The city loomed ahead, a glittering beast of steel and glass that swallowed us as the convoy rolled back into its heart.
The winter house had been a cold, isolated prison, but the city felt like a different kind of cage—one with sharper teeth and brighter lights.
I sat beside Dante in the backseat of the black SUV, the leather cool against my skin, the silence between us heavier than the gun strapped to Matteo's hip in the front seat.
Dante hadn't spoken since we left the estate, his eyes fixed on the city skyline, his jaw tight.
The phone Luca gave me was hidden in the lining of my jacket, a secret that burned hotter with every mile. The key was still in my pocket, a constant reminder of the choice I hadn't yet made.
Stay.
Run.
Betray.
Survive.
I glanced at him, his profile sharp against the tinted window. "What's the business?" I asked, breaking the silence.
He didn't look at me. "A meeting.""With who?"
"People who need to be reminded of their place."
I clenched my fists, the key digging into my palm. "And what's my place in this?"
Now he turned, his gray eyes cutting through me like a blade. "You're my wife, Amelia. You smile. You stand by my side. You make them believe."
"Believe what? That I'm happy? That I chose this?"
His lips curved, not quite a smile. "That you're untouchable." I looked away, my stomach twisting. Untouchable.
The word felt like a lie when Luca's phone was pressed against my ribs, when the red envelopes were still a shadow in my mind. Someone closer than you think, Luca had said.
I didn't know who to trust—or if trust was even an option anymore.The meeting was in a private club downtown, a place that reeked of old money and older sins.
The kind of place where deals were made in whispers and blood was cleaned up before anyone noticed the stain. The walls were mahogany, the chandeliers gold, the air thick with cigar smoke and arrogance.
Men in suits—sharp, tailored, dangerous—watched us as we entered, their eyes lingering on me longer than I liked.
Dante's hand rested on the small of my back, a gesture that looked possessive but felt like a warning.
"Stay close," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.
I nodded, my emerald dress clinging to me like a second skin. It was another cage, another role to play. The perfect wife. The silent doll.
The girl who wasn't supposed to ask questions.But I was done being silent.The room was a circle of power—men with hard eyes and harder voices, their words coded in threats and half-truths.
Dante introduced me briefly, his voice smooth, his grip on my hand firm. "Amelia, my wife," he said, and the room went quiet for a heartbeat too long.
They knew who he was. They knew what the Virelli name meant. And now they knew me—or at least the version of me Dante wanted them to see.
I sat beside him, my hands folded in my lap, my eyes scanning the faces. Older men, mostly, with scars hidden under cufflinks and smiles that didn't reach their eyes.
One of them, a man with silver hair and a wolfish grin, leaned forward, his gaze locked on me.
"She's a pretty one, Virelli," he said, his voice like gravel. "Where'd you find her?"
Dante's hand tightened on mine under the table. "She found me," he said, his tone light but laced with something darker. "Didn't you, cara mia?"
I forced a smile, my heart pounding. "Something like that."
The man laughed, but it didn't sound like amusement. It sounded like a challenge.The meeting dragged on—talk of territories, shipments, debts.
Words I didn't fully understand but felt in my bones. This was Dante's world, the one he'd dragged me into. And I was starting to see the edges of it, the cracks where blood seeped through.
I excused myself halfway through, claiming I needed the restroom. Dante's eyes followed me, but he didn't stop me. Matteo did, though, falling into step behind me like a shadow I couldn't shake.
"Need company?" he asked, his voice low, mocking.
"I can manage," I said, keeping my tone even.
He smirked but stayed back, leaning against the wall as I slipped into the restroom. It was empty, all marble and mirrors, the kind of place that made you feel small.
I locked the door, pulled the phone from my jacket, and turned it on with shaking hands.
No messages from Luca. Not yet.
I typed quickly: Meeting downtown. Club on 5th. Territory talk. Shipments. Debts.I hit send and deleted the message, my heart racing.
I didn't know what Luca would do with the information, but I knew it was a step toward freedom—or ruin.
When I stepped out, Matteo was still there, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. "You look nervous, little bird."
"Don't call me that," I snapped, brushing past him.He chuckled, low and dangerous. "Careful. You're starting to sound like you belong here."
Back at the table, Dante's mood had shifted. He was quieter, his eyes scanning the room like he was waiting for something to break.
When the meeting ended, he pulled me aside, his grip on my arm firm but not painful.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low."
Nothing," I said, too quickly.
He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Don't lie to me, Amelia. Not tonight."
I swallowed, the phone in my jacket feeling like a bomb about to go off. "I'm just… tired. It's a lot."
His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I thought he'd see right through me. But then he nodded, releasing me. "Stay close. We're not done here."
The rest of the night was a blur of faces and voices, champagne flutes and false smiles. I played my part, but every laugh, every glance, felt like a performance I was failing.
The silver-haired man from earlier kept watching me, his grin sharper each time our eyes met. I didn't know who he was, but I knew he wasn't an ally.
When we finally left, the city air felt like a release. I breathed deeply, trying to shake the weight of the night.
Dante didn't speak as we climbed into the SUV, but his silence was different now—charged, like a storm about to break."You did well," he said finally, his voice soft but heavy.
"They believed you."
"Did they?" I asked, staring out the window. "Or did they just see what you wanted them to see?"
He didn't answer.
Back at the city mansion, the air felt colder, the walls closer. Dante disappeared into his office, leaving me with Matteo and a new set of instructions: stay in my room, don't wander, don't ask questions.
