I didn't know where to go yet, but staying here, even in one of the Moretti properties, wasn't an option. Not when I'd see Dante with my sister.

Then my eyes landed on a real estate magazine on the side table. Without thinking much, I went straight to a broker that afternoon.

"Signora Moretti, here are some available properties," the broker said, handing me a brochure. "Pick whichever you like."

I scanned through the options and found it. A piece of land far from the city, far from any turf the families controlled. East, remote, quiet. A place no one could find me. A place where I could finally be free from Dante. From everyone who never cared.

I paid half up front and agreed to pay the rest once the land was officially transferred to my name. Then I returned to the compound, feeling the pity in everyone's eyes. The soldiers at the gate dipped their heads as I passed, but I caught the way they looked at each other after.

I was still weak from the procedure. And from the blood I'd given to save Elena.

I couldn't help but remember the day I was sixteen, caught in a street ambush, bleeding out, until Damiano saved me. That's when I knew the families would bind us together. But the moment he laid eyes on Elena, I vanished from his world. No matter how hard I tried to be enough, he never saw me.

Not once.

I wiped my tears as I looked around the room that held five years of memories with Dante. Memories I once treasured. The photos, the little gifts, the scrapbook full of love notes, the painting I made for him. Everything.

But now, all I felt was anger and disgust.

I stared at our bed.

Did he ever think it was me in his arms, or was it always Elena?

Pathetic. Pathetic love. Pathetic me.

I grabbed everything, every piece of our so-called love, and shoved it in a box. I carried it outside to the courtyard, ready to burn it all.

But then a familiar hand stopped me.

"What are you doing?" said a voice behind me. "Is that the stuff from my brother? The gifts? His memories?"

It was Dante.

Pretending to be Damiano.

I would've believed it was really Damiano if I hadn't heard that conversation. He looked just like him. The hair, the eyes, even the way he dressed. Everything was identical.

I yanked my hand away, but he gripped it tightly. I stared at him calmly, coldly. "He's gone. Why would I keep this? I'm leaving."

His eyes widened. "You're what?"

"Let me go," I said firmly.