Chapter 1

I was Ricardo Conti's secret mistress for ten years.

For ten years, I was his shadow, his weapon, the person who came whenever he called.

I always thought that maybe one day, I could become his true partner.

However, after we slept together, he told me he was getting engaged to someone else.

In that moment, I finally understood—I was nothing more than an asset he could put away and use whenever he pleased.

An hour ago.

He kissed me for the countless time, pinning me down with possession and urgency.

Beneath him, I completely lost control. My nails dug into his back. I heard my own breathing come in ragged gasps, as if he'd pushed me to the edge of a cliff.

"Get closer," he commanded in a low voice.

I gasped, my whole body pushed toward the headboard. His movements were forceful, precise, without a hint of hesitation.

He kissed me deeply, with a force that made me forget which way was up. His hand gripped my waist, pulling me toward him. In that moment I almost believed he too was lost in these ten years of entanglement.

When it was over, I leaned against his chest, my fingers unconsciously tracing the lines of his shoulders.

His voice suddenly cut through the quiet.

"Tonight, we need to talk about something."

I lifted my head. My heart raced.

Ten years. For ten years I'd managed his most secret assets, designed the most lethal security vulnerabilities, lay in his bed. But I'd never been allowed to appear at any official public occasion for the Conti family. I'd always been the one hidden in the shadows.

In all these years, he'd never talked about "business" at a time like this. I thought... maybe the moment had finally come.

"Ricardo." I sat up, my voice trembling slightly. "Are you finally willing to talk about us?"

He raised an eyebrow, looking at me with eyes as calm as if he were facing a financial report.

"Don't misunderstand," he said. "I came to tell you I'm getting engaged."

My heart stopped.

He pulled out his phone, his tone as bland as a weather forecast. "Sofia Rostov. The youngest daughter of the Rostov family. The people over in Eastern Europe have extensive connections. This marriage is very important for the family."

I stared at him, completely unable to comprehend.

"Tomorrow night's dinner, you'll attend as my chief security advisor to assess several Eastern European oligarchs who'll also be there. That's your job."

Every word was like an ice pick stabbing into my skin.

"You're getting engaged to her? And what am I?"

He looked up at me like I was an overreacting employee.

"Ella, you didn't really think you could become the mistress of the Conti family, did you?"

My breathing became erratic. My mouth hung open, but I couldn't form a complete sentence.

"When did you... decide this?"

"Six months ago." He stood up, heading toward the bathroom without even looking at me. "It's an alliance."

Six months ago.

He'd been in Europe doing business then. Every time he came back, he came to me. He was in my bed, on top of me, whispering those secret words that belonged only to us.

And at that time... he'd already decided to get engaged to another woman.

I followed him, watching the bathroom mirror. The marks on his body were all freshly made.

An hour ago, I'd thought they were marks of love between us.

Now, they only made me feel ashamed.

"Do you love her?" I asked.

"Love?" He turned on the shower, saying lightly, "Don't be naive. This is cooperation."

When he came out of the shower, water still dripping from his shoulders. His body had once made my heart soften, but now it only made me feel cold.

"She's young, has connections," he said while drying his hair. "She can give me access to the entire Rostov network. And you... you'll continue doing what you're good at."

What I'm good at. Cleaning up after him, working for him, and offering my body in bed?

I stood there. A chill ran down my legs. I suddenly felt utterly empty, filthy to the core.

When I walked back to the bedroom, he was already dressed in his suit, sitting on the couch.

He was on the phone.

"The ring needs to be shipped from Switzerland. She wants a blue diamond. Prepare ten dress options. Have the perfume company air-freight the kind she likes."

As he spoke these words, an expression appeared on his face that I'd never seen before.

He smiled.

It was a smile he'd never given me.

My throat felt blocked. The phone in my hand dropped to the floor with a crisp sound.

He turned his head, looking at me, the gentle smile still lingering on his face. For a moment I thought it was for me.

"Is everything taken care of? You can go now."

He picked up his coat, walked to the door, but paused. He looked back, lips curving.

"Control yourself, Ella," he said, his voice as calm as if reprimanding a subordinate who'd made a mistake. "You still have work tomorrow. Don't disappoint me."

He picked up his coat from the sofa, heading toward the suite door.

At the doorway, he stopped for a moment and looked back. The light from the corridor shone in behind him, casting his face in shadow.

"By the way," his voice drifted over, "your performance tonight was excellent as always. Both at work and in other aspects. Keep it up. You're still useful to me."

The door closed behind him.

I sat in complete silence. After a long time, I began to laugh. The sound started small, then grew louder, until I was laughing so hard I cried.

I don't know how long I sat there before I finally got up from the floor, got dressed, and left the casino suite.

I didn't go back to my apartment in New York. I went to an inconspicuous warehouse on the outskirts of Las Vegas—one of my backup workshops and safe houses.

I opened the heavy safe in the corner. Inside were many things: the first set of jewelry he'd given me, some rare antique books, and our only photo together—a Polaroid from some unknown beach many years ago, where he had his arm around my shoulder and we were both smiling relaxedly.

At the very back lay that platinum Beretta pistol inlaid with sapphires, custom-made. The first gift he'd given me. My initials were engraved on the grip.

I took it out and elegantly disassembled it into pieces.

Then, I took these things out one by one and threw them into the industrial shredder in the corner of the workshop.

The sound of metal and gemstones being crushed was harsh. "Miss Moratti?" My assistant Carlo's voice came from the doorway. He looked terrified. "These... these are all very valuable. And that gun, it's custom-made..."

"Get rid of them," I said, my voice sounding strange. "All of it."

Carlo opened his mouth but ultimately said nothing. He watched me continue throwing things into the shredder.

Finally, I picked up that Polaroid photo. The smiling faces in the picture had already blurred. I looked at it for a few seconds, then threw it in too.

Fragments sprayed out from the other side of the machine, like gray snow.

I walked to the workbench and picked up an old encrypted satellite phone, dialing a number I knew by heart.

The phone was answered after three rings.

"Dad," I said.

There was a second of silence on the other end, then my father Luca Moratti's low, steady voice came through. "Ella. You finally called."

"I need to disappear," I said, enunciating each word clearly. "Within ten days. Make the name 'Ella Moratti' completely disappear from Las Vegas and New York."

There was another moment of silence on the other end.

"Are you sure?" my father asked.

I looked out the window. Las Vegas's neon lights were still flashing, illuminating half the night sky. That "Crown" casino stood in the city center like a golden tombstone.

"Absolutely sure," I said. "He chose his kingdom. Now, I'm taking back my life."