No Longer Your Perfect Tool

The night Enzo was made boss of the Moretti family, I gave him my virginity. He was the heir I'd been promised to since before I could speak.

We kissed against the floor-to-ceiling windows, tangled in the humid, twilight heat...

His rough, urgent hands hurt me, but I didn't pull away.

Even the pain felt sacred, a sacrifice I was willing to make for love.

Lost in the heat of the moment, he promised me a pair of the most beautiful crystal shoes, so I could dance the opening waltz with him at his coronation ceremony the next day.

The first dance is always reserved for the new boss and his future bride.

I cried with joy, believing my years of secret pining and patient waiting would finally culminate in a fairytale ending.

But I was wrong. So terribly wrong.

The next morning, I dragged my aching body out to get his favorite espresso, only to overhear the guys joking as I returned:

"So you finally popped the family cherry, huh? How was Vivian on your first night as boss?"

Enzo's voice was lazy, mocking. "Face of an angel, body of a devil. She's a hot little viper in bed."

The room erupted in sleazy whistles. "So, you really gonna marry her, young boss?"

"Are you kidding me?" Enzo scoffed. "Vivian's just a warm-up. Once I get some practice in, I'll go tame the Falcone ice princess. When I get bored, I can always circle back and put a ring on her."

I stood frozen in the doorway, my vision blurring, the coffee cup trembling in my hand.

Before the world faded to black, I sent a coded message to the Don: "Uncle Romano, for the promotion in three days, get me a transfer. As far away from Enzo as possible."

...

Enzo's words were a blast of arctic air in the suffocating June heat, freezing the blood in my veins. I couldn't stop shivering.

I retreated to the bedroom without a sound. Outside the massive window, the neon lights of the city began to flicker to life. I leaned against the cool glass, tears sliding silently down my cheeks.

Last night replayed in my mind.

Enzo's hands roaming my body, hot and possessive. His lips brushing my ear, his voice a raw whisper. "Vivian, you're mine. You'll always be my only one."

I had nearly melted in his arms. I thought ten years of devotion had finally paid off.

How laughable.

I finally understood that for a man like Enzo, sex, love, and power were three entirely different things. He could take what he wanted from my body while plotting his conquest of the Falcone princess. Those sweet nothings were just cheap tricks to lube up his "practice run."

My phone vibrated. An encrypted message from Marco, Enzo's underboss.

[Boss says to handle it. Package at the door.]

I stared at the screen, my mind blank.

I pushed the bedroom door open. At the end of the hall sat a small black bag.

The morning-after pill. And a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills.

Standard procedure for paying off a whore.

I picked up the bag, my fingers trembling. Last night, he had held me and promised he would take care of everything. "Vivian, you just need to worry about protecting yourself. Let a man handle the rest."

Now, "handling the rest" was nothing more than a cold text from his underboss.

He couldn't even face me.

I walked into the bathroom and tore open the box. A small white pill sat in my palm. What I had mistaken for tender care was just routine.

I threw the pill and the cash into the toilet.

And flushed.

Everything disappeared into the vortex. Including the last shred of my illusions.

Back in the living room, I collapsed onto the Persian rug—the one I"d spent a month sourcing for him. Just like everything else I had done for him.

I was only eighteen when my father put the Moretti family's finances in my hands.

"Vivian," he'd said, "remember, our value is in making every dollar this family has bleed for us."

I remembered.

I built the financial empire that paved Enzo's path to power. Every transaction passed through my hands. Every number was etched into my brain.

I turned Enzo from a soldier into the Don with a net worth in the tens of millions.

And what did he do? He used me. On his balance sheets, and in his bed.

My phone screen lit up. Flight information.

Three days from now. To Los Angeles.

I gave myself 72 hours.

72 hours to say a final goodbye to this city. And to make a clean break from Enzo Moretti.

The city that never sleeps was finally quiet, but for me, the night was endless. I watched the distant lights go out, one by one, just like the warmth in my heart, fading to nothing.

From now on, I answered to no one but myself.