The charity gala glittered with gold and crystal, the kind of front-facing society event where every Family worth mentioning sent their best faces. Dante Russo was already inside the venue with Adriana, talking business with silent partners and protected backers beneath the chandeliers.
By the time the clock struck ten, Bianca hadn't shown. Dante started to feel uneasy. He asked a server if they'd seen her arrive. The answer was no. He asked a soldier posted at the door, a valet, the event coordinator. All shook their heads.
That was impossible. He called again. No answer. The ringing went straight to voicemail.
A sinking feeling hit the pit of his stomach. This wasn't like Bianca. She always responded. Was she still mad?
Then, just as he was about to call her again, Nereo Gallo approached him. The old steward's face was unreadable, but his eyes lowered for one measured beat before rising to meet Dante's directly. "Sir," he said, offering a long, rectangular box wrapped in ivory paper. "This was delivered just now. For you."
Dante raised an eyebrow and took it.
The paper came off slowly, his fingers twitching. Inside the box were two things. A folded stack of official documents. And her wedding ring.
He pulled out the papers, hands trembling now, and his eyes scanned the words—DISSOLUTION OF ALLIANCE MARRIAGE—signed, sealed, filed.
Dante stood frozen, the papers clutched tightly in his shaking hands. His mind reeled, as if every word on the page were written in a foreign language, as if the signature at the bottom didn't belong to his wife. But it did. Bianca's name. Her real, determined handwriting—final, and firm.
The wedding ring tumbled out of the box and landed with a hollow metallic clink on the marble floor. He blinked, as if waking from a dream.
"No…" he muttered to himself, fumbling for his phone. His hands trembled as he scrolled to her contact. The screen blurred for a second—either from the adrenaline or the emotions clawing up his throat.
He dialed. Once. Twice. Three times. No answer.
He tried again. Left a voicemail. Texted.
Dante: Bianca. What kind of stunt is this?
Dante: This isn't funny. Call me back now.
Dante: Where are you?
Still nothing.
Across the ballroom, Adriana noticed his rigid posture, the flicker of panic in his usually unreadable eyes. She walked over, a glass of champagne in one hand, her signature smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
"What's going on?" she asked, voice silky. "You look like someone died."
Dante didn't answer, just shoved the open box toward her.
Adriana's gaze fell to the ring first, then the papers. Dissolution.
And just like that, a flutter of glee tickled her chest. She almost gasped. She had dreamed of this moment for months, years even, since Bianca had returned to claim what was "rightfully hers." Since Bianca came back and stole the man Adriana believed was meant for her. Her tongue touched the edge of her canine, then pulled away.
"She finally left," Adriana whispered, eyes wide with mock concern. "Oh, poor thing. Maybe she just needs some time."
Dante gritted his teeth. "She filed to dissolve the marriage, Adriana. She signed it."
Adriana tried to feign sympathy, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "Come on, this isn't the first time she acted out, remember? What about that time she stormed off after she caught you with me in the study? She was always too emotional. Jealous for no reason. She'll come back."
"No," Dante said, voice low, eyes still glued to the documents. "This is different."
Adriana's jaw tensed, her smile slipping for a second. But she quickly recovered. "So what? Let her go, then. She doesn't love you. Not like I do." She leaned in, pressing her body slightly closer. "Maybe this is fate, Dante. Maybe we're finally free to be together."
Before he could react, a new voice cut through the air.
"What's going on here?"
It was Viola Benedetti. Regal in her evening gown, lips painted red, her eyes scanned the scene with a sharpness that never missed a thing. Her gaze landed on the papers in Dante's hands.
She stepped closer and snatched them. Her face paled.
"What the hell is this?" she barked. "A dissolution?"
Dante didn't speak. Couldn't.
Adriana stepped in smoothly. "I think it's a good thing, Mom. Let's be honest, they were never truly happy. Maybe they're better apart. Maybe Dante and I—"
"Don't be ridiculous," Viola snapped, cutting her off. The heel of her palm came down on the linen napkin folded over her clutch, smoothing it flat edge to edge, a gesture so controlled it could have pressed the rage right out of silk. "Our Family does not tolerate a broken alliance. It's disgraceful. Do you know what this will look like to the other Families? To the Feds watching us? To every silent partner with money in our fronts? I may have hated that child, but she is my real daughter."
Dante's voice finally emerged, hoarse and bitter. "She filed it. Not me."
"Well, fix it," Viola hissed. "Call her. Do whatever it takes. I don't care what you have to do. Settle it before anyone outside this room finds out."
But Adriana was already rolling her eyes. "Why are you all acting like she matters? Bianca's just a name on paper. She didn't grow up in this world. She's not one of us."
That was the last straw.
Dante turned sharply and shoved her aside, hard enough that she stumbled a step backward. The two soldiers standing near the corridor entrance looked away.
"Don't talk about her like that," he growled.
Adriana blinked, stunned. "Dante, what are you saying? Isn't this what we both wanted? You told me that you wanted the marriage dissolved and now she's handing—wait!"
But he didn't respond. He was already walking away.
Every step was heavy. Every breath was ragged.
In his mind, her face appeared again. Bianca. Her voice. Her smile. The way she looked at him before all this—before he broke her beyond repair.
He thought she would always be there.
That she would forgive him, like she always did.
That she was too poor, too weak, too dependent to ever leave.
But now—now she was gone.
And all that remained was a ring and a signature.
She didn't even say goodbye.
As he stepped out into the cold night, Dante didn't care about the gala anymore. He didn't care about the Russo name. About Adriana. About the silent partners or the alliance.
No. There was only one thought racing through his mind like wildfire.
"I'm bringing her back. She doesn't get to leave me. Not like this."
