Chapter 3

The next morning, I left the signed transfer papers on Enzo's desk while his secretary stepped out for coffee. I was halfway to the elevator when my phone buzzed — a group message in the family's encrypted channel:

All senior members report to the main house. Immediate. New appointment to be announced.

I stopped mid-stride. A new appointment? Nobody had mentioned anything.

I drove to the Moretti estate in Westchester. The main hall was already packed when I arrived — capos, lieutenants, soldiers, all standing in loose formation beneath the vaulted ceiling. Dominic stood at the front beside Enzo and two senior consiglieri. He wore a charcoal suit, cut so sharp it could draw blood, his jaw set in that expression of practiced authority I'd spent five years memorizing.

Then Enzo raised a hand and the room fell silent.

"As you all know, the organization's been restructuring its Manhattan operations." His voice carried effortlessly. "We need a new liaison — someone who knows our overseas contacts and can manage the diplomatic side of the business." He gestured toward the arched doorway. "Valentina Cruz."

The room stirred. I couldn't move.

Valentina swept in like she'd been choreographed — silk blouse, pencil skirt, heels that clicked against the marble with the precision of a metronome. She crossed directly to Dominic's side and placed her hand on his arm as if it had never left.

"Some of you remember me," she said, her voice warm and practiced, pitched to carry. "Five years ago, I worked alongside Dominic when he first took over the East Side operation. Life took me to Miami. But here I am — back where I belong." She tilted her head toward him. "Some things are just meant to be."

A murmur rippled through the room. Somewhere behind me, I heard one of the younger soldiers whisper: "They used to be inseparable. Looks like nothing's changed."

Valentina leaned into Dominic, and he smiled — not the guarded, careful expression I was used to, but something open and easy. The kind of smile I hadn't seen directed at me in weeks.

He didn't step away from her. Not even an inch.

My nails carved crescents into my palms. I turned quietly and slipped through the side door before anyone noticed.

That evening, the welcome dinner was held at a private Italian restaurant in Midtown — one of the family's places, the kind with no sign on the door and a man in a black suit checking names at the entrance. I hadn't planned on going, but Marco and a few others practically dragged me out of the penthouse.

"Come on, Sera," Marco said, steering me by the elbow. "Everyone knows you've had a thing for Dominic, but this is family business. You have to show face."

I sat in the far corner of the private room, nursing a glass of red I had no intention of finishing, and watched Valentina work the crowd like she owned the room. She touched Dominic's shoulder when she laughed. Leaned close to murmur in his ear. Let her fingers trail down his sleeve as she moved away.

It was unbearable. In five years, Dominic had never once let me stand that close to him in front of the family. "We can't give anyone ammunition," he'd always said. "In this world, a weakness gets you killed."

I'd believed every word. Now I understood — the rule was never about safety. It was about me not being worth the risk.

"Those two were wild back in the day," said Gianni, the capo sitting next to me, swirling his whiskey. "When Valentina got the Miami assignment, Dominic nearly walked away from the whole operation. Told Enzo he'd burn it all down before he let her go alone. If the old man hadn't talked him off the ledge—"

"And the proposal." Sofia, one of the family's accountants, leaned in with obvious relish. "He shut down the entire rooftop of The Pierre. Roses everywhere. Hired a string quartet. Got down on one knee in front of half the Upper East Side."

My fingers tightened around the stem of my glass. Every grand gesture I'd believed was uniquely ours — the rooftop dinners, the whispered promises, the feeling of being the only woman in his world — all of it had been staged before. A performance he'd already perfected with someone else. The entire family knew their love story. Not a single soul knew about ours.

Valentina circled back through the room and stopped in front of me, extending a manicured hand with a smile so polished it could've been lacquered on.

"You must be Serafina." Her eyes held mine a beat too long. "I've heard so much. Think of me as the older sister you never had."

The audacity was almost impressive. The same woman who'd been sending me her sex tapes was standing here pretending we'd never spoken.

"Charmed." I grazed her fingertips and withdrew.

Her smile tightened for just a flash before she recovered, pivoting gracefully back toward Dominic. He was watching her approach — lips curved in that soft, private expression I used to think belonged to me alone. He never glanced my way. Not once.

I stood up, murmured something about a phone call, and left.

Just past the threshold of the private room, I heard Valentina's voice, pitched perfectly to carry without seeming deliberate: "Dom, I don't think your underboss likes me very much. She left before the food even arrived."

A brief, uncomfortable silence. Then someone — Gianni, I think — filled it: "Don't take it personally. She's been carrying a torch for Dominic since she joined the family. Five years of following him around like a shadow. Now that you're back, of course she's rattled."

Sympathetic murmurs circled the table. Valentina sighed theatrically. "That's not fair to her. We're all family here."

I pressed my back against the hallway wall and let out a soundless laugh. So this was my reputation — the desperate underboss, lovesick and pathetic, orbiting a man who'd never look twice.

Fine. In eleven days, this desperate woman would be gone. After all, not a single person at that table knew I'd been sharing Dominic Russo's bed for half a decade.

I'd made it to the front entrance when his footsteps caught up with me. Heavy. Quick. Angry.

"Sera." His voice was low but edged with something sharp. "What was that? Walking out in the middle of a family dinner — you know how that looks. Valentina's new to this crew. You made her feel unwelcome."

I stopped. Turned. Looked him dead in the eye.

"You're so concerned about making her comfortable — is that because she's new to the crew? Or because she's the ex you never bothered to tell me about?"