THE LEDGER'S EYE

I wait three weeks before I do anything stupid.

Three weeks of sitting through breakfasts where my father talks about "the Marchetti opportunity" like it's a business deal instead of my whole life.

Three weeks of learning how to act sixteen again—how to laugh at jokes I've already heard, how to remember which fork to use at a table where forks matter more than people do.

Three weeks of catching my own hands doing things a sixteen-year-old shouldn't know how to do, and slowing them down, and smiling like nothing is wrong.

I haven't seen him yet. Matteo. Not this time around. I don't know if I'm ready.

But I know where the ledger is. I've known since the moment I woke up in that bed with the rabbit sheets.

It sits in Vittoria's study, second floor of the main house, behind a door nobody ever bothers to lock.

Why would they? Nobody in that family is foolish enough to go looking.

Except me. I've already been foolish enough to die once. What's one more risk.

---

The Marchettis throw a big dinner that Friday. An engagement, or maybe a christening—I don't even remember, because I'm not paying attention to any of it.

I stand at the edge of the garden, watching the study door from across the lawn, counting how many drinks Vittoria has, waiting for the party to get loud enough that nobody will notice one girl slip upstairs.

My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my teeth.

A voice stops me. "Elena? Is that you?"

I turn. Isabella Marchetti stands behind me, a glass of wine in her hand, her brown eyes curious and bright.

"Hi, Isabella." My voice stays steady. "I was just looking at the roses."

"At night?"

I smile. "They smell better in the dark."

She studies me for a moment. "You're a strange one, Elena. I like it. Most girls who come to these things are so predictable."

"Predictable is safe."

"Is it?" She tilts her head. "I've never found safe to be very interesting."

I laugh. It comes out natural. "Maybe that's why we're going to be friends."

Isabella grins. "Come on. I'll introduce you to some people."

She takes my arm and leads me toward the house. I let her. I need to be seen at this party. I need everyone to remember I was downstairs.

---

The house is packed. Bodies press together in the hallway, spilling into every room. The air smells like expensive perfume and expensive liquor and the particular kind of desperation that only rich people can afford.

"Elena!"

I turn. Dante is walking toward me, his arms open, his easy grin already in place. "I'm so glad you came."

He wraps me in a hug that feels like something he's practiced. "Come with me," he says, taking my hand. "I want to introduce you to my cousin."

My blood goes cold.

Dante leads me through the crowd. "Elena, this is Renzo."

Renzo turns. Pale eyes. Close-cut hair. A body that moves too still, like an animal waiting to strike.

He was the one who killed me before.

"Elena." Renzo's voice is pleasant. "Dante's told me so much about you."

"All good things, I hope."

"You're prettier than he said."

I force a smile. "You're too kind."

"Call me Renzo. We're going to be family soon."

"Family," I repeat, the word tasting like ash in my mouth.

"Come," Dante says, pulling me away. "Let me show you the garden."

---

We walk outside. The air is cool. The roses are blooming in the dark.

"You're quiet," Dante says. "Everything all right?"

"Everything's fine. I'm just taking it all in."

He nods. "It's a lot. But you'll get used to it. This is your home now."

I look up at him. His face is open, earnest. He really believes what he's saying.

"Dante," I say, "do you ever wonder what it would be like to just leave? Walk away from all of this?"

He stares at me. "Leave?"

"Go somewhere else. Start over. Be someone who isn't defined by their last name."

He's quiet for a long moment. "I don't think I've ever thought about it. This is my life. It's all I've ever known."

"And if you could know something else? Would you want to?"

He frowns. "Why are you asking me this?"

I shrug. "Just curious."

He takes my hand. "Elena, I'm not going to be like the other men in this family. I'm going to take care of you. I'm going to make you happy."

I look at him, and I see the lie he doesn't even know he's telling.

"I know you believe that," I say.

---

I excuse myself after dessert. Claim a headache. Dante offers to walk me to my room, but I tell him I need some air. He kisses my forehead and disappears back into the party.

I turn toward the stairs.

The hallway upstairs smells like lemon polish and old wood.

My hands are sweating. I wipe them on my dress and tell myself a girl walking upstairs during a party isn't suspicious.

A girl who looks guilty about it, though—that's different.

I hear footsteps. Someone walking toward me.

I freeze.

Vittoria stands in the doorway of her bedroom, her blue eyes sharp.

"Elena," she says. "What are you doing up here?"

My throat tightens. "I was just looking for the bathroom. I got turned around."

"The bathroom is on the first floor."

"I must have missed it."

Vittoria watches me for a long moment. I feel her taking me apart, examining the pieces, looking for something I'm not showing her.

"You're nervous," she says. "There's no need to be. You're family now."

"Thank you. I'm just not used to all of this."

She smiles. It doesn't reach her eyes. "Come. I'll show you to the right room."

She walks past me, and I have no choice but to follow.

---

I don't go to the bathroom. I wait until I'm sure Vittoria is gone, and then I find the staircase that leads back upstairs, hidden behind a heavy curtain. I remember it from the first time.

The study door opens without a sound.

I don't know what I expected. Something grand, maybe. Instead it's just a room. Dark wood furniture.

A big window looking out over the harbor. A desk so clean you can tell someone dusts it every day.

The ledger is sitting right there in the top drawer. Not hidden. Not locked.

I lift it out with both hands. The leather is cool against my palms. Old. Soft at the corners from years of hands holding it before mine.

I lay it open on the desk and turn the pages by the light coming through the window.

Page after page of names. Marriages arranged before the bride can even walk. Debts that stretch back further than I can follow. I find my grandmother's name. Next to it sits a date that makes my stomach drop.

Then I find mine.

