Chapter 7 

The woman in the mirror wasn’t Ivanna Rossi. 

Not anymore. Her name was Aria Vale now. 

Birthplace: Marseille. 

Mother: Deceased. 

Father: Unknown. 

Occupation: Luxury estate liaison for a firm that didn’t exist-except on paper. 

Look: Raven-black wig in a sharp bob. Olive contacts. Subtle scar concealer. Flawless forged documents tucked in the lining of my jacket. A scent no one in the East Coast had ever smelled before-imported oud from Dubai. 

You’re sure?” Lothario asked as I zipped the case shut. 

I have to be.” I turned to him. “This is the first step. The most careful step.” 

He stood back, arms folded, the light catching the worry in his eyes. “One wrong move anc ‘ou’re in the ground for real.” 

I already was.” 

The first time I walked back into the world, I did it small. A café in Little Naples. Quiet. Not toc rendy. Not too old. A place where wives met mistresses and no one looked anyone in the eye. 

sat near the window. Crossed my legs. Stirred my espresso exactly three times. Waited. 

didn’t say a word. Just listened. 

wo tables behind me, I heard a name that used to belong to my nightmares. 

Rupert Fiore. 

The man who once promised to build a kingdom with me, now expanding his empire with her. Rose Queen of the East,” the woman at the next table whispered, like she was talking abou oyalty. “She signed the Orvieto dock deal like it was a dinner bill. Marian Rossi is a force. 

kept my face blank. Took a breath. 

Then I left. Quietly. Without touching the espresso. 

Lothario was waiting back at the safehouse. 

Well?” he asked. 

She’s still wearing my skin,” I said. “And no one’s blinking.” 

He handed me a flash drive. “You ready to go deeper?” 

nodded. Plugged it into the laptop. Blueprints. Shell companies. Property records. Business icenses registered under Fiore fronts. 

A network of lies dressed up as respectability. 

‘They’re running half their expansion through Fiore Imports and a dummy offshore called Black Spiral Group,” Lothario said, tapping the screen. “All clean on paper. But the money’s being 

This Time I Won’t Die By Your Hands My Ex-Boyfriend. 

1/3 43.7% 

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iphoned from old Rossi accounts.” 

My accounts,” I corrected him. 

le looked at me. “You sure you’re ready to dive into all this?” 

leaned forward, eyes sharp. “This isn’t diving. This is hunting.” 

wo days later, I saw them. 

Marian. Rupert. A press conference at the new East Docks. 

le wore a steel-gray suit, smiling like he didn’t once watch me bleed out on a bathroom floor. 

he wore cream silk and pearls, arm hooked through his, smiling for cameras like she wasn’t the rchitect of my destruction. 

he caption under the livestream read: 

Fiore & Rossi Alliance Unstoppable. Marian Crowned The Rose Queen.” 

ly hand tightened on the phone, knuckles white. 

didn’t blink. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. 

ut something in me turned stone cold again. 

ot because she stole my title. 

ecause she thought she’d won. 

nd that night, I stood by the window of the flat above our safehouse-watching the city burr ith light. 

othario leaned against the wall behind me, silent. Waiting. 

didn’t turn around. Just whispered the promise into the glass. 

‘m going to take back everything they stole. One lie at a time.” 

here’s a different kind of silence when you walk into a room full of predators. It’s not quiet. It’: ontained noise-sharp laughter, the clink of crystal, the brush of silk and velvet, people trying po hard not to be obvious. You can feel the hunger behind every handshake, every compliment and in that silence, you have to know who you are. Or you get eaten. 

hat night, I was someone colder. Someone smarter. Someone who didn’t flinch at the scent of lood in a marble hallway. 

The gala was hosted by one of Rupert’s oldest allies, a fat man with thin morals named Giancarlo. He owned three ports, two senators, and one very illegal weapons route through Northern Europe. I needed access to his guest list, and more importantly-his shipping manifest So I arrived in disguise. Platinum blonde wig. Midnight-blue gown. Soft prosthetics on my cheekbones. Voice modulator in my throat. 

looked like a trophy wife with secrets. The kind of woman no one looks at-just through. 

Perfect. 

Lothario’s voice was tight in my ear. “You look insane.” 

12:04 am Pppp. 

“Good or bad insane?” I asked under my breath, circling the ballroom like a patient predator. 

He exhaled. “Both.” 

I smirked. 

– 

C 

I slipped through the corridors without drawing attention. The bug I carried was barely the size of a coin, fitted under a false fingernail. I knew exactly where to go-thanks to a floor plan Lothario Oribed off a desperate caterer. 

The manifest room was tucked behind a locked study. One guard outside. Drunk. Lazy. I brushed >ast him, dropped my purse like an accident, bent down low enough to distract, and slipped the bug under the desk drawer. 

Done in under ten seconds. 

As I stood to leave, I felt him before I saw him. 

A shadow in the hallway. A presence I knew like the back of my own hands. 

Matteo. 

My father. 

le brushed past me without a second glance. Close enough that the fabric of his jacket vhispered across my arm. Close enough that I could smell the cologne I used to hate as a child. Bitter citrus and gun oil. 

le didn’t recognize me. Not even a flicker of doubt. Just moved on, laughing at something the nan beside him said. 

‘hat… did something to me. 

Not pain. Not grief. 

‘ower. 

le’d buried a daughter, but couldn’t even sense the ghost in the room. 

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