LOGINElena Rossi has spent ten years hating Dante Moretti. She believes he killed her father and tore her family apart. Now she cleans his penthouse under a fake name, hiding her face and who she really is. Her plan is simple: get close, find his weakness, make him pay. Around her neck she wears a silver locket she doesn't understand — inside, a faded photo of a young man she doesn't recognize. Dante Moretti runs New York with cold precision. Ten years ago he lost the only woman he ever loved, and buried his heart along with her. Then Elena walks into his penthouse. He catches her trying to steal from him. He should kill her. Instead, he keeps her close. Something about her won't leave him alone — her scent, her voice, the fire in her eyes when she fights him. His heart remembers what his mind can't. Forced together, Elena's hate starts to crack. Her body remembers his touch. Her nightmares fill with a man with sad eyes, whispering her name. When she opens the hidden compartment in her locket, she finds a note: "If you find this, it means I am gone. But my love is not. Come back to me, Elena. I am waiting." Her world shatters. Her uncle Victor erased her memory. He killed her father — and framed Dante for it. Elena and Dante join forces to bring Victor down. In the end, her memories return in full. She chooses love over revenge. Together, they build a new future, ruling both families with strength and mercy. Six months later, Elena stands in the yellow nursery, pregnant with Dante's child. He wraps his arms around her. "We were enemies. We were strangers. We fell in love twice. And we lived."
View MoreThe letter doesn't show up. Not that day, not the next. Elena checks the mail slot every morning like it might bite her, and every morning there's nothing in there but bills and wedding catalogs and the odd sympathy card from someone who doesn't really get what they're being sympathetic about."Still nothing," she tells Dante on the third morning, shutting the mailbox a little harder than she means to."It'll come when it comes." He's watching her from the kitchen doorway, coffee in hand. "You don't have to stand guard over that mailbox, Elena. Waiting for it isn't going to speed it up any.""I know." She rubs at her temple. "I just hate not knowing what he's got planned. Even locked up, he's still finding ways to get inside my head.""So don't let him." Dante crosses the kitchen, sets his cup down, takes both her hands in his. "Give yourself something else to think about. Something that's actually yours."She thinks about that a second, and something in her straightens up, like a dec
The penthouse feels different the morning after the verdict. Quieter, somehow, like the whole place has finally let out a breath it's been holding for weeks.The light coming through the tall windows looks softer than usual, or maybe Elena's just imagining that part. Maybe it's just an ordinary morning and her whole body has simply forgotten what one of those feels like.She wakes before Dante does. Lies there a minute, just watching the ceiling, waiting for the familiar knot of dread to show up the way it has every single morning for weeks now. It doesn't come. There's just some strange, unfamiliar kind of calm sitting where the fear used to live, and she almost doesn't trust it."You're staring at the ceiling again," Dante mumbles beside her, eyes still shut, voice thick with sleep."Keep waiting to feel something bad. Some new disaster.""And?""Nothing." She turns onto her side to look at him properly. "It's actually a good morning. I don't really know what to do with that."He cr
The name that comes back on the phone call isn't the one anyone wanted."A paralegal," Marco says, hanging up, dragging a hand down his face. "Low-level. Processed the transfer paperwork eighteen months ago because it came through with the right signatures, the right stamps.She had no idea whose money she was moving. Just followed orders from a partner who left the firm not long after.""Which partner?" Dante asks."Retired. Moved to Portugal two years back. Nobody's heard from him since." Marco shakes his head. "It's a dead end, Dante. A real one this time. Not a lie. She had no clue what she was part of."Elena lets out a breath, some of the tension leaving her shoulders, though not all of it. "So it's not someone still inside the family. Not right now.""Not that we can prove." Marco's voice carries a warning under the relief. "But somebody set that transfer up on purpose, years back, and used our own people to do it without anyone noticing. That's still worth losing sleep over."
Second week of the trial starts with an empty seat.Elena spots it before the judge even walks in — third row back, aisle side, a coat still slung over the chair like whoever left it plans on coming right back.A man's sat there every single day so far. Same gray coat. Same little notepad he never stops writing in, even during the boring parts, especially during the boring parts.Today the seat's just sitting there, empty, coat and all, like a held breath nobody's letting out."Who's that guy?" she whispers to Dante, nodding toward the empty chair."No idea." He's frowning at it too, the same small crease between his eyebrows he gets when something doesn't sit right with him."Been here since day three, maybe four. Always writing something down. Never looks up much.""Reporter, maybe?""Maybe." He doesn't say it like he believes it.The bailiff calls the room to order before either of them can think much more on it, and the day gets moving — a forensic accountant up on the stand now,
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