Elena Vitiello POV:
Two massive inner-circle guards grabbed Sofia by her upper arms. They didn't use any care. They hauled her off the floor, dragging her toward the gallery doors like a heavy bag of garbage.
"No! Let me go!" Sofia shrieked, her feet kicking wildly.
They dragged her down the three flights of stairs and out the front doors. I followed slowly, watching from the top of the marble steps.
Sofia struggled on the rough stone path leading to the main gates. Her expensive black pants tore at the knees. Skin scraped against the gravel, leaving thin trails of blood. The fake elegance she had worn like a mask was completely shredded.
She twisted her neck, looking back at the estate. "Luca! Save me! Luca!" she screamed, her voice echoing in the cold night air.
Luca was at the bottom of the steps. He tried to lunge forward, but Domenico slammed the barrel of his rifle into the small of Luca's back. Luca hit the stone steps hard. Domenico planted his heavy combat boot squarely between Luca's shoulder blades, pinning him to the ground.
Luca's eyes were bloodshot. He gritted his teeth, forced to watch the woman he ruined his life for get thrown out like a stray dog.
With a deafening metallic clang, the heavy wrought-iron gates slammed shut right in Sofia's face.
She fell against the bars. Her hands gripped the cold iron. She looked up through the gaps, her eyes locking onto mine. The mask was gone. There was nothing but pure, unadulterated venom and hatred in her stare.
I stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at her. The night wind whipped my dark green silk robe around my legs. The black diamond necklace rested heavy on my chest. I felt absolutely nothing for her.
I turned my back on the gates. I didn't even glance at Luca, who was still pinned to the ground. I walked back inside the house.
Behind me, I heard a sickening crunch. Luca punched the solid stone step with his bare fist. His knuckles split open, blood staining the rock. He let out a low, guttural growl of pure despair.
***
*Three days later. July 4th.*
In a high-end private clinic in downtown Chicago, Sofia sat on an examination table. She had spent the last of her stolen cash to have a plastic surgeon laser the fresh scars on her knees.
She stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Her eyes were dark and hollow. She touched her own cheek, silently swearing to make me pay in blood for humiliating her.
She reached into her purse and pulled out her cracked burner phone. She dialed a number.
"Marco," she said, her voice instantly dropping into a sweet, breathy purr. Marco was a minor, sleazy gang boss who operated on the edges of our territory. "I was wondering if you needed a plus-one for the yacht party tonight on the lake."
***
Back at the estate, I stood rigidly in front of the mirrors in my fitting room. Two tailors were carefully pinning the hem of a white silk haute couture dress. The fabric was incredibly thin, designed to drape flawlessly over the body.
The heavy oak door opened. My father, the Underboss, walked in.
He didn't knock. He looked at me, his eyes running up and down the dress. A cold, calculating satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. He wasn't looking at his daughter; he was looking at a highly valuable asset.
"You will attend the party on Lake Michigan tonight," my father commanded.
"I don't care for fireworks," I replied flatly.
"I am not asking," he snapped. "There are rumors that representatives from New York might be present. You will go, and you will look perfect."
I raised my hand and gently touched the cold black diamonds resting against my collarbone. I stared back at him through the mirror and gave a single, tight nod.
***
Out on the training grounds, the midday sun was brutal.
Luca and Matteo were dressed in cheap, scratchy security uniforms. They were unloading heavy wooden crates of fireworks from a delivery truck. Sweat poured down Luca's face, stinging his eyes. He looked down at his hands, rough and calloused from three days of manual labor. His chest burned with deep resentment.
"This is bullshit," Matteo muttered, dropping a crate. "They assigned us to the bottom deck perimeter tonight. We're practically guarding the engine room."
Luca wiped his forehead with the back of his dirty arm. He looked toward the main house. "It doesn't matter," he said, his voice thick with a twisted, pathetic devotion. "As long as I can see her from afar, it's enough."
***
By evening, the massive luxury yacht was docked at the edge of Lake Michigan. The boat was lit up like a floating palace, the air thick with cigar smoke, expensive perfume, and the sound of popping champagne corks.
My bulletproof SUV pulled up to the pier. I stepped out. The white silk dress flowed around me, catching the harbor lights. The black diamond necklace drew every eye on the dock. Total silence fell over the crowd for three seconds before the whispers started.
Luca stood by the metal detectors at the boarding ramp. His eyes locked onto me, wide and obsessive, but he shrank back, not daring to step into my path.
I walked right past him. I didn't look at him. I didn't acknowledge his existence.
Ten minutes after I boarded, a loud sports car violently braked at the drop-off zone.
Sofia stepped out. She was wearing a skin-tight, provocative red dress that left very little to the imagination. She wrapped her arm tightly around Marco's bicep.
She stood on the dock, her eyes scanning the upper decks of the yacht until she found the flash of my white dress.
Sofia picked up a glass of dark red wine from a passing waiter's tray, her mouth curving into a twisted smile.
"Tonight, I'm going to stain the white snow with red spots."
