Elena Vitiello POV:
The heavy engines of the yacht rumbled beneath my feet. The massive boat slowly pulled away from the dock, gliding out onto the dark, shimmering surface of Lake Michigan. In the distance, early July 4th fireworks were already popping in the sky.
I stood near the railing of the second-floor VIP deck. I held a crystal flute of champagne, my fingers resting lightly against the cold glass. I felt utterly exhausted.
Several young Chicago capos approached me, puffing their chests out, trying to strike up a conversation. Their eyes kept dropping to the heavy black diamond necklace resting on my collarbone. It was a beacon of wealth and danger.
"Beautiful night, Elena," one of them said, stepping too close.
"No," I replied, my voice a flat, freezing single syllable. I didn't look at him. I just stared out at the black water. The men shifted uncomfortably, feeling the suffocating pressure of my absolute rejection, and slowly backed away.
Down on the bottom deck, Luca and Matteo were walking the perimeter. Luca's neck was craned upward, his eyes obsessively glued to my silhouette on the second floor.
Matteo shoved Luca's shoulder hard. "Stop staring! If Domenico catches you slacking, we're dead."
Luca blinked, reluctantly pulling his eyes away, his jaw tight with frustration.
On the other side of the bottom deck, Sofia was walking arm-in-arm with Marco. She kept her head down, skillfully using the crowds to stay completely out of Luca's line of sight.
"I need to use the ladies' room," Sofia whispered, kissing Marco's cheek. Before he could answer, she slipped away into the crowd.
She didn't go to the bathroom. She walked straight to the main bar.
"Two glasses of your darkest Burgundy," Sofia ordered, leaning over the counter.
The bartender poured the deep, blood-red liquid into two large crystal goblets. Sofia took them, her fingers gripping the stems tightly. She turned and walked toward the spiral staircase leading to the VIP deck.
Two Chicago guards stood at the bottom of the stairs. They crossed their arms, blocking her path. "VIP pass only."
Sofia smiled, leaning forward to show off her cleavage. She slid a thick roll of hundred-dollar bills into the guard's pocket. "I'm just bringing these up to Marco. He's very thirsty."
The guard felt the weight of the cash. He smirked, taking a step back to let her through.
I was standing near the edge of the deck, facing the water. The cool lake breeze hit my face. I closed my eyes for just a second, letting my guard down in the quiet isolation.
Sofia climbed the stairs, her high heels making no sound on the carpeted steps. She moved like a snake in the grass.
Down below, Luca randomly glanced up toward the stairs. He caught a flash of a tight red dress disappearing onto the second floor. His stomach dropped. He knew that dress.
Luca grabbed the radio on his shoulder. "Second floor, you have an unauthorized female approaching the boss. Intercept!"
Static. The guards had turned off their radios the second they took the bribe.
Panic seized Luca's chest. He broke protocol, abandoning his post, and sprinted toward the spiral staircase.
On the second floor, Sofia was now only three steps behind me.
She took a deep breath. Her face morphed into a mask of bright, innocent surprise.
She stomped her heel hard against the wooden deck. "Sister Elena!" she yelled at the top of her lungs.
My eyes snapped open. The hairs on my arms stood up. I spun around, my body tense, my eyes locking onto her with pure disgust.
The moment I turned, Sofia purposely twisted her ankle. She let out a fake shriek and threw her entire body forward.
Her arms swung out. The two heavy glasses of dark red wine launched through the air.
I tried to step back, but the wooden deck was slick from the humidity, and my stiletto heels offered no grip. I couldn't move fast enough.
The dark, freezing liquid hit me squarely in the chest.
The wine splashed violently across my white silk dress. The delicate fabric instantly absorbed the dark red alcohol. Within seconds, the silk clung to my skin, turning completely transparent, exposing the outline of my body to the cold air.
The music seemed to stop. The men around the deck turned their heads. A chorus of low, dirty whistles and mocking laughter erupted from the crowd.
I froze in place. The cold wine dripped down my neck, sliding over the black diamonds, soaking into my skin. The humiliation was a physical weight, pressing down on my lungs.
I didn't try to cover myself. I stared dead at the fake-crying Sofia on the floor, pronouncing every word:
"You better pray you make it off this boat alive today."
