Chapter 3

He laughs.

Not loud. Just a soft breath through his nose. Like I told him a joke.

His thumb is still on my mouth.

"Done." He tastes the word. "Say it again."

"Done."

The laugh dies. His hand drops. Slides to my throat. Doesn't squeeze. Just rests there. Warm. Heavy. A promise.

"Baby. Look at me."

I do.

His eyes are dead flat.

"You don't get to be done. You got a ring on your finger. A kid in your belly. My name on the paperwork. Done is not on the menu, sweetheart."

Behind him, heels click on the flagstone.

Bianca. Sobbing already. Tears on cue.

"Sienna, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. Dante only feels bad for me because I'm sick."

"Yell at me. Slap me. I deserve it. But he loves *you*. He's always loved you."

Rory hisses in my head. "There it is. Victim card. Classic."

I don't need Rory to tell me. I can see it on Dante's face.

He winces. Slides an arm around Bianca. Steadies her like she's about to faint. But his eyes are locked on me.

"Sienna. Bianca has severe depression. She's fragile. Don't do this to her."

I haven't said one word to that girl.

Not one.

And he's already picked a side.

"Doesn't matter how bad her acting is, Mom," Rory whispers. "Daddy will always, always pick her. See it. See it now."

I walk past them. Back inside. To the terrace bar. Pick up the crystal award. The one Dante had made when he launched the foundation.

THE MOONLIGHT FUND. FOUNDER: DANTE CAVALLO.

I turn it in my hand. Smile. It hurts my face.

"Dante. You remember I had depression too, right?"

His eyes drop to the award. His pupils shrink.

He remembers.

The year I pressed charges against my stepfather. Senator Rick Vance. Republican from New Jersey. Family man. Church man.

The man who crawled into my bed the year I turned fourteen.

The year my own mother, Marlene, sat in the witness box in a black dress and pearls.

She dabbed at her eyes and told the jury, "My daughter has always been troubled. She craves attention. She makes things up for the drama."

"I was home with Rick every night she claims he wasn't."

She lied six ways to Sunday.

Then she walked out of that courthouse on his arm.

The year I stopped eating. The year I started cutting.

Dante sat on my bathroom floor with me. For weeks. Wouldn't let go of my hand even when he slept. Dragged me out of hell one inch at a time.

Later, the painting I made from that year sold at Sotheby's. Seven figures. That check became the seed money for the family's clean front.

He named the foundation after me. The Moonlight Fund.

Bianca was one of the first girls we "saved."

Somewhere along the way, saving me stopped being enough for him. He got hooked on the feeling. Being the hero. The man in the white shirt in the rain.

Dante's lips part. Whatever he's about to say —

Bianca cuts him off. Tears streaming.

"The Moonlight Fund saved my life. And I fell in love with him. I couldn't help it. I'm so sorry, Sienna. Dante — I wish you'd never rescued me."

She runs. Sobbing. Hair flying. Oscar. Emmy. Golden Globe.

"Bianca!"

Dante bolts after her.

Doesn't even look at me on his way out. His shoulder clips mine hard enough to knock me back a step.

The award slips out of my hand. Hits the marble.

The words MOONLIGHT FUND crack clean in half.

I press both hands to my belly.

Breathe. Breathe. Don't spike your blood pressure. Don't. Protect the baby.

My man is already gone. Has been gone.

My job now is to keep this baby safe.

I will not walk this Earth alone again.

---