Chapter 4

"Catherine, are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"Sit down. Let me put some ointment on it."

Luca reached out, lifted me, and set me on the bed. I wanted to pull away, but the pain left me with no strength to resist.

He unwrapped the towel and carefully spread the ointment over my swollen ankle. I watched his focused expression, and my heart tightened.

Three years ago, on a mission, Luca and I were ambushed by a rival gang. He'd thrown himself in front of me and taken four bullets to his left leg. I'd sat by his bed, eyes red, wrapping his wounds, choking back tears as I asked:

"Does it hurt?"

Luca had brushed my forehead and smiled. "Not at all. Catherine, I love you. How could protecting the one I love ever hurt?"

Now he sat by my bed again, looking at me. But the love in his eyes was gone. I couldn't find it anymore.

"Luca."

After a long pause, I forced the words out. "I'm not going to be your Donna anymore, am I?"

His hand froze mid-motion. Panic flickered across his face.

"Catherine, of course you are. Who told you that?"

"Just answer me. Yes or no."

Luca stood up, his voice thick with guilt. "Catherine, you've always been my first choice. It's just that there are still people in the family who aren't convinced. I need to work on them, get everyone on board."

"Catherine, I'm not just your lover. I'm the Don of this whole family. There's so much more I have to consider..."

His eyes kept darting away from mine. In that second, I understood everything.

The butler walked in. "Don, Miss Liliana was moving things in the crafting room and dropped something on her foot. You should come see her."

Luca's composure shattered. "What happened? Is it serious? I'm on my way."

He shot up and rushed for the door, dropping the ointment on the floor. Left me there, alone.

The faint warmth that had started to kindle in my chest went out completely.

A few minutes later, Liliana sent a photo. Luca had her on his lap, gently rubbing her foot.

Then a message popped up.

"Mad, aren't you? Luca and I are engaged. I'm the future Donna. As for you, crawl back to New York. This family has no use for a useless花瓶 like you."

I stared at the screen. No anger. No hurt.

Before, I would've fired back without hesitation. But now, looking at that discarded tube of ointment on the floor, I felt only one thing.

What a waste.

I deleted the message. Pretended I'd seen nothing. Then I picked up my suitcase, slipped out the back door, and left without a sound.

By the time I climbed into my father's contact's SUV, the snow outside was blinding. The heater was cranked high, but I still felt cold all the way through.

My phone buzzed. The family group chat.

Liliana's cousin posted a video.

In it, the wedding gown I'd poured three years of my life into lay crumpled on the wine-stained floor. Liliana held a pair of sharp shears, laughing as she sliced it to shreds. White silk scattered like snowflakes, trampled under heels and leather shoes.

The caption read: "That vixen's handiwork. Looked filthy from the start!"

The chat exploded with approving laughter. All of them, in Italian, mocking the outsider woman who'd never belonged.

I watched the video. From start to finish. Anger flared, then faded to nothing.

I couldn't feel it anymore.

I left the group chat.

Then Luca's text came through.

"Liliana accidentally spilled some champagne on your gown while she was popping the bottles for her party. It's just a dress. She didn't mean it. I'll have the maids buy you a new one. After Liliana's celebration wraps up, I'll take you to the beach this weekend to make up for it."

I stared at those cold, arrogant words. How absurd.

Three years of my soul, and he thought a weekend trip could make it even.

He still stood so high above me. Still believed all he had to do was wave, and I'd come running back, grateful and obedient.

My fingers were stiff from the cold, but I typed anyway.

"Don't bother."

I hit send. Blocked his number. Turned off my phone.

The snow fell harder, and Luca's estate grew smaller in the distance. Like every memory of these three years was being torn apart, piece by piece, swallowed by the wind.