The Grand Ballroom of the Vitiello estate was a sea of black tuxedos and designer gowns.
Overhead, the chandeliers dripped heavy crystal, casting a golden light that felt abrasive and artificial against the hollow darkness inside me.
I stood in the corner, wearing a plain black dress that blended into the shadows, holding a tray of champagne. I wasn't a guest. I was a prop.
The High Families were there—the Russos, the Gambinos. They all knew who I was. They whispered behind their hands, their eyes darting from Dante to me like vultures circling a carcass.
"Look at the traitor's daughter," a woman whispered loud enough for me to hear.
"How does he let her live?"
"He's playing with his food," her husband replied, laughing darkly.
Dante stood in the center of the room, Sofia clinging to his arm like a parasite. She was wearing *my* dress. The custom Vera Wang I had designed for my wedding.
It hung loose on her slender frame, but she wore it with a smug, possessive pride.
"Attention everyone," Dante’s voice boomed, instantly silencing the room.
He turned to Sofia, his expression softening into a mask of adoration. "To my savior. The woman who gave me a heart when mine was failing."
Applause thundered around me. It felt like a physical blow to the chest. *I* gave him life. *I* lay in that hospital bed for months while he recovered. And now, he was thanking the thief.
"I have a gift," Dante said. He snapped his fingers.
A guard brought forward a velvet box. Dante opened it. Inside lay the Emerald of Sicily—a necklace that had been in the Vitiello family for generations.
He had fastened it around my neck two years ago, swearing on his life that it would never leave me.
"Sofia," he said, fastening it around her throat. "It finally rests on a neck worthy of it."
Sofia touched the gems, her eyes gleaming with greed. She looked at me across the room and smiled. She beckoned me over.
I walked toward them, my legs heavy as lead.
"Elena," Sofia cooed, fingering the large central emerald. "Doesn't it look beautiful?"
"Yes," I said, my voice hollow.
"You know," Sofia said, loud enough for the circle around us to hear. "I heard you have a match for Dante's blood type. Since my heart is still so... fragile from the transplant, maybe you should donate yours to me. It’s the least you could do."
The room went silent.
Dante looked at me. For a second, I saw a flicker of something—confusion?—in his eyes. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"Give her your heart, Elena?" he mused, his tone turning cruel. "But you don't have one to give, do you? You’re heartless. Just like your father."
I looked at him. I wanted to rip open my shirt, show him the scars, show him the machine keeping me alive. But what was the point? He had chosen his truth.
"I have nothing left to give you, Dante," I said softly. "You took it all."
Sofia sneered, wrinkling her nose. "Ugh, get away from me. You smell like antiseptic and desperation."
She shoved me.
We were standing by the open French doors leading to the terrace, overlooking the estate lake. I stumbled back, my balance lost. My heel caught on the uneven stone threshold.
I fell.
The water was black and freezing. I hit the surface with a splash that silenced the party.
The cold water rushed into my nose, my mouth. The heavy battery pack of my LVAD weighed me down like an anchor. I sank.
Above me, the lights of the ballroom shimmered like distorted stars.
I didn't swim.
Why would I? The water was quiet. There was no pain here. No Dante. No betrayal.
I let the air leave my lungs in a rush of bubbles. I closed my eyes, and for the first time in five days, I felt peace.
