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A year passed before Luca found me.I’d built a quiet life in the Italian quarter of Buenos Aires, far from the gunsmoke and blood feuds of Sicily. I’d taken my mother’s maiden name, Russo, and opened a tiny, sun-dappled café called Limone, its shelves lined with jars of lemon preserves made from seeds I’d brought with me from the gnarled tree at the derelict country estate. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t a Don’s shadow, not a hidden mistress. I was just Lina: the woman who baked cannoli every morning.I was free.Luca had crossed hell to get here. Banned for life from leaving the EU by Interpol, he’d burned through every last thread of the Vitali family’s South American underworld connections, forged a fake identity, and smuggled himself across the ocean just to find me. For a year, he’d asked for the woman who could run a casino blindfolded, who’d loved a broken, mute Don for seven years. He walked into my café on a rainy Tuesday afternoon, the bell above the door tink
Luca slept in a fitful, tormented haze, dragged back to seven years of mute darkness, abandonment and betrayal, only this time, the hand that had always anchored him through the hell was gone.He jolted awake with a ragged gasp of “Isa,” cold sweat soaking through his shirt, dripping down his temples.He fumbled for the light switch, and froze the second the room flooded with white light.Every trace of me was gone.My clothes, my jewelry, the worn book I’d read to him through his silent years, every small thing that marked my presence, wiped clean.It was as if I’d never stepped foot in this estate, never existed in his life at all.He stormed out of the bedroom like a man possessed, seizing his lead bodyguard by the collar with a feral roar.“Where the fuck is Isabella?!” The bodyguard held out the black card Luca had given me.“She left, Don. She asked me to give this back. With all respect, you owed her more than any of us can say. My wife passed two days ago; I’m done with this l
When I made it back to the main estate, I dragged out a suitcase and began packing every last thing I owned.I was leaving Luca Vitali. Forever.Early the next morning, I drove to the Palermo consulate and picked up my expedited Argentine immigration visa. On the ride back, I booked a one-way ticket to Buenos Aires, departing that afternoon.Once I touched down in Argentina, he would never find me.My car pulled up to the estate gates, and my blood ran cold. His bulletproof Lincoln Town Car was parked in the driveway.I sprinted up the stairs to the bedroom, and froze.Luca was standing in the middle of the room, right next to my half-packed suitcase.My chest tightened, and I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Aren’t you with Sofia? What are you doing back here?”His entire body went rigid. He turned slowly to face me, his dark eyes blazing with anger and confusion.“Isa, what the hell are you talking about? There’s nothing between Sofia and me. Not anymore.”Nothing? W
Nothing had changed inside. Luca’s gaze swept the room, soft with a quiet nostalgia. “Isa, do you remember when…”“I don’t.” I cut him off flatly, before he could finish the sentence.He nodded toward the stack of weathered books in the corner, the ones I’d read to him for hours on end when he couldn’t speak. “But I remember…”I couldn’t bear to play this fake, hollow game of memories with him.“You had fever every other night back then. Your memories are all mixed up.”I’d thought he loved me, but he’d just needed someone who knew him, someone who could speak for him when he had no voice of his own. The second he’d gotten his voice back, his power back, his crown back, I’d lost every scrap of my use to him.“The piano’s in the music room at the end of the hall. I never touched it.” I turned on my heel and walked out to the balcony, unable to look at the two of them a second longer.I’d truly believed that seven years of blood and fire, of standing between him and death a hundred
I stumbled back to the empty coastal estate in the dead of night, my shoulder still throbbing, my gown stiff with dried blood. This place had once felt like the only safe haven in the world; now it was nothing but a cold, gilded cage, stripped of every last scrap of warmth.My burner phone buzzed once. A message from Sofia.Attached were photos of their stamped, legally filed marriage license, the hand-drawn wedding plans for a ceremony at Palermo’s oldest Catholic church, every detail of the life he’d promised her laid out bare. The text beneath was sharp, sweet poison.Thank you for keeping him alive for seven years. Now it’s time to give him back to where he belongs.I stared at the screen until my eyes burned. I didn’t even have the strength left to be angry.Luca never came home that night. An hour before dawn, a single text came through from him. How’s the wound? Do you need me to come back and look after you?I typed back two words.I’m fine.Luca Vitali, from this day for
Sofia’s face crumpled at once.“Luca, she’s still angry with me, isn’t she… I should just go.”She made to turn away, but Luca caught her at once. He fixed me with a hard, displeased frown.“She’s extending a kindness, Isa. You’ve always loved birds, haven’t you? Take it.”The favoritism in his eyes cut through me like a stiletto to the heart.I clenched my fist so tight my nails dug into my palm, drawing blood I didn’t feel. I turned to Luca’s lead bodyguard.“Hold the gauntlet for me. I’m not dressed for it.”A ripple of quiet sneers washed through. Every made man thought me ungrateful, disrespectful.Luca’s face darkened into a thunderous scowl. Convinced I was deliberately humiliating Sofia in front of the family, he slipped an arm around her waist and guided her toward the private inner suite, not a single glance back at me.The vast waterfront hall emptied around me, leaving me alone with the low hum of whispers. I tossed back a full shot of peaty scotch, the burn down my th







