Whenever Luca was busy, Matteo ran errands to the winery for me and went with me to the church to finalize the wedding arrangements.

Not long ago, he'd stood in front of me laughing. He'd said that on my wedding day, he would sit as far from the wine as possible so Luca couldn't make him drink for him again. Now he lay cold in a coffin.

I'd barely reached the top of the steps when Matteo's mother recognized me.

She had been so unsteady that others were holding her up. The moment she saw me, she tore free, rushed over, snatched the flowers from my arms, and threw them to the ground. "How dare you show up here! Yesterday I dressed him for burial, and his chest was covered in blood... Just the other day, he was still telling me about your wedding. He was so young..."

Before I could react, she slapped me across the face.

She sobbed so hard she could barely breathe, her grip tightening around my hand. "They all say you're the one who leaked it! He's dead because of you! Why weren't you the one who died?!"

Matteo's younger brother, Dino Bianchi, blocked the church doors. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, and he made no attempt to hide his hatred. "You're not welcome here!"

People inside the church turned to stare, and muttered curses rippled through the church.

I didn't pull away from Matteo's mother. She had just lost her son. I couldn't blame her.

But Luca was inside. He knew I hadn't leaked the address. All he had to do was come out and say they hadn't identified the person responsible yet and that the search of my farm had turned up nothing. At least then, everyone would know there was no proof that I'd gotten Matteo killed.

But Sofia came out first. "Showing up here today is only going to make her feel worse."

I faced all those familiar faces in the church and defended myself. "They've already searched my farm, and they've checked my phone and my books. If you don't want me to come in today, I'll leave, but I had nothing to do with the leak."

Sofia frowned. "Do you really need to bring this up today?"

Then Luca came out of the church and stepped between us.

He gently told someone to help Matteo's mother back inside. Then he turned to me and ordered me home. "Matteo just died. Seeing you will only upset them more. I'll keep investigating, but don't confront them today."

I looked at him for a few seconds.

While everyone called me a murderer, I'd waited for him to come out.

But when he finally stood before me, his first words were still an order to leave.

I finally understood that waiting for him to defend me was pointless. I had to clear my own name.

I bent down, picked up the flowers, and placed them on the stone wall outside the church. "These are for Matteo."

Then I walked down the steps without looking back at Luca.

The phone rang soon after I got home. It was Luca.

"I've called off the wedding for now." He tried to sound soothing, but his voice grated on me. "Everyone's watching you right now. Going ahead with the wedding would only make things worse. Once we get to the bottom of the leak, we'll set a new date."

His words sounded just like what he'd told me a few days earlier—that it was just a routine investigation.

Whenever something went wrong, he made every decision for me, then promised it would all be over soon.

The wedding was no different. He'd canceled the church booking and the reception without even asking me first.

Luca kept making promises on the other end of the line. "Once this blows over, I'll give you the perfect wedding."

The whole thing suddenly seemed ridiculous.

He was still convinced that once this trouble passed and he chose a new date, I would marry him as if nothing had happened.

I stopped listening. "Got it."

After hanging up, I scrolled through my contacts and found a number I hadn't called or texted in years.

The year I turned 18, when my adoptive father told me the truth about where I came from, he also gave me this number.

He said my birth parents had always known where I was and had kept a way out of Sicily open for me.

But their identities made it impossible to acknowledge our relationship publicly, and I'd never wanted anything from them anyway.

I sent a text. "Can you arrange for me to leave Sicily?"

The reply came almost immediately. "Anytime."

I stared at that single word for a long time and began seriously imagining what my life might look like outside Sicily.