Chapter 3

The next day, I began packing my things for our trip to the island.

I folded sundresses into my bag, tucked my passport into the side pocket next to the signed divorce papers, and pretended I was just a wife heading off on a romantic getaway with her devoted husband.

By late afternoon, we were cutting across the water on his yacht, the coastline shrinking behind us.

Alessio stood at the helm, one hand on the wheel, the wind tousling his dark hair. Every so often he would glance back at me with that half-smile of his. “This is the beginning of our escape. Just the two of us. No business, no family, no distractions.”

I nodded, pretending I was really happy.

The island soon emerged on the horizon. As the yacht glided toward the dock, I spotted something flickering on the beach—dozens of tiny flames, arranged in a semicircle around a table set for two.

Alessio killed the engine and helped me onto the dock, his hand warm and steady in mine. “Surprise,” he murmured, and led me down to the sand.

The table was draped in white linen. Every dish was my favorite.

He pulled out my chair, his eyes reflecting the candlelight. “I know things have been difficult,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “Your parents, the family pressures, all of it. But I want you to know something, Ivy. Even if your family doesn’t see your worth, I do. I will always stand by you.”

I looked at him. His jaw was strong, his eyes earnest, his mouth shaped into the gentlest curve of sincerity. Every word he spoke felt like a vow. But every word was actually a lie.

“Thank you,” I said, and the words tasted bitter. “That means everything to me.”

He smiled, visibly relieved, and raised his glass. “To us. To our second honeymoon.”

“To us,” I echoed, and drank.

He had just set his glass down and was reaching for the wine bottle to pour me another when his phone buzzed against the tablecloth.

The sound was sharp and intrusive. Alessio glanced at the screen and silenced it with a flick of his thumb.

The phone buzzed again. He silenced it again, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. “I swear, I told them—”

It buzzed a third time, insistent, the kind of call that would not be ignored.

I watched the flicker of indecision cross his features.

“You should get that,” I said, my voice perfectly even. “It might be your underboss. Something could be wrong.”

I already knew who was calling — he’d told his men to leave him alone. So there was only one person it could be: Hazel.

Alessio shook his head. “I made you a promise. Today is about us. No business.”

The buzzing suddenly stopped. Then his screen lit up with a notification. He picked up the phone, read the message, and furrowed his brows.

“What is it?” I asked on purpose.

He was already rising from his chair. “There’s a situation. One of our operations. It’s bad, Ivy. I need to go handle it in person.”

He rounded the table and cupped my face in both hands, his thumbs brushing my cheekbones. “I’ll be back before sunrise. I swear it. We’ll watch the dawn together.”

I looked up into his eyes. “You’re sure you can’t stay? Even just for dinner?”

Something flickered in his expression. Guilt, maybe. Or regret. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

He kissed me, and then he was striding up the beach toward the dock.

The yacht’s engine rumbled to life. I watched the boat shrink until it was a speck, then nothing at all.

I turned back to the table. The candles were still burning. Everything was exactly as it had been, except I was utterly alone.

I didn’t eat. I carried my wine glass down to the water’s edge and sat in the cool sand. I hugged my knees to my chest and let the wind whip my hair across my face.

I waited.

Midnight came and went. The candles on the table guttered and died one by one. Still, the horizon remained empty.

I pulled out my phone and opened Instagram.

Hazel’s most recent post was forty-five minutes old. It was a picture of a man’s hand, resting tenderly on a woman’s belly. On the cuff was a pair of silver cufflinks engraved with an intricate, interlocking pattern of vines.

I had designed those cufflinks myself. Two years ago, for Alessio’s birthday. I had wanted him to carry something of me wherever he went.

The caption read: “Thank you to my dearest for rushing to my side the moment I told you I wasn’t feeling well. You gave me and our baby a sense of safety I can’t put into words. We are so lucky to have you.”

I stared at the screen until the letters blurred. My heart hurt a lot when I confirmed that my husband was really staying with my sister.

My thumb hovered over Alessio’s contact. I called him.

The first time, it rang and rang and then went to voicemail. I hung up and called again. Same result. The third time, someone picked up just as I was about to give up.

“Hello, Ivy.” Hazel’s voice was sweet. She sounded quite pleased.

“Put Alessio on,” I said coldly.

“He’s a little occupied at the moment. Our baby was giving me trouble. He’s been so attentive. You’d be amazed at how quickly he dropped everything to come to us.”

A pause, filled with the soft rustle of what I imagined was her settling more comfortably into her pillows. “You know, Ivy, I’ve always told you—there isn’t a man in this world I can’t have if I want him. Alessio is no exception. And now that I’m carrying his child…”

She let the sentence trail off, pregnant with implication.

I said nothing.

“Here’s some advice,” Hazel continued. “Be sensible. File the papers. Walk away with whatever shred of dignity you have left. You’ve lost, Ivy.”

“You want Alessio?” My voice came out flat. “Fine. He’s yours.”

There was a beat of surprised silence. Hazel had expected tears. Or maybe a satisfying outburst.

“I’ve been patient,” I continued, my tone unchanged. “My entire life, I’ve let you take what you wanted and stepped aside. My parents’ affection. My boyfriends. My husband. You’ve helped yourself to all of it, and I’ve let you, because some part of me still believed that if I was good enough, I’d eventually have something to call my own.”

“Ivy—”

“But I’m done being patient.” I let the words hang in the air, cold and final. “I’m not going to let you walk all over me without paying the price again.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Hazel’s voice sharpened, losing its honeyed edge.

Instead of replying, I hung up.

I didn’t sleep and just watched the sky.

At five-seventeen in the morning, the sun breached the horizon.

The clouds flushed pink and coral and amber. The sky, which had held such darkness only an hour before, was now a cathedral of light.

But I was still alone. Alessio was nowhere to be seen.

Two hours later, Alessio finally arrived at the island. He stepped onto the planks, exhausted, his shirt wrinkled, his jaw shadowed with stubble.

The hospital trip had really worn him out—Hazel had alternated between tears and demands, and by the time the doctor reassured them both that the baby was fine, it had been nearly dawn. He had broken every speed limit getting back here.

The beach was empty. The table from the night before still stood on the sand, the food untouched and spoiled.

Alessio’s underboss, Marco, was waiting at the edge of the sand. His expression was tense.

“Where is my wife?” Alessio asked, still scanning the beach. “Is she in the villa?”

Marco stepped forward and held out a manila envelope. “She’s gone, boss.”

Alessio’s brows furrowed. “Gone where? Gone for a walk?”

“She took the motorboat about an hour ago. Left this in the villa.”

Alessio took the envelope and tore it open.

Inside were the divorce papers, signed and dated. Clipped to the top page was a small velvet pouch. He loosened the drawstring and tipped the contents into his palm.

A ring slipped out—the very emblem of the Donna.