Chapter 3

Rivoria's headlines were wall-to-wall with Bianca's name.

Vincenzo had rented out the largest art museum for her solo exhibition. Every major faction showed up.

Alessia was there, too. As Vincenzo's wife, she wore a black suit meant for a fight, with an earpiece tucked in, and disappeared into a corner.

It was Vincenzo's order.

"Everyone here tonight runs a family. Too many eyes, too many risks. A gown would slow you down. Bianca's the focus. You handle the perimeter and keep anyone unwanted from getting near her."

Alessia stood behind a column and watched him take Bianca's arm beneath the lights.

Bianca wore a shimmering mermaid gown. Around her neck hung the Heart of the Sea, the necklace that should've been Alessia's, the blue diamond throwing off a cold gleam that spoke the language of power.

Voices murmured all around them.

"Don Moretti really dotes on Ms. Rossi. He even gave her a diamond necklace like that!"

"Where's Donna Moretti? Why hasn't she appeared?"

"Keep it down! What Donna? She's nothing more than an 'elite soldato.' Have you ever seen a proper society wife standing guard in menswear?"

Alessia rubbed the web of her right hand without thinking. Years of gripping a gun had left the skin rough and thick with calluses. It didn't belong anywhere near fine jewelry.

When it came time to unveil the final piece, Bianca reached for the red silk draped over the easel.

That was the moment everything went wrong. The main support cable of the crystal chandelier overhead had been cut.

Screams tore through the crowd.

Bianca froze, shock wiping out even the instinct to run.

"Move!"

Alessia's body reacted faster than her mind. She burst forward and slammed into them, driving Bianca and Vincenzo toward the safe side.

The crash was deafening. The chandelier fell and struck Alessia hard across the back. The broken gold-plated frame tore straight through her skin.

She let out a muffled grunt as both knees slammed into the floor. Blood sprayed outward. A few bright drops splattered across the painting nearby and spread into a dark, blooming stain.

Vincenzo scooped up Bianca at once, pulling her tight against his chest, his words rushing out. "Bianca! Are you hurt? Did any of the shards cut you?"

"Vincenzo, I'm scared… No! The painting… My painting!"

Only after he was sure Bianca was completely unharmed did he whip his head around.

Alessia thought he'd come help her or at least call for someone. His shout hit her instead, sharp and sudden.

"Alessia! Are you blind? That was tonight's featured piece! Bianca poured everything she had into that painting!"

Alessia struggled to breathe as she tried to push herself up. "Help me. It hurts…"

Only then did the people around them react, rushing forward together to drag the chandelier off her.

Bianca stared at the painting, tears falling in heavy drops. "My painting's ruined! It's covered in blood. Vincenzo, this was meant for you. Alessia destroyed it!"

Seeing Bianca cry only fed the violence in Vincenzo's chest.

Alessia forced the words out through the pain, "It was an accident! If I hadn't shoved her away, she'd be dead right now!"

"That's what you're supposed to do! The family's kept you all these years. As a made man, it's your job to take the hit for me, even if it kills you! But ruining the thing she loves most is your failure!

"How do you think those hands of yours could ever repay Bianca for her painting? Even if you cut them off and sold them, it still wouldn't be enough."

Alessia's gaze dimmed all at once, and the change grated on him.

"What are you standing around for? Get her treated. How annoying!"

Alessia made her way toward the exit at a measured pace, his gentle reassurance forcing its way into her ears.

"Bianca, don't cry. I'll find the best restorer there is. Even if it can't be fixed, I'll build you ten galleries to make up for it, alright?"

Alessia walked down the hallway and remembered that those same hands had once shielded her from a falling steel beam.

Back then, as the heir to the family, Vincenzo had lost control for the first time. He'd held her while she was soaked in blood, terror shaking through him, wishing he could take her place.

Time was ruthless. It could turn treasure into trash and vows into jokes.