Mag-log inVictoria closed the front door carefully and locked it. Then she grabbed the wine bottle from the counter, poured herself a glass, and sat down across from Elena.
“Start from the beginning,” she said. Her voice was steady, but her dark eyes were sharp with concern. “And don’t leave anything out.”
Elena told her everything. The phone call. Isabelle’s voice on the speaker. Marcus’s words, nothing else matters. The box of photos hidden in his office. The recent pictures prove Isabelle had been alive for months.
Victoria listened without interrupting, her expression getting darker with every detail. When Elena finished, her friend drained her wine glass in one long swallow.
“That son of a bitch,” Victoria said quietly. Then louder: “That lying, manipulative son of a bitch.”
Elena’s laugh came out bitter. “I was so stupid. Five years, Vic. Five years I thought if I just tried harder…”
“Stop.” Victoria reached across the table and grabbed Elena’s hand. “You weren’t stupid. You were in love with someone who didn’t deserve it. That’s not the same thing.”
“Feels the same.”
“It’s not.” Victoria squeezed her hand hard. “Elena, listen to me. Marcus is the one who’s broken, not you. You gave him everything, and he threw it away for a ghost. That says nothing about you and everything about him.”
Elena wanted to believe that. But the voice in her head, the one that had been getting louder for five years, kept whispering that she wasn’t enough. That if she’d been better, prettier, more like Isabelle, maybe Marcus would have loved her.
Victoria seemed to read her mind. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. Marcus married you knowing he was still in love with someone else. That’s on him, not you.”
“He married me because I looked like her.” Elena said it out loud for the first time. “That’s why he noticed me at that gala. That’s why he asked me out. I look enough like Isabelle to be a substitute.”
She’d always known it on some level. The way Marcus would stare at her sometimes, like he was seeing someone else. The way he’d get angry when she cut her hair or wore the wrong color. The way he’d never really seen her at all.
Victoria was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, carefully, “I’ve suspected that for a while.”
Elena’s head snapped up. “What?”
“I’m sorry, I should have said something, but I…” Victoria ran her hand through her short black hair. “I saw a photo of Isabelle once. Last year, when I borrowed Marcus’s laptop to check my email. He had a folder on his desktop labeled ‘IL.’ I clicked it by accident, and…” She trailed off. “You could be sisters, Elena. The resemblance is that strong.”
Something cold settled in Elena’s stomach. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“I tried!” Victoria’s voice rose. “I dropped hints. I asked if you were happy. I suggested marriage counseling. But every time I got close to saying something, you’d defend him. You’d make excuses. And I thought—” She stopped, her voice breaking. “I thought if I told you outright, you’d hate me for it. I thought you’d choose him over me.”
The hurt in her friend’s voice made Elena’s anger deflate. Victoria had been there for her through everything. Every forgotten anniversary, every canceled plan, every moment of loneliness. She’d been Elena’s only real friend while Marcus systematically isolated her from everyone else.
“I wouldn’t have believed you,” Elena admitted quietly. “Not last year. I was still in denial.”
“And now?”
“Now I heard him say it himself. Nothing else matters compared to Isabelle.” Elena took another drink of wine. “I can’t un-hear that, Vic. I can’t pretend anymore.”
“Good.” Victoria’s voice was fierce. “You shouldn’t pretend. You should get angry. You should hire a lawyer and take him for everything he’s worth.”
“I need information first.” Elena pulled out her phone and showed Victoria the photos she’d taken. “I need to know what Isabelle’s been doing. Where she’s been. Why she faked her death. And I need to know if Marcus was in on it from the beginning.”
Victoria scrolled through the photos, her expression getting darker. “Some of these are recent. Like, last week recent.”
“I know.”
“He’s been tracking her. Stalking her, maybe.”
“Or they’ve been in contact longer than three weeks, and he’s just really good at lying.” Elena’s voice was hollow. “Either way, he’s been planning this. Planning to leave me for her.”
“Then let him go.” Victoria put the phone down and grabbed both of Elena’s hands. “Let him go, take half of everything he owns, and build a better life. You’re only twenty-seven, Elena. You have your whole life ahead of you.”
“I don’t want half of his things.” Elena pulled her hands away. “I want to know the truth first. I want to know exactly what I’m dealing with before I make any moves.”
“So you’re hiring an investigator.”
“Do you know anyone?”
Victoria was quiet for a moment, chewing her lip. Then she said carefully, “I might know someone. But Elena, if you do this—if you start digging—you need to be ready for what you might find. Sometimes the truth is worse than you imagined.”
“It can’t be worse than what I’m already thinking.”
“You’d be surprised.” Victoria pulled out her phone. “There’s something else I need to tell you. Something I probably should have mentioned before, but I didn’t think it mattered until now.”
Elena’s stomach dropped. “What?”
“Isabelle Laurent didn’t just disappear. I did some research after I saw those photos last year—just curiosity, I told myself.” Victoria scrolled through her phone. “Six months after she supposedly died, she married a man named Harrison Laurent. He was eighty-three years old and worth about two billion dollars.”
“She faked her death to marry a rich old man?” Elena felt sick. “That’s…”
“It gets worse. Harrison Laurent died six months ago. Heart attack, supposedly. Left everything to his widow—with one condition.” Victoria looked up from her phone. “If Isabelle remarries within five years of his death, the entire fortune goes to charity. But if she stays single, she keeps it all.”
The pieces clicked into place in Elena’s mind. “So she can’t marry Marcus.”
