Liliana's POV
I don't know how long I cried on the floor of the consigliere's office, curled up like a ball, but when I finally stood up, I wiped my tears and sighed.
It couldn't get any worse than this. My marriage of four years to Giacomo Russo had been nothing but a farce.
I wanted to scream at him and ask why he would do such wickedness to me. Why tie me down for fifteen years?
Fifteen years ago, I moved into the Russo compound to take care of them after they lost their parents and their sister in a car bombing. I had been their closest friend and they asked me to live with them. For years I helped them heal. I woke Pietro up when he screamed from the nightmares of the explosion, the smell of burning metal still clinging to his skin.
When we became adults I fell in love with Giacomo and he said he loved me back. He married me shortly after, and like a fool I happily did whatever I could to keep making them happy.
Even when Nadina came into the picture a year after my marriage, I hadn't been bothered. Nadina had been my best friend in college. My childhood friend. She was my bridesmaid. She'd never harm me. But I was so wrong.
The three of them hurt me in a way that I couldn't even think about it fully without losing my breath.
What did I ever do to deserve this? Why didn't he just tell me he never loved me? Why go through all this hell just to ruin me?
"Miss, should I call someone for you? Hospital? Police? A friend?" The consigliere's voice broke through my thoughts.
I stared at him and smiled bitterly. "Thank you so much. I'll leave now."
I staggered out of the office watching as they all stared at me, pity evident in their eyes. The receptionist looked away. The armed man stationed by the door didn't.
I hailed a cab to head back to the compound. I had nowhere else to go and I needed to pack my things.
I had one goal now: get my passport. Cancel this identity. Erase "Liliana Russo" for good.
The house was quiet when I entered and I was grateful. However, after I grabbed my passport and started coming out, I heard voices in the sitting room.
Putting on a calm facade, I walked out and ignored them. Pietro and Giacomo were having dinner while Nadina was lying on Giacomo's legs. The table was set with Sunday silver. Wine poured. Candles lit.
They looked like a beautiful family. A perfect picture of a deceitful family.
I had barely taken three steps when Giacomo's voice rang out.
"Liliana!"
I didn't stop. However, I felt a painful grip on my arm. I turned to realize Pietro had grabbed me.
"Are you deaf? Can't you hear us calling?" Pietro snarled at me.
I ignored him and yanked my arm away from him. "I don't have time for whatever this is."
Pietro threw his head back and laughed coldly as he suddenly grabbed my bag.
"Kneel and apologize to Nadina for hurting her earlier and then maybe we'll let you leave," Pietro said.
I turned my sad eyes to Giacomo hoping that just maybe he might help me.
But instead, he agreed with Pietro.
"Yes, Liliana. The doctor said if we hadn't come in time Nadina would have bled and died. You almost killed her, so an apology is the least you can do."
I scoffed softly. "I almost killed her? She wanted me dead! I have been through hell for two days and no one asked me anything. Then—"
"It's fine, Giacomo. Let her be, Pietro, she doesn't have to apologize," Nadina interrupted me softly, acting like the victim once again. Her fingertips drifted to the hollow of her throat as she spoke, that delicate little gesture she wore like innocence.
Giacomo suddenly stood up, furious. "No, it's not okay, Nadina. She can't harm you and go scot-free. If you don't apologize this instant, I will punish you, Liliana!"
I shrugged. "I'm not apologizing for what I didn't do, Giacomo. Do your worst."
Giacomo dragged me roughly outside as he grabbed a bottle, smashed it against the stone courtyard.
Pietro shoved me forward.
They forced me to kneel on the shards.
Pain sliced through my skin. I gasped as glass embedded in my knees.
"Count to one hundred," Pietro snapped.
I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. They stood over me. Watching. The compound lights threw their shadows long across the ground, and somewhere behind them the house was warm and lit and I could smell the dinner still on the table.
Nadina smirked behind them.
By the time they reached a hundred, I was faint from blood loss.
Pietro tossed my bag at me.
"Fucking useless bitch."
"Next time you touch Nadina, I'll kill you myself," Giacomo added. His right fist clenched and unclenched at his side, as though the violence he'd already dealt still wasn't enough.
They walked away.
I staggered to the side wall, pulling glass from my knees, barely holding back screams.
I tore an old dress hanging outside and wrapped my knees. I refused to let this stop me. If anything it made me want to cancel my identity more. My thumb found the inside of my left wrist without thinking, pressing into the skin there, and the fresh pain in my knees joined the older pain that never fully left.
I hailed a cab and went to the immigration office. I was attended to immediately by a junior agent.
"Are you sure about this? Once we sign these documents, Liliana Russo doesn't exist again," the agent said.
I nodded. "That's what I want."
He asked for my passport and I handed it over as he scanned it when suddenly red lights flashed, sirens blared, and alarms echoed through the room.
"What's happening?" I asked.
Men in black surrounded me. Guns holstered. I was seized, dragged into a cold, sterile office.
"What are you doing? I didn't do anything!"
Officer Lombardi slammed the passport down. He tapped his badge once with his index finger, the gesture of a man who believed the institution made him untouchable.
"Fake document. Fraud. You're under arrest."
I was stunned as I stuttered. "No—Giacomo Russo gave me that passport! Call him. He'll explain—"
He picked up the phone, pulled up the registry system, then dialed.
Giacomo answered. "Russo residence."
"Mr. Russo, this is Officer Lombardi, Immigration and Customs. A woman named Liliana Russo—she claims you gave her this passport. Can you confirm that you know her?"
There was a pause.
Then Giacomo's voice—calm, composed, merciless.
"I don't know anyone by that name."
I screamed. "Giacomo! It's me! Please—"
The officer ignored me. "Just to confirm, sir. You deny giving her any documents? Please be certain because she will be arrested."
Without a moment of hesitation, Giacomo's voice sounded again.
"I don't know her. Do whatever you wish. I have to go take care of my wife and daughter." Then the line went dead with a click.
I watched in horror as I was handcuffed and led out of the office, but I couldn't cry or scream. All that kept resounding in my ears was Giacomo's last words.
I don't know her. Do whatever you wish. I have to go take care of my wife and daughter.
