Chapter 2

At the door, my phone buzzed again.

I glanced back.

Victor stood in the middle of the hall.

He stared at his phone, typing like a madman.

[If you leave me, I'll die!]

[Don't go... please don't go!]

I locked my screen.

I ignored it.

A second later, a hand clamped down on my wrist.

I turned around.

His pale grey eyes glared at me.

His mouth trembled.

Barely noticeable.

Through the screen, I could hear his soul screaming.

But in real life?

The Mafia Don tilted his chin up.

He looked down at my feet with absolute disgust.

His voice was ice, "Leave everything the Russos bought you. Including those shoes. Take them off. Then get out."

I looked down.

I wore worn-out Louboutins.

Red bottoms.

Six years ago, we got married.

He secretly flew to Paris.

He had top cobblers custom-make these for me.

On his burner account that day, he wrote: [I'm going to make her the happiest bride in the world.]

Even scuffed and old, I couldn't throw them away.

They were my only piece of warmth in this suffocating marriage.

I stared at the red soles.

Calmly, I bent down.

The old Donna rushed over.

She grabbed my shoulders, "Camilla, don't be stupid! He's just trying to scare you! He doesn't want you to leave!"

Scare me?

I brushed her hands off.

No hesitation.

No arguments.

I slipped off the shoes holding six years of memories.

I placed them on the freezing marble, "They're yours."

My bare feet hit the floor.

The cold shot straight to my heart.

But I felt incredibly light.

Victor froze.

He stared at the shoes in total disbelief.

He thought I would cry.

He thought I'd beg him not to take back his gift.

He guessed wrong.

His icy mask finally cracked.

The old Donna tried to intervene, "Victor never means what he says. Do you really think he'd let you walk home barefoot?"

The words barely left her mouth.

Victor grabbed the shoes.

He threw them straight into the roaring fireplace.

He turned his back to me, "If you want to leave so badly, fine. You've worn them for six years. They're dirty anyway."

The fire swallowed the leather without mercy.

A toxic, burning smell filled the air.

Watching the shoes melt, a sharp pain pierced my chest.

I couldn't breathe.

Six years of my youth turned to ash.

My eyes burned red.

Victor turned around.

He immediately caught my red eyes.

In that split second, his stiff shoulders relaxed.

He slipped his hand into his suit jacket.

His fingers flew blindly over his phone screen.

Years of Mafia training.

All used to vent his sick insecurities.

My phone went crazy.

[She's crying! She still cares!]

[Just say sorry. Just give in.]

[Tomorrow I'll buy out Paris. I'll fill your entire closet!]

[Apologize now. Come hug me.]

I stared numbly at the updates.

I felt absolutely nothing.

So what if he bought me a whole closet of new shoes?

They wouldn't be that pair.

The shoes were gone.

And my last shred of love for Victor burned with them.

I turned around.

Barefoot, I walked toward the foyer.

The floor was freezing.

Shattered glass covered the tiles.

I didn't flinch.

Valerie stood behind Victor.

She covered her mouth.

Her eyes gleamed with malice, "Oh my, Donna. Walking barefoot? How trashy. Want to borrow my spare flats?"

Victor snapped at her, "Shut up."

Then, he sneered at my back, "Let her go. In half an hour, her feet will bleed. She'll come running back in tears. She'll kneel at the gates and beg to come inside."

I pushed the front door open.

The biting night wind hit my face.

I walked into the dark.

Victor didn't know.

I was really leaving.

I already accepted a job at a top private hospital in Seattle.

My one-way ticket was booked for 9 AM tomorrow.