Chapter 2

At six in the morning, the sky was barely turning bright when I walked into the living room with a cup of coffee. The heat from the mug burned my palm, yet somehow my chest felt frozen stiff.

Giovanna was already sitting on Enzo’s lap, twirling my thorned rose pendant between her fingers. It was my coming-of-age gift from Papa. I’d torn the whole place apart looking for it last week and never found it. Now, she dangled it by the chain, giving me a smile sharp enough to cut me.

“Morning, Lily. Enzo said this pendant belongs to me now.”

“Can you give it back?” I tightened my grip on the cup, knuckles going white. The rim dug painfully into my palm, and my own voice shook.

She let out a snort and pushed up her sleeve. A twisted burn scar snaked down her arm from elbow to wrist.

“I got this ten years ago from saving Enzo. Do you have anything like that?”

She leaned closer, her perfume brushing against me. It was her last year’s birthday gift from me—the same perfume Enzo told me to buy because he said Giovanna would love it.

Enzo helped her off his lap, trying to sound soothing. “Enough.”

Then, he turned to me, his tone colder. “Giovanna’s staying in the master bedroom. It’s easier for us to discuss the partnership. You’ll stay in the guest room for a few days. Once the deal with the Camorra is done, things will go back to normal.”

“Okay.” I nodded without arguing and walked into the guest room.

The moment the door clicked shut, tears burned behind my eyes, but I didn’t let a single one fall.

I reached into the hidden compartment of the wardrobe and took out a metal box. Inside were the things he’d given me over the past three years. There was a silver rose brooch with our initials carved into the pin, a few empty bullet casings from our first trip to the shooting range that he’d said we should keep as souvenirs, and a faded handkerchief, blood-stained with dark red.

Three years ago, during a shootout at the docks, he took a bullet for me. Back then, he’d told me, “Keep this. It’s proof I’ll protect you for the rest of my life.”

I pinned the brooch to the inside of my coat, right above my heart, as if holding on to a tiny bit of warmth. I folded the handkerchief into a neat square and slipped it into the side pocket of my backpack, while the casings went into the lining of my suitcase. Then, I reached under the bed for the stash of cash, threading it into the coat’s inner seams, every stitch small and tight.

By evening, Enzo walked in carrying a plate of raspberry macarons. They used to be my favorite, and he used to drive halfway across the city just to get them.

“Don’t be upset. My feelings for you are real,” he said, softer this time. “Once the deal with the Camorra is settled, I’ll cut things off with Giovanna.”

I picked up one macaron and took a bite. The sweetness tasted bitter, like swallowing a needle dipped in sugar, scraping down my throat.

“I understand. You should go. She’s waiting in the living room,” I said, keeping my voice calm, hiding everything underneath.

He let out a relieved breath and left, not noticing that I hadn’t taken a second bite.

I leaned toward the door and peered through the thin crack. The living room lights were still on. Enzo sat on the couch, with Giovanna curled against him.

I spat the macaron into the trash. The last bit of hope in my chest dissolved with that sugary taste.