When she looked at the stick, two pink lines stared back at her.Positive.Elena sank onto the closed toilet seat, test clutched in her hand. A baby. She was going to have a baby.Dante's baby.She should feel scared. Overwhelmed. This was terrible timing—her divorce wasn't final, Marcus was stalking her, her whole life was in chaos.But instead, Elena felt...happy. Light. Like something that had been missing finally clicked into place.She wanted this baby. Desperately.When she walked back into the exam room, Dante read the answer on her face before she said anything."Pregnant," Elena whispered, holding up the test.For a moment, Dante didn't react. Then his face transformed—shock, joy, wonder, and something fiercer. Something protective and possessive and almost frightening in its intensity."Mine," he said hoarsely. "A baby. Our baby.""Is this—are you okay with this?" Elena asked nervously. "I know it's fast and complicated and—"Dante crossed to her in two strides and swept her
The guard grabbed Marcus's arm. "Time to go, sir."Marcus jerked away. "Get your hands off me. I'm not done—"Three more guards appeared. They surrounded Marcus, their intent clear."Last chance," Alessandro said. "Leave on your own, or leave bleeding. Your choice."Marcus looked up at the balcony again. Elena was gone. The curtains fluttered where she'd been standing.Something broke inside him. Some last vestige of hope or pride or sanity."This isn't over," Marcus said to Alessandro. "She's still my wife. We're not divorced yet. I have legal rights—""Your legal rights mean nothing here. This is Italy. My country. My territory. My rules." Alessandro smiled, but it was the smile of a shark. "And here, my rule is simple: Stay away from my sister. Or face consequences you can't even imagine."The guards mo
Marcus Thorne stepped off the plane in Rome feeling like a man with nothing left to lose. The fourteen-hour flight had given him too much time to think, to plan, to imagine all the ways he'd make Elena see reason.She was confused. That was the only explanation. She'd been manipulated by Dante Accardi, turned against Marcus by slick words and false promises. Once Marcus got her away from that Italian gangster, she'd remember who she really belonged to.At least, that's what Marcus told himself.The private investigator Marcus hired was waiting at baggage claim. His name was Frank Mitchell, and he looked exactly like what he was—an ex-cop who'd turned to private work after too many complaints about his methods."Mr. Thorne." Frank shook his hand. "Got the rental car ready. But before we head to Sicily, there's something you need to see.""What?"Frank pu
They gathered in Dante's study—Elena, Dante, Alessandro, and Marco, Dante's cousin and second-in-command. Maps and documents covered the large mahogany desk."Marcus lands in Rome tomorrow," Alessandro said, pointing to a flight manifest. "From there, he's planning to rent a car and drive here. He's not being subtle—made the reservation under his own name.""He wants us to know he's coming," Dante observed. "Trying to intimidate us.""Won't work. But it does tell us he's desperate. Desperate men make mistakes." Alessandro pulled up another document. "He's also been meeting with FBI Agent Sarah Chen. The same agent who's been trying to build a case against our family for three years. Marcus is feeding her information. Trying to trade dirt on us for—what? Immunity? Help getting you back?""Can he actually hurt us with what he knows?" Elena asked."No," Dante said
Elena woke to an empty bed and cold sheets. For a moment, panic seized her—had last night been a dream? Had Dante left?Then she saw the note on the pillow, written in strong, slanted handwriting:*Emergency call from Alessandro. Had to step out. Be back before breakfast. Don't miss me too much. - D*Elena smiled despite her disappointment. She stretched, feeling deliciously sore in places she'd forgotten could feel. Last night had been incredible. Dante had been incredible.She got up and wrapped herself in a silk robe from the closet, then walked to the windows. The sun was just rising over the Mediterranean, turning the water pink and gold. It was beautiful. Peaceful.Too peaceful.Elena's instincts prickled. She'd grown up around danger, learned to read situations and people. Something felt off.Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She picked it up and saw three missed calls from Victoria and a text message:*Call me immediately. It's about Marcus. - V*Elena's stomach dropped. She
Elena thought about it carefully. "With Marcus, I was pretending. Playing a role. Being someone I thought I should be. But with you—I can be myself. Elena Accardi. Artist and mafia princess. Both sides, no hiding. So yes. I can accept your world because it's also mine."Dante's expression softened. "You're remarkable. You know that?""You might have mentioned it once or twice."They reached the villa as Rosa was setting lunch on the terrace. The meal was elaborate—pasta with fresh seafood, grilled vegetables from the garden, salad with lemon and olive oil, bread still warm from the oven.Elena ate hungrily, the morning walk having worked up her appetite. Dante watched her with obvious satisfaction."What?" Elena asked around a mouthful of pasta."Nothing. Just happy you're eating. Rosa's right—you are too thin. Marcus clearly didn't feed you properly.""Marcus barely acknowledged I existed. Food was the least of my concerns."Dante's jaw tightened. "I'm going to make sure you never fe
"Marcus." Isabelle's voice was soft. "I need to tell you something. About the contract. About those five men.""What about them?""They're scared. The Accardi family has been visiting them. One by one. Making offers they can't refuse." Isabelle paused. "Three of them have already agreed to testify
Finally, she settled on a simple dress—dark green silk that brought out the amber in her eyes, hemline just above the knee, comfortable but pretty. She left her hair down the way Dante seemed to like it. Minimal makeup. Small gold earrings that had belonged to her mother.When she emerged from her
Elena's heart hammered against her ribs. Dante's words hung in the air between them—eleven years of hidden feelings, a lifetime of watching from the shadows."That night at the masquerade," Elena whispered. "You knew who I was from the beginning.""From the moment I saw you." Dante's thumb traced c
Elena said nothing, just watched and waited. The recording device in her purse was running. Every word was being captured.“I’m sure you’re a lovely person,” Isabelle continued, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “And I’m sure Marcus cares for you in his way. But darling, you must know—you wer







