She was never meant to be his. Not Luca. Not anyone.
I watched her from the shadows of the ballroom, the music swelling like a warning I refused to hear. GreenLee moved like memory—soft, deliberate, untouchable. But I would touch her. Tonight.
Lina tugged at my sleeve. “We shouldn’t be here.”
I didn’t answer. She knew better than to expect comfort from me. She was useful, not trusted. She got me in. That’s all I needed.
GreenLee laughed at something Luca said. The sound sliced through me. That laugh should be mine. In another life. In another version of this story where she hadn't slipped through my hands.
But I wasn’t letting her go again.
Taking the Don’s wife was suicide. An act of war. But I’d never feared death. I feared insignificance. And GreenLee made me feel real.
“She’s no
