I stood at the entrance of the penthouse, letting my gaze drift across the space that had once belonged to us—the Italian marble floors, the antique furniture imported from Sicily, the grandfather clock that had witnessed three generations of Volpe men. All of it, cold now. Empty.

Then I began packing his things.

I wasn't planning to leave.

I was going to purge every trace of Nico Volpe from these walls.

"Signora Volpe, a delivery for you."

A knock at the door. A courier in a dark suit—one of the Family's men, no doubt.

He extended an envelope, cream-colored, expensive.

"I'm not Signora Volpe anymore."

I took the card and heard the words leave my mouth, foreign and final.

The courier froze, uncertainty flickering across his features before he offered an awkward nod and retreated.

I tore open the envelope.

Inside was a handwritten card.

The script was unmistakably Nico's—elegant, precise, the penmanship of a man raised to sign death warrants and love letters with equal care.

I opened it.

The next second, his voice floated out from the card, recorded and intimate.

"I miss you, I like you, I love you..."

Before I could process the words, a hand snatched the card from my grip.

I stumbled backward, nearly losing my footing on the marble.

I looked up.

Nico stood there, his face dark as a gathering storm—jaw tight, eyes burning with something between fury and possession. He wore his usual black, impeccably tailored, the signet ring of the Volpe heir glinting on his finger.

My phone screen illuminated. A message from him.

Don't touch my things.

Before I could speak a single word, he had already turned and descended the stairs, the card clutched in his fist like a secret he refused to share.

"Nico, you've gone too far!"

Rage erupted through me—hot, blinding, unstoppable. I chased after him, my footsteps echoing through the stairwell like gunshots.

"I didn't go through your things—what gives you the right to disrespect me like this!"

"I don't care what you and your precious Massima have going on, but you have no right to humiliate me!"

A piercing screech shattered the air.

Tires shrieking against asphalt. The violent protest of an emergency brake.

A searing pain exploded through my side.

I didn't see anything—just felt the impact, the brutal force of metal meeting flesh.

My body was thrown.

A heavy, sickening thud as I hit the ground.