But I was done following orders.I waited until the house was quiet, until Matteo's footsteps faded down the hall. Then I slipped out, the phone and key still with me, and headed for the library.
It was different from the one at the winter house—smaller, darker, with shelves that seemed to hold more secrets than books.
I didn't know what I was looking for, but I knew I needed something—anything—to make sense of the chaos. Liliana's letters had been a start, but they weren't enough.
I needed to know who she was, why she died, and why I was her replacement.I found it in a locked drawer, hidden behind a false panel in one of the shelves.
A journal, leather-bound, with Dante's initials carved into the cover. My hands shook as I pried it open, the lock giving way under a hairpin I'd stolen from Inez's supplies.
The pages were filled with his handwriting—sharp, precise, like he'd carved the words into the paper. Most of it was business: dates, names, numbers. But then I found her.Liliana. She's slipping away. I see it in her eyes.
She doesn't trust me anymore. She knows what I am, what I've done. I can't lose her. Not like this.I turned the page, my heart pounding.She's asking questions. About the shipments. About Father. About the girls before her.
I told her to stop, but she won't. She's too soft for this world, and it's breaking her. It's breaking me.The next entry was dated a month later.She's gone. They say it was an accident, but I know better.
Father warned me. He said she was a liability. I should've protected her. I should've—The words stopped, the ink smeared like he'd pressed too hard, like the pen had become a weapon.
I flipped forward, desperate for more, but the next pages were blank. Until the last one.Amelia Grey. She looks like her. Too much like her. Father says it's a chance to fix things.
To control the narrative. But every time I look at her, I see Liliana's eyes. And I hate myself.My breath caught. I closed the journal, my hands trembling. Dante hadn't just chosen me for a debt.
He'd chosen me because I was a ghost—a living reminder of the woman he'd lost. And his father… his father had something to do with her death.
A creak behind me made me freeze.
I turned, expecting Matteo or Inez.But it was Dante.He stood in the doorway, his face unreadable, his eyes locked on the journal in my hands.
"You're digging in places you shouldn't," he said, his voice dangerously calm.
I stood, clutching the journal like a shield. "Why didn't you tell me about Liliana?"
He stepped closer, his presence filling the room. "Because it's none of your business."
"It is my business when I'm living her life!" My voice cracked, but I didn't care. "You married me because I look like her. You're using me to replace her. And your father—did he kill her?"
Dante's face hardened, but his eyes betrayed him—a flicker of pain, raw and unguarded. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Then tell me!" I shouted, stepping toward him. "Tell me why I'm here. Tell me why you look at me like I'm her. Tell me why you made me cut a man!"
He grabbed my wrists, pinning them against the bookshelf, his face inches from mine. "Because I don't have a choice," he growled. "Because this world doesn't let you walk away clean. Because every time I look at you, I see her, and it's killing me."
I froze, his words sinking into me like knives. His grip softened, but he didn't let go.
His eyes searched mine, and for the first time, I saw something real—not the cold mafia heir, not the devil's heir, but a man who was breaking under the weight of his own ghosts.
"Then let me go," I whispered. "Let me walk away."He laughed, a bitter, broken sound. "You think it's that simple? You think you can just leave?"
"I can try."
His hands dropped, and he stepped back, his expression shuttering. "Go ahead, Amelia. Run. See how far you get before this world eats you alive."
I didn't move. The journal was still in my hand, the phone and key still in my pocket. And in that moment, I realized something: I wasn't just fighting Dante.
I was fighting the entire Virelli empire—and the part of me that was starting to care about the man in front of me.That night, I met Luca again.
The alley behind the mansion was dark, the city's hum a distant pulse. He was waiting, his cigarette glowing like a beacon."What do you have?" he asked, his voice low.I hesitated, Dante's words still echoing in my head.
Every time I look at you, I see her, and it's killing me. I shouldn't have cared. I shouldn't have felt anything for him. But I did, and it was tearing me apart."His father," I said finally.
"He's involved in something. Something big. Dante's hiding it from me."Luca's eyes narrowed. "What kind of something?"
"I don't know yet. But it's tied to Liliana—his first wife. She died, and I think his father had her killed."
Luca exhaled, the smoke curling around him like a snake. "That's good. That's leverage. Keep digging."
I shook my head. "I'm not your spy, Luca. I gave you what you asked for. Now get me out."He laughed, low and cruel. "You think it's that easy? You're in too deep, little bird.
You walk away now, and Dante will hunt you down. Or worse—his father will."My stomach dropped. "You said you'd help me."
"And I will. When the time's right. But for now, you're my eyes inside that house. So keep them open."He turned to leave, but I grabbed his arm. "Who's sending the red envelopes?"
He looked down at my hand, then back at me. "I told you. Someone close. Someone who knows you're a threat."
"Give me a name."He smirked. "You'll know soon enough."And then he was gone, leaving me alone in the dark with more questions than answers.
Back in my room, I found another red envelope on my pillow. My heart stopped as I tore it open.
No photo this time. Just a single sentence, written in sharp, angry script:Stop digging, or you'll end up like her.
I sank onto the bed, the note trembling in my hands. Liliana's ghost was everywhere—in Dante's eyes, in the mansion's walls, in the secrets I couldn't escape.
And now, someone was watching me, warning me, threatening me.I didn't know who to trust—Dante, Luca, or the part of me that was starting to fight back.
But I knew one thing: I wasn't Liliana.
And I wasn't going to break.