At the night Lucia was leaning over Enzo’s mahogany desk when I entered the study, twirling something in her fingers.My wedding ring.She slid it onto her hand—effortlessly, perfectly—like it had always belonged there.When I wore it, it spun loosely, one whole size too big.Lucia held up her hand, admiring how the diamond caught the light.“Oh,” she laughed softly, “it fits me just right. How funny.”My throat tightened.It was the same ring from the news photo.“Must’ve been a mix-up at the jeweler,” she continued cheerfully, turning the band as if it were nothing more than a trinket. “But don’t be upset, Bianca. You know I adore rings. Enzo gives me one every holiday—he spoils me terribly.”She shot me a sweet, poisonous smile.“This time he probably just grabbed the wrong size out of habit.”Enzo, standing beside her, didn’t deny it.Lucia laughed again, then slid the ring off and placed it carefully on the table—right in front of him.He merely said, “The wedding’s in a week. The
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