Chapter 6

ROSA’S PoV

It was Bianca Ricci. My best friend. She was standing in the doorway, the shock on her face mirroring mine.

I had thought I would never see her again. Her red lips were curled with disdain and I could tell that she wasn’t happy to see me. She just stood there, watching me, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders in waves.

The memories hit me brutally, uninvited, rushing to the surface after being buried for years under the weight of struggle. The secrets we had whispered in the dark and the clink of the wine bottles we had stolen from my father’s cellar. As she stood there watching me, I could hear her laughter from faraway, a beautiful sound that was all Bianca’s.

She looked different now. Harder.

She stepped inside, moving with the same effortless grace she had always possessed. That easy, unshakable confidence that had once drawn me to her. Bianca knew her place in this world; after all, she was the daughter of a ruthless mafia don.

She walked straight to Vincenzo and without hesitation, she slipped her arms around him, pressing close… too close. She fit against him like she belonged there, her lips grazing his cheek as she whispered something meant only for him.

I waited for him to push her away but he didn’t.

His hands stayed at his sides, unmoving, but he let her touch him. Let her be close. And when she pulled back, she turned her gaze to me, dragging her eyes over me in slow, deliberate assessment.

“Still playing with old flames, Vincenzo?” Her voice was silk, laced with something sharper. Her amusement was calculated, measured.

Then she looked at me again, gaze sweeping over me like I was something insignificant. Something less.

“Especially… this?”

The words were a blade, aimed to cut deep but I refused to flinch. Lifting my chin, I met her stare. “Still showing up where you’re not wanted, Bianca?”

Her smile widened, but something passed over her face.

“Oh, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.” She took a step closer, her perfume curling around me, a familiar scent. Bianca hadn’t changed. “You, though? You look lost.”

I curled my fingers into my palms, I couldn’t let her see that she was getting to me.

She tilted her head, studying me as if I were some puzzle she was piecing together. “You’ve always been good at pretending, haven’t you? Slipping into places where you don’t belong. Walking away like it costs you nothing.”

The air thickened, pressing in on me.

“Tell me, Rosa… did you even hesitate when you left? You’ve always been so goddamn selfish!”

My chest tightened.

She wasn’t just talking about Vincenzo. She meant us.

And beneath the sharp edges of her words, I heard something else. Not just anger. Hurt.

But I couldn’t let myself feel guilty. Not now.

Forcing my face to stay neutral, I tilted my head. “Is that what this is? You’re mad I left you behind?” I dropped my voice, soft and mocking. “Or are you just mad he never chased you?”

Her jaw tightened, but her practiced smile stayed in place.

She let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, Rosa. You really don’t have a clue, do you?”

She didn’t elaborate but she didn’t need to. Vincenzo hadn’t said a word. He had just stood there, watching, letting it happen. And that stung more than it should have.

Bianca turned away from me, shifting her full attention to him, as if I no longer existed.

“Bianchi is making his move,” she said smoothly, her voice turning all business. “I spoke to Papa this morning. He agrees we should act now.”

I barely managed to breathe.

Papa.

Bianchi. The man who had groped me at the strip club. He was making a move?

Papa

The word landed like a punch to the gut.

She wasn’t talking about her father. She was talking about Vincenzo’s.

She said it so easily, so naturally, as if she had every right to and it made my stomach twist.

No. That wasn’t possible.

The memories hit hard. The morning I was supposed to become his. The church I never reached. The flowers. I had never got to be a part of his family. Was Bianca somehow a part of it now?

I turned to Vincenzo, searching his face for something—anything—to contradict the thought taking shape in my mind. A flicker of hesitation. A denial. Some sign that this wasn’t what it looked like.

But his expression remained unreadable, dark eyes locked on Bianca.

He just asked, “You saw him? How is he?”

His voice was even, but there was weight behind it.

Bianca reached into her coat pocket, pulling out a slim black envelope. “He wanted me to give this to you personally.”

She handed it to him, their fingers brushing.

Vincenzo took the envelope without a word, flipping it open. His jaw tensed slightly as he read whatever was inside.

I shifted, clearing my throat. “What is it?”

Neither of them looked at me.

Bianca scoffed. “Business, teśoro. You wouldn’t understand.”

Heat flared in my chest.

I met Vincenzo’s gaze, waiting for him to say something. To include me. To at least acknowledge me.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he folded the letter, tucked it into his pocket, and turned back to Bianca. “What else did he say?”

She exhaled, shaking her head. “Nothing that can’t wait until we’re alone.”

Alone.

My fingers curled tighter.

My mind flashed to the club. The suffocating stink of Bianchi’s cologne. The weight of his hands. The way he had gripped me. That man was making a move. And Bianca was standing here, calm, composed, discussing it with Vincenzo like it was just another business deal.

“I take it you’re not surprised?” she asked.

Vincenzo exhaled, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “I knew it was coming.”

She nodded. “Then we act first.”

We.

I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling useless. This was about me so why was it Bianca making the decisions?

I wasn’t part of this world but Bianca was.

She stood beside Vincenzo like she belonged there. Like she had always belonged there.

And I hated how easy it was for her.

More than anything, I hated that he let her.

And I didn’t know where that left me.