Chapter 4

I deleted everything connected to Luca from my phone.

Photos, messages, old voice notes, and the schedules I had saved for him over the years. The gifts he had given me went into two boxes, which a driver sent back to the Moretti estate.

From then on, I stopped opening his Instagram and stopped asking where he went.

I thought that would be enough.

But Mira still lived in the side wing of the De Luca estate, and she always found ways to mention him. He had sent flowers, arranged a car to take her to the club, and remembered that she disliked bitter coffee.

Luca knew how to be kind when he wanted to be. He could make any woman feel chosen.

That tenderness had simply expired for me.

On Friday night, Mira said she wanted to take everyone to dinner.

After Luca brought her to South Dock, the girls in our circle had teased her about owing them a proper celebration. I did not want to go, but my mother sent a black dress to my room.

“Bella, don’t let people think the De Luca family can’t afford to lose.”

“You and Luca grew up together. That means you should know how to keep things graceful.”

Even my heartbreak had to serve the family’s reputation.

Dinner was at one of Moretti’s private restaurants.

The top-floor room overlooked the harbor, and everyone at the table belonged to the same narrow circle. Luca did not look at me once. He pulled out Mira’s chair, blocked drinks for her, remembered she did not eat oysters, and picked the bitter almonds out of her dessert.

When people teased them, he did not deny anything.

Mira leaned toward him with flushed cheeks and asked if she could taste his wine. Luca lowered the glass to her lips with a gentleness I knew too well.

I looked down and cut the steak on my plate, one slow line after another.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Luca’s jaw tighten. Maybe my calmness bored him. Maybe he had expected tears or another scene he could dismiss.

After dinner, the others left one by one. Outside the restaurant, I was the only one still waiting.

The wind came from the harbor. I had just taken out my phone to call the driver when Luca walked over.

His tone was stiff.

“Do you want me to take you home?”

He probably still thought I would follow him if he offered the smallest way back.

Before I could answer, Mira came up behind him and slipped her arms around his.

“Luca, I think I drank too much,” she said softly. “Can you stay with me for a while?”

Luca did not answer immediately.

I smiled.

“No need. Someone is coming for me.”

His face went cold.

“Suit yourself.”

He put an arm around Mira and led her to the black sports car waiting by the curb. The headlights came on, and the car disappeared down the harbor road.

The driver was still more than ten minutes away. I did not want to keep standing outside a Moretti restaurant, so I started walking along the street.

As I turned into a back lane, a motorcycle burst out of the shadows.

I had no time to move. It slammed into me and threw me onto the ground.

The rider cursed once, then the engine roared away.

Pain spread from my wrist to my knee. Lying on the cold pavement, I reached for my phone before I could think and pressed the emergency contact.

The call rang four times.

On the fifth, it was cut off.

The dead tone pulsed against my ear.

I stared at the empty lane for a long moment before I understood.

The number was Luca’s.

The man who had once set himself as my emergency contact, who had promised to come whenever I pressed that button, was no longer coming.

I did not cry, and I did not call again.

Bracing myself against the wall, I sat up and called emergency services.

After giving them the address, I opened my emergency contacts. Luca Moretti’s name was still at the top.

Five years ago, he had put it there himself.

“Bella, if you press this, I’ll come. Always.”

Now he had ended my last call for help.

I deleted his name and blocked every way he had left to reach me.

By the time the ambulance arrived, I had already stopped looking down the road for him. The paramedic helped me into the back, the doors closed, and the Moretti restaurant disappeared behind the glass as the vehicle pulled away from the curb.

From that moment on, I would never need him again.