Chapter 2

Siena POV

The silence of the bedroom was suffocating.

I walked into the spacious walk-in closet and stared at the rows of bespoke designer suits I had bought for Lorenzo.

Each one was a testament to my wasted devotion.

I walked over to the vanity and opened the heavy velvet boxes.

The wedding tribute the Costa family had provided. The blood diamonds. The heirloom watches.

I took photos of every single piece and sent them to my underground contact in the black market.

I attached a single, uncompromising instruction: "Liquidate everything and cash it out before tomorrow morning."

Next, I ordered a trusted demolition crew to gut this penthouse down to bare concrete the exact second Lorenzo left for the airport.

Suddenly, my phone dinged with a social media notification.

Lorenzo had unilaterally posted a public statement to our entire syndicate circle, bypassing me completely.

"Due to unavoidable Famiglia complications and an urgent overseas assignment, the wedding is delayed for three years. Thank you for your understanding."

I stared at the glowing screen and let out a cold, hollow laugh.

He couldn't wait to play the tragic hero.

A while later, a private text from Lorenzo popped up.

"Lucia is moving out of her apartment before Europe, so I'm helping her store some luggage at my mom's place. It's too late now, so I'll just sleep at my mom's tonight. See you tomorrow."

I couldn't even be bothered to reply with a single word. I didn't want this man anymore.

There was nothing left to care about or argue over.

The next morning, the very first thing I saw on my social feed was a bold new photo posted by Lucia.

She was wearing a plush white hotel bathrobe, her hair deliberately messy.

A man's hand was handing her a cup of coffee.

On her neck, there was a fresh, purple hickey.

The caption read: "New beginnings."

In the comment section, a mutual Associate asked who the lucky man was.

Lucia replied with a winking emoji: "Just a male model."

But I knew it was Lorenzo.

On the thumb of that hand was a highly distinct, star-shaped black mole.

I used to kiss that mole.

But now, it only made my stomach churn with absolute nausea.

At noon, a text from Lucia lit up my screen.

"I'm coming over to your place this noon, we have some things to talk about. Make a lot of good food, I suddenly have a craving for your seafood pasta."

For the past year, whenever she craved home-cooked meals, she would just text me to make them.

At first, she used to add a "please?"

But now, her tone was exactly like she was ordering a maid.

I completely deleted the chat history, wiping her existence clean from my device.

At eight o'clock sharp, I walked into the private dining room of a high-end café controlled by a syndicate conglomerate.

Don Pietro Falcone was already waiting for me.

He was twenty-six years old, the young yet immensely powerful head of the Falcone Famiglia. A man who represented absolute strength and order in this underworld.

I sat across from him, keeping my spine perfectly straight.

His dark eyes locked onto mine, stripping away all the hypocritical pleasantries of the underworld in one searing second.

"Siena Rossi."

His voice was a low rumble that vibrated right through the mahogany table.

"I have waited a very long time for your mother to arrange this meeting."

"My engagement has been broken off, Mr. Falcone," I stated, my tone completely devoid of any sorrow.

"I am aware."

Pietro leaned forward.

The scent of expensive cedar and gunpowder drifted across the space between us—an intoxicating mix of wealth and danger.

His gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes, deep with an unspoken, highly possessive promise.

"You won't need to wait three years for a wedding, Siena."

"Before this month is over, you will be my wife. And no one will ever dare disrespect you again."

I felt a strange, magnetic pull, drawn in by the absolute, unquestionable authority in his words.

We exchanged private numbers, sealing a pact that would change the hierarchy of our world.

As I walked out of the café and stepped into the cool night breeze, my phone screen lit up, showing five missed calls from Lucia.