Chapter 2

The next morning, I was awoken by Dominic’s low, gravelly voice.

He was standing out on the rooftop terrace of the villa, a glass of amber bourbon already in his hand despite the early hour. He was speaking into his encrypted phone.

“You scratched it? Are you hurt?”

“The brooch doesn't matter. As long as you’re untouched.”

“Don’t cry. It’s just a brooch. I’m coming over right now.”

Dominic’s voice dropped, thick with worry.

I lay frozen in the King-sized bed, staring blankly at the ornate ceiling plaster.

Even the sacred Donna Brooch, the very symbol of the Cacchini family’s ultimate authority, meant nothing to him if Bianca shed a single tear.

Five minutes later, Dominic stepped into the bedroom, his powerful frame casting a long shadow.

Seeing my open eyes, he paused, a flicker of guilt crossing his sharp, sculpted features before he masked it with his usual cold demeanor.

"Did I wake you, Aria?"

He sat at the edge of the mattress, reaching out a leather-gloved hand to caress my cheek.

I turned my head away, avoiding his touch, and sat up.

"Are you leaving?" I asked.

Dominic’s hand froze mid-air. He retrieved it slowly, his jaw clenching.

“Bianca tried on the Donna Brooch this morning. She accidentally dropped it on the ground and scratched it. She’s terrified and crying hysterically.”

“She lives alone under our protection, Aria. I have to go ensure she’s safe.”

As he spoke, he swiftly stripped off his silk robe and began buttoning a crisp, charcoal-grey Tom Ford shirt.

"Skip breakfast. Have the house chef make you whatever you want," he added, his fingers deftly adjusting his silk tie in front of the mirror.

I watched his broad shoulders, my throat dry. "Dominic."

"What is it?" He didn’t turn around, his blue eyes fixed on his reflection as he straightened his collar.

"I want to visit the estate in Lake Como today. The one we looked at six months ago."

His hands stalled on his tie.

The Como estate was supposed to be our fortress. Our sanctuary.

I didn't like the estate we live in now. There's too much killing and intrigue here. It always made me feel depressed.

Dominic had promised me that once his position as the supreme Don was consolidated at his thirtieth birthday feast, he would purchase the Como estate as our new home.

Dominic turned around, his expression uncharacteristically strained.

“We can look at estates any day, Aria.”

“But Bianca is fragile right now. Her father took a bullet to the heart to save my life when the Lucchese family ambushed us years ago. I owe her blood debt. I cannot abandon her when she’s in distress."

“When I get back, I'll take you to pick out a more suitable estate. The one by Lake Como is too old.”

I looked at him, my gaze entirely flat and devoid of emotion.

"Fine."

Dominic visibly relaxed.

He stepped across the luxury suite, leaning down to press a soft, possessive kiss onto my forehead.

"Good girl. Wait for me to come back."

The heavy mahogany door shut with a final click.

The villa fell into a suffocating, dead silence once more.

I stood up, walking into the sleek kitchen.

Opening the sub-zero refrigerator, I found it packed with gourmet ingredients. I took out two organic eggs and a carton of milk.

As the eggs sizzled in the copper pan, fragments of our past uncontrollably drifted into my mind.

Years ago, before he consolidated his power as the Don, we lived in a cramped, damp safehouse in the slums of Palermo, constantly hiding from rivals.

Back then, despite the constant threat of assassination, Dominic would wake up half an hour early just to prepare breakfast for me in that rusted kitchen.

I remembered one winter when I caught a severe fever, and the safehouse ran out of medicine. I had casually muttered in my delirium that I wanted a specific fever-reducing herbal tea from a pharmacy located three blocks away.

At that exact moment, the Lucchese family was patrolling the streets, hunting for his head. Yet, Dominic had racked his gun, slipped into the freezing downpour, and braved the crossfire just to smuggle that medicine back to me.

When he returned, the tea was still warm in his jacket, but he was soaked in blood and rain, his hands shaking from adrenaline.

"If my Ari needs something, I’d march straight through a hail of bullets from hell to get it," Dominic had growled, holding me tight.

And now?

Now, even honoring his promise to show me our future matrimonial home in Como had become an inconvenient chore.

I slid the fried eggs onto a porcelain plate.

As I poured the milk, my hand slipped, spilling the white liquid across the marble counter.

I grabbed a cloth to wipe it, but my elbow accidentally knocked over a jar sitting near the spice rack.

It was a jar of premium, organic peanut butter.

The thick, brown paste oozed out, releasing a heavy, roasted aroma that instantly made my stomach churn with violent nausea.

I stared at the mess, my breath catching in my throat.

I was severely, fatally allergic to peanuts. An anaphylactic shock could kill me in minutes.

Dominic had brought this jar back two days ago. He had ordered the kitchen staff to stock it because Bianca had offhandedly mentioned she was craving traditional Sicilian peanut brittle.

Dominic had completely forgotten that even the concentrated scent of peanuts could trigger hives all over my body.

I tossed the cloth into the trash chute, followed by the plate of eggs and the jar of peanut butter.

Then, I walked back into the master bedroom, pulled two aluminum Rimowa suitcases from the walk-in closet, and began packing.

In truth, very few things in this grand villa belonged to me. A few tailored suits, my cardiological textbooks, and my laptop.

The rest were things Dominic had showered me with—expensive designer bags, rare diamonds, and haute couture gowns.

But none of them suited my taste.

He had always dressed me according to Bianca’s delicate, innocent aesthetic.

"Bianca looks stunning in pastel pink; you should try this gown."

"Bianca said this French perfume smells like a pure angel; I bought a bottle for you too."

I gathered all those luxurious, hollow tokens, folded them neatly, and stacked them at the very bottom of the closet.