Chapter 1

That evening, I'd just finished packing the last box of carving tools when Matteo came home.

He came through the door with the chill from outside still on him. When he saw me, he took my hand out of habit and frowned. "Why are your hands so cold?"

Then he took off his coat and draped it over my shoulders.

It was such a familiar gesture.

For a moment, it even took me back. Then I looked past his shoulder and saw Lia standing outside the door.

Matteo followed my gaze and turned, like he'd only just remembered there was someone else there. He reached out and brought her in. "Elena, this is Lia Conti. Her adoptive parents owe money to a casino, and they tried to hand her over to the collectors to pay it off. She's staying here for now. Once it's dealt with, I'll send her off."

He wasn't asking. He was telling me.

I slowly took the coat off my shoulders, laid it back over his arm, and looked at his chest.

"Her name is already inked over your heart. Do you really need to tell me who she is?"

Some of the tenderness left Matteo's face. "It's just to cover the scar. She said it looked too scary. The tattoo artist came up with it on the spot, and I didn't think much of it."

"On the spot. So he put her name there?"

"Elena." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, clearly getting impatient. "You really have to fight with me over something like this?"

Something like this.

Back then, he'd called that bullet our second wedding ring. He'd said that every time he saw the scar, he'd remember who brought him back.

Now that scar had another woman's name on it.

And to him, it was just something like this.

Lia suddenly stepped forward and tugged gently at Matteo's sleeve. "Matteo, it's all my fault. I'm the one who said the scar looked painful and suggested getting something inked over it. Don't fight with Elena."

I looked up.

In private, I only ever called him Matteo during our most intimate moments. In front of the Moretti family, I always called him Don Moretti or simply Moretti because his authority mattered to him more than anything.

But on her very first day in the house, this woman was already saying his name as intimately as I ever had.

And Matteo didn't correct her.

All at once, I had no more questions. I turned to go upstairs.

But Lia came after me and caught my arm. "Elena, wait."

She took a black velvet box out of her purse and opened it. Inside was the diamond ring from the auction.

"Matteo insisted on giving me this. Someone like me can't wear something this expensive. You should take it."

She sounded as though she were giving it up, but she kept one fingertip pressed against the most visible part of the band.

The hallmark of the Moretti family's private jeweler was stamped there.

Five years ago, Matteo personally picked out everything he gave me. He said the Moretti family could buy the most expensive jewelry in the city, but anything he gave me had to be one of a kind.

I looked at the ring for two seconds and pulled my arm free. "No, thanks. I don't take other people's hand-me-downs."

Lia's eyes went red.

Matteo frowned right away and stepped in front of her. "Enough. She was just trying to be nice and give you the ring. Do you have to humiliate her the minute she walks in?"

Then he grabbed the ring and shoved it into my palm.

The cold diamond dug into my hand.

I looked down at it and suddenly laughed.

"Matteo, we're done."

His expression faltered.

Before he could say anything, someone cried out in pain beside us.

Lia had backed into my toolbox and knocked it over. A long, thin carving knife slid off the edge of the table and plunged into the top of her foot.

Blood soaked into the pale rug.

She went white and sagged.

Matteo barely hesitated before he scooped her up.

"Whatever you have to say can wait till I get back."

He carried Lia toward the door.

At the same time, my phone buzzed.

"Helicopter is in the air. Arriving in 20 minutes."

I locked my screen, looked at Matteo's back, and said softly, "We have no future."

He stopped for half a second.

But Lia was gasping in his arms, saying it hurt, and he still didn't look back.