Elena Marchetti. Married. Age 26.

Under it, one line, written in ink so old it's turned the color of dried blood.

Removed. Necessary. Approved — V.M.

My own death, filed away like a grocery bill. Just a line. Just paperwork.

I don't know how long I stand there before the ink starts moving.

New words rise up out of nothing, right underneath the old ones. The ink spreads slow and dark, the way a bruise spreads.

She knows. She will try to change it. She will fail.

I stop breathing.

I should shut the book right there and walk away. That would be the smart move. I've never been very good at doing the smart thing.

Instead I keep reading. Two lines down, in the same fresh ink, I find the second sentence.

Matteo will remember. He will betray her again.

My hands go cold.

I haven't even seen him yet in this life. And here's a book telling me that everything I remember about him doesn't matter. His hands on me in the water. His voice cracking my name in half as I go under. None of that is going to save either one of us this time.

Laughter drifts up from the garden below. Normal sounds. A normal party, happening one floor beneath a book that has just written my future right in front of me.

I shut the ledger. My hands shake so bad it takes me two tries to close the drawer.

I stand there one more second, staring out at the harbor through Vittoria's window. Black water under a black sky. I think about the last time that water closed over my head.

Fine. You want to write my ending already? Watch me argue with you.

---

I slip back into the hallway. Smooth my dress. Put my party smile back on. Walk downstairs into a room full of people who have no idea the girl coming toward them has just read her own death sentence—and decided she isn't about to sign it.

I find Isabella in the garden. She's nursing a glass of wine she hasn't touched.

"There you are," she says. "I've been looking for you."

"I needed some air."

She watches me too closely. "You've been gone a while."

"I had to step away. It was overwhelming."

"You were gone long enough to miss your husband-to-be dancing with someone else."

"Dante can dance with whoever he wants. He's not my husband yet."

Isabella's eyebrows shoot up. "That's a very modern opinion for a girl in your position."

"I've always been modern."

She studies me. "You're a bit of a puzzle, Elena. I wasn't sure about you at first. The way you act—sometimes it's like you're already tired of this life and you haven't even started living it."

I hesitate. I can't tell her everything. But maybe I can give her something small.

"I'm careful about trusting people," I say. "You've got your family. I'm coming into a world where everyone has their own agenda."

Isabella's lips press together. "That's fair. My family—let's just say we take care of ourselves first."

"That's what I'm learning."

We're both quiet for a moment. The party continues in the distance.

"You know," Isabella says, "you're not like the other girls they bring around."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Take it however you like." She stands. "I'm going to find something stronger to drink. Want to come?"

"No, thanks. I think I'm going to stay out here a little longer."

Isabella nods and walks back inside.

---

The garden is quiet. I'm left alone with my thoughts.

A sound makes me turn.

He's standing at the edge of the garden, half-hidden in the shadows of a tall hedge. I don't know how long he's been there. I don't know how much he's heard.

Matteo.

He's bigger than I remember. Filled out from years of too much work and too little sleep. His dark hair is cut shorter than it will be in a few years. His eyes are the same, deep and unreadable. He's still in his party clothes, but his tie is loosened, his sleeves rolled up, like he's been hiding from the noise inside the house the same way I have.

"Hello," I say. My voice comes out quieter than I want.

"You're Elena."

It's not a question. I nod anyway.

"I've heard about you," he says.

"All good things, I hope."

He doesn't smile. "I don't know. I've heard different things from different people."

"Dante wants to marry me. That's probably the most important thing."

"He wants a lot of things." His voice is flat. "Has anyone asked you what you want?"

I look at him, surprised. In my first life, we never talked like this.

"I don't know," I lie. "I'm still figuring it out."

Matteo steps closer. He keeps his hands in his pockets. He's careful not to crowd me.

"You don't have to figure it out tonight," he says. "Just remember you have a choice."

I breathe in. Choice. He doesn't know how much that means.

"Thank you," I say.

He looks surprised. "For what?"

"For saying that. Most people in this family don't think I have a choice at all."

He holds my gaze for a long moment. "You're not like the others."

"So I've been told."

"Different isn't always safe, Elena."

He says my name carefully, like he's testing it.

"Safe," I say, "is overrated."

He laughs—a short, surprised sound. It's the first time I've seen him laugh in either lifetime.

"Come on," he says, nodding toward the house. "I'll walk you back inside."

"I can find my own way."

"I know." He looks at me, his eyes unguarded for a moment. "I didn't ask if you could find your own way. I asked if I could walk you."

There's a kindness in the question that catches me off guard.

"Okay," I say. "You can walk me inside."

---

We walk toward the house. Neither of us says anything.

"You know," he says as we reach the door, "I have a feeling you're going to cause a lot of trouble, Elena."

I look up at him. "Is that a threat?"

"No." He meets my gaze. "It's just an observation."

"From one troublemaker to another," I say.

He smiles. "Take it however you like. But if you ever need someone to watch your back—"

"I don't need anyone to watch my back."

"No?" He steps closer, his voice dropping. "What about someone to stand beside you?"

He steps back before I can answer. "Sleep well, Elena."

He turns and walks back into the garden, leaving me standing in the doorway, my heart pounding.

I watch him go, and I think about the ledger. I think about the ink that appeared out of nowhere. I think about what it said.

Matteo will remember. He will betray her again.

I don't believe it. I can't. Not after what I just saw in his eyes.

I walk inside and close the door behind me. When I get to my room, I close the door, lean against it, and let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

I'm not going to let the ledger write my story this time. I'm not going to let Vittoria win. And I'm sure as hell not going to let Matteo betray me again.

It's too late for that. I've already decided.

The Rebirth of Elena Marchetti is just beginning.