Chapter 1

The hallway was too quiet.

I shouldn't have come upstairs.

But the De Luca estate staff had been whispering all evening, their eyes sliding away when I approached.

The bedroom door stood half-open, light spilling into the corridor.

I pushed it wider.

Lorenzo was on the bed.

Valentina Russo beneath him, her dark hair spread across our pillows.

Not our pillows anymore, apparently.

"Elena." Lorenzo's voice was flat, no surprise, no guilt.

He didn't even bother to move.

Valentina smiled at me, slow and deliberate.

"I can explain," Lorenzo said, finally standing.

"Please do." My voice sounded far away, like it belonged to someone else.

"This is for the family," he said, buttoning his shirt with infuriating calm. "The Russo alliance requires... commitment."

"Commitment." I repeated the word, tasting its bitterness.

"The elders needed to see we're serious about the peace treaty."

"So you fuck her in our bed?"

"Don't be crude, Elena." He walked toward me, his face hardening. "This is bigger than your feelings."

"My feelings?" Something cold settled in my chest.

"Don't use your dirty mind to taint the bigger picture," he said, each word precise and cutting.

Five years.

Five years I'd hidden our marriage from everyone.

Five years I'd laundered his money, moved his assets, cleaned his blood-stained accounts.

"I see," I said quietly.

"I knew you'd understand." He actually smiled. "You've always been smart about these things."

Behind him, Valentina was adjusting her dress, watching us like this was theater.

"Is that all?" I asked.

"You'll need to handle the media if anything leaks," Lorenzo said, already turning back to Valentina. "Make sure it stays contained."

I walked out without answering.

My heels echoed down the marble stairs.

In my office, I pulled up the security system, deleted the footage of my visit to that bedroom.

Then I sat at my desk and waited.

My phone buzzed at 11:47 PM.

News alert: "De Luca Heir Spotted with Russo Princess—Alliance or Romance?"

Photos of Lorenzo and Valentina, intimate and obvious.

Another notification.

Another.

The story was spreading like wildfire.

My assistant called. "Mrs. De L— Elena, should I contact the usual outlets?"

"No," I said.

"But the media—"

"Let it burn."

I hung up and opened my encrypted files.

Every account Lorenzo had ever asked me to manage.

Every offshore company I'd created.

Every shell corporation hiding family money.

He thought I was a tool.

He was about to learn what happens when tools decide to stop working.

My phone lit up again—Lorenzo calling.

I watched it ring.

And ring.

Then I picked up my personal laptop and typed three words into a secure browser.

Divorce attorney. Immediate.