Chapter 5

A voice came from outside the door. "Ms. Romano? Delivery for you—signature required."

I hesitated. "I haven't ordered anything recently. Are you sure you have the right address?"

"Sender marked it as a gift package, express priority. The address checks out."

I opened the door and stared at the black box in the courier's hands.

After signing for it, I went back inside, tore off the wrapping paper, and lifted the lid.

Inside was a custom-made wedding dress.

Ivory white. French lace. Hand-sewn beading. The neckline plunged low, and the waistline conformed to my measurements with surgical precision. I knew who had sent it. He'd traced the lines of my body too many times to need a tailor.

A card sat on top. Black stock, gold-foiled lettering. Dante's handwriting.

Bella, you are the only bride I've ever wanted. Happy third anniversary.

I stared at that line until the ache in my chest became almost unbearable.

For three years, I'd fantasized countless times about walking down the aisle to marry Dante Valentino.

But not after he'd announced his engagement to another woman. Not after he'd denied me in front of the press. Not after a bullet had been left on my coffee table as a warning. And certainly not through a wedding dress delivered like some hollow gesture of affection.

How absurd. How pathetic.

I looked at the gown spread across the sofa, and it seemed to mock every ounce of my naivety and stupidity.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Dante: Did you get the gift?

I didn't reply. I was stuffing the dress back into the box when my phone lit up again.

A direct message notification. From Serena Moretti.

My thumb hovered over it. Every nerve in my body screamed at me not to open it.

I opened it anyway.

Isabella, this is Serena. I hope you don't mind me reaching out directly. Today is mine and Dante's engagement party. I'm not here to cause trouble. I just want you to know a few things.

The second message followed immediately.

Dante and I grew up together. We were each other's first love, and our families always saw us as a perfect match.

Four years ago, we had a fight and separated temporarily. During that time, he met you.

But it was only temporary, Isabella. Everyone knew we'd end up together. This isn't a political alliance—it's a homecoming.

I'm not saying this to hurt you. I just hope you'll make the right choice and stop letting yourself get in any deeper.

Then the last one.

After all, when the moment comes to choose—he won't choose you. I think you've already seen that for yourself.

I set the phone down. My fingers felt frozen. Mechanically, I swiped to the news feed.

The headline had changed. A live photo—a red carpet in front of St. Patrick's Cathedral. Dante in a black three-piece suit, Serena in a white gown on his arm. His hand resting over hers, natural as breathing. The headline read: "Valentino-Moretti Engagement Gala in Full Swing—All Five New York Families in Attendance."

The comments section was flooded with congratulations. No one mentioned my name. As if I had never existed at all.

I placed my phone facedown on the sofa.

I'd already told myself to let go. But seeing this still felt like a knife driven straight through my heart, twisting until I bled.

His "Rose" had told me I was nothing more than an interlude. And on the day of his own engagement party, he'd sent me a wedding dress I would never wear.

That was when my mother's call came through. I answered immediately.

"Bella, Lorenzo has arranged a pickup for you. A black SUV, New Jersey plates, parked in the alley behind your building. Can you leave now?"

"Today's Dante's engagement party. He'll be tied up." I was already on my feet as I spoke. "Mom, I'm leaving now."

"Good. Call me when you get to Los Angeles." Her voice was steady, but I heard her draw a sharp breath on the other end—as if holding something back. "Be careful, sweetheart."

After I hung up, I set the wedding dress box outside in the hallway.

Then I stripped my luggage down to a single backpack. Toiletries. The cash tucked at the bottom of my jewelry box. My passport.

The dresses he'd bought me, the jewelry, the life we'd built together—I left all of it in that apartment.

I was leaving everything tied to this wretched chapter behind me.

To avoid Dante's men, I pushed through the fire exit door and took the back stairwell down.

My footsteps echoed in the enclosed space, each one amplified like a heartbeat.

By the time I reached the tenth floor, I heard sounds below.

Men. More than one. Moving fast, leather soles striking concrete.

"—said the penthouse—"

"Boss wants her secured before noon—"

I froze.

I pressed myself flat against the wall, barely daring to breathe.

They were coming up. Dante's men.