Chapter 1

Ten years after I vanished, my husband bought me like trash.

I didn’t know it was him yet. I only knew the Vallis had finally decided I was worth more sold than dead.

The Madam dragged me down a back hall of The Velvet Underground, her red nails pinching my chin.

“Listen carefully,” she said. “You serve the man in the VIP room tonight, and if you survive, you walk out free.”

Free.

The word hit harder than any fist.

For ten years, I had lived under the Valli family.

Basements, locked rooms, knives, cameras, men who laughed when I begged them to kill me.

I had lost pieces of myself one by one, one kidney, half my hearing, most of my face, until there was almost nothing left.

But I had kept one thing.

Dante.

Don Moretti.

My husband.

The man I stayed behind to save. The man who promised he would come back for me.

I used to repeat his name when they hurt me.

I used to bite my tongue and tell myself: He's looking. He's coming. Dante would burn the world down for me.

Then the Madam opened a heavy red door and shoved me inside.

The VIP room stank of cigars, liquor, and money.

Men sat around a long black table. Guns showed under their jackets.

Women in glittering dresses leaned against them.

A man in a black suit and a gold lion mask sat at the center.

My breath stopped.

Even with half his face hidden, I knew him.

I knew his shoulders, the ring on his right hand, and the scar across his wrist from the night I saved him.

Dante.

I took one step forward before my knees almost gave out.

He did not stand and reach for me. He barely looked up.

The Madam bowed her head. “Don Moretti, fresh company for the evening.”

A few men laughed.

Dante lifted his glass. His eyes moved over me for half a second.

With disgust.

He took a stack of cash from the table and threw it at my feet.

“Sit in the corner,” he said. “Stay quiet.”

I stared at the money scattered over my shoes.

A man beside him grinned. “Don Moretti, you’re too generous. She looks like she came out of a grave.”

More laughter.

Dante did not laugh.

That gave me hope for one stupid second.

Then he said, “I don’t touch goods the Valli family already ruined.”

The words hurt worse than a slap.

I swayed where I stood.

Ruined.

Goods.

That was what I was to him now.

Not Elena Moretti, not his wife, not the woman who stayed behind with a gun to her head so he could escape. Just damaged merchandise.

The Madam dug her nails into my arm. “Move.”

I stumbled toward the corner. Every step felt wrong.

I wanted to scream his name, rip off that mask, and make him see me.

But my voice was broken, my face ruined, my body too thin, my hair cut short and uneven.

Would he know me? Would he care?

I sat on the edge of a low couch, hands locked in my lap.

The men went back to talking.

They talked money routes, dock workers, a shipment through Brooklyn, and a judge who needed pressure.

Dante listened, and every man at the table waited for his answer.

I kept staring at his wrist.

The scar was still there.

That scar came from me. Ten years ago, Lorenzo Valli had swung a blade at Dante’s throat. I blocked it with a metal chair.

Dante still got cut. I stayed behind so he could run.

He held my face that night and said, “El, no matter what happens, you are my wife. My only love. I will find you.”

I believed him.

A server placed a glass in front of me. I did not touch it.

Dante’s eyes flicked toward me again. “Drink if you want. Cry if you want. Just don’t make noise.”

The men laughed harder.

I lowered my head.

I was the joke.

Then Dante reached for his glass, and his sleeve shifted.

The scar flashed under the gold light.

I moved before I could stop myself. I crossed the room and grabbed his arm.

Guns came out at once, every weapon in the room aimed at my head.

Dante went still.

His eyes locked on mine through the mask.

For one second, I saw something sharp and scared.

My lips trembled.

"Dante," I whispered. "Is it you?"

His fingers tightened around the glass.

Before he could answer, the VIP door slammed open so hard it hit the wall.

A woman's voice cut through the room.

“Who the hell is touching my husband?”

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