Chapter 4

A week later, I saw a photo in a gossip magazine.

It was Dante and Angelina in matching evening wear. Leo was holding both their hands, a huge smile on his face. The three of them at some black-tie charity gala, looking like the perfect family.

The headline read: "A New Beginning for the Moretti Family."

My fingers traced over the photo. Leo looked so happy. Happier than he ever looked with me.

"They look good together," I said softly.

My mother snatched the magazine out of my hands and threw it into the fireplace. "Don't look at that garbage."

But I'd already seen it. The damage was done.

I closed my eyes, and the memories came flooding back.

The night Leo was born, six years ago. A C-section. I thought Dante was waiting right outside. A nurse told me the surgery was a success, that I had a healthy boy. I was weak, but I managed to ask, "Where's my husband?"

The nurse looked away. "Mr. Moretti had an urgent matter to attend to. He said he'd be back as soon as he could."

I found out later that the "urgent matter" was Angelina's birthday dinner. While I was fighting for my life on an operating table, he was lighting candles for another woman in a three-star Michelin restaurant.

And the night Leo had his first high fever. 103.6 degrees. I drove him to the hospital alone. I called Dante a dozen times. No answer.

He finally showed up the next morning, suit wrinkled, a lipstick smudge on his collar.

"Sorry, my phone died last night," he'd said.

But I could smell Angelina's perfume in his car.

After every betrayal, there was a priceless piece of jewelry to make up for it. A Cartier diamond necklace, a Bulgari emerald ring, a limited-edition Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet.

"All women like shiny things, don't they?" he once said. "Give you enough money and you'll shut up."

A far cry from the man who, six years earlier, had sworn his undying love.

Back then, he was just a small-time capo, driving a secondhand car and living in a shitty apartment. But when he looked at me, there was fire in his eyes. There was honesty. There was a love I thought would last forever.

"Isabella, I swear, you're the only one I'll ever love," he'd said on the rooftop where we had our first date. "Power, status... that can all change. But my love for you never will."

What a joke. The power changed him. And it changed his love.

I finished packing my bags.

Six years of marriage, and all I was taking were some clothes and a few books.

I gathered all our photos and burned them in the fireplace.

I watched them curl, blacken, and turn to ash.

Just like every trace of me in this house. Gone for good.

The court date came quickly.

I deliberately wore the red vintage dress he’d given me when he proposed. Silk, cut perfectly, the color of blood and fire.

"Why are you wearing that?" Dante asked, stunned, when he saw me outside the courtroom.

"Because today is my new birthday," I answered calmly. "I wanted to celebrate."

His smile faltered. For a second, something else was in his eyes—confusion? Regret? It was gone before I could name it.

"Regarding custody of the child, Ms. Isabella Moretti has voluntarily relinquished all rights to Mr. Dante Moretti..."

"Regarding the division of assets, Mr. Dante Moretti will pay Ms. Isabella Moretti a one-time sum of fifty million dollars within one month..."

"As both parties have agreed to the terms of the divorce, this court hereby declares the marriage between Isabella Moretti and Dante Moretti officially dissolved, effective immediately..."

The moment the gavel fell, I felt a lightness I hadn't felt in years.

The six-year sentence was finally over.

As I walked out of the courthouse, Dante called my name.

"Isabella, where are you gonna go? You haven't forgotten, have you? Your father has a new family, he washed his hands of you years ago. You gonna go back and live on his charity? Oh, right, your mother has a little money—look, for Leo's sake, if you regret this..." His voice was dripping with that arrogant certainty I hated so much.

He still saw me as that pathetic girl, abandoned by her father, who couldn't survive without him.

He had no idea my mother was Victoria Wright, the head of the most powerful family in Italy.

And I was her only heir.

"I won't regret it," I said, not even turning around. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

Victoria's car was already at the curb. I got in without breaking stride.

The car pulled away from the courthouse. In the rearview mirror, I saw Dante still standing there, his hand outstretched as if to grab something, but catching nothing but cold, empty air.