I tell myself I’ll go back inside, face the dinner, let him dump me with dignity. I’ll hold my head up, even if it feels like it’s balanced on a needle. I’ll do it for the girl I used to be, and for Tommy, and for the man who loved me when I was nothing but a lie.
"By tomorrow," Sofia continues, stepping closer. "The real Frances Hewson will finally be part of our family. And Alessandro?" She laughs, the sound like breaking glass. "He'll do what Rosetti men always do. He'll keep what's useful and destroy what's not."
I sway on the spot, clinging to the brass telescope stand like a lifeline, imagining Alex’s hands on Frances’ hips.
"Run or stay," Sofia says, turning to leave. "Either way, by tomorrow night, the servant will be dead. The only question is whether Alessandro pulls the trigger himself."
Something flashes in Sofia's eyes, a hungry gleam I've never seen before. She's enjoying this. She's been waiting for this.
"You never fooled me, you know," she adds, lingering at the doorway. "I knew you were nothing but garbage Alessandro picked up. I just let him play with you because…" She waves her hand dismissively. "Well, men have their toys."
The words slice deeper than they should. I've heard worse from Alessandro himself, in moments when his anger broke through his control. But Sofia's casual cruelty feels different. Final.
"Did he know?" I whisper, the question burning my throat. "Did he know she was coming back?"
Sofia's smile widens. "What do you think?"
“I didn’t.”
Sofia’s eyes soften, just a little, and I glimpse a soft heart beneath her stylish exterior, the little sister who only ever wanted to protect her big brother. “If you ever truly loved him, you’ll let him go now. Walk out before you see what happens when he’s given no choice.”
She leaves me there, the door clicking shut behind her. The night air grows cooler around me, stars blurring as fresh tears fill my eyes.
I sink to my knees, the suitcase toppling beside me.
I should leave. But my body refuses to move.
Because the truth is, I don't want to survive without him.
I gather my suitcase and the telescope, leaving the stand behind. My decision forms with each step down the stairs, hardening like steel in my veins. I won't run. I won't hide. I'llface them all—Alessandro, the real Frances Hewson, the entire Rosetti family.
If I'm going to die, I'll die looking them in the eyes.
28 - Alessandro
Emma sits at my right hand like a queen, but she won’t meet my eyes. Seven days since she swallowed those pills, since I found her bleeding out in our bathroom, and every breath she takes feels borrowed. The designer armor she wears, sapphire silk that matches the Rosetti family crest, can’t hide how her hands still tremble when she thinks I’m not watching.
The mahogany table stretches between us and the rest of my family, crystal glasses catching candlelight, but all I see is the way she avoids looking at me. A week since she tried to leave me permanently, and though her body has healed, the distance between us feels insurmountable. I lied about Tommy, and she will never forgive me for that.
"The northern shipments are proceeding on schedule," Marco says, cutting into his veal with precise movements. "The tech integration from the Hewson patents has streamlined operations by thirty percent."
Emma's fingers tighten imperceptibly on her fork at the mention of the Hewsons. I reach for her wrist under the table, my thumb finding her pulse point, still too fast, still rabbit-quick like it's been all week. Her skin burns against mine for half a heartbeat before she pulls away, and fuck, even her rejection makes my cock stir. My body doesn't understand that she's done with me.
"Impressive numbers," Dante signs, Ana translating smoothly for Valentina and Emma while gently rocking in herchair. Little Antonia is upstairs with a nanny. "The family's position has never been stronger."
Sofia hasn't touched her food. She keeps glancing toward the door, fidgeting with her napkin. "It's amazing," she says suddenly, her voice carrying that sharp edge I've learned to distrust, "how quickly someone can adapt to a life they weren't born for."
The table goes quiet. Emma's chin lifts slightly, the only sign she heard the barb.
"Some people," Sofia continues, twirling her wine glass, "truly belong in this family. Others just… perform the role."
"Sofia," Marco warns, but she's already leaning forward, blue eyes locked on Emma.
"Don't you think, Frances? That belonging is about more than just wearing the right dress?"
Emma sets down her fork deliberately. When she finally speaks, her voice carries the same cold distance she's maintained all week. "I think belonging is earned through loyalty. Through sacrifice. Through choosing to stay when leaving would be easier."
