The red envelope's warning burned in my mind like a brand: Stop digging, or you'll end up like her.
I didn't sleep that night, the note hidden under my pillow, its words a pulse in my veins. The mansion felt smaller, the walls pressing in, each creak and shadow a threat. I was trapped—not just by Dante, not just by the Virelli name, but by the secrets that seemed to seep from the very stones of this place.
Morning came, gray and heavy, the city outside the window a blur of rain and steel. Inez arrived with another dress—black, sleeveless, elegant in a way that felt like a funeral. "You're expected at a charity gala tonight," she said, her voice flat, her eyes avoiding mine.
"A gala?" I asked, my voice hoarse from lack of sleep. "Why?"
She didn't answer, just laid the dress across the bed and left. I stared at it, my hands trembling.
Another stage, another performance. Another chance for the world to see Dante Virelli's perfect wife—and for someone to slip another red envelope into my life.The phone Luca gave me was still hidden in the poetry book, its weight a constant reminder of the line I was crossing.
I hadn't messaged him since the alley, but his words clung to me: You're in too deep, little bird. He wasn't wrong. Every step I took—every secret I uncovered—tied me tighter to this world.
But I wasn't ready to stop digging. Not yet.I slipped the key from my pocket, turning it over in my hand. It was small, unremarkable, but it felt like a lifeline. Behind the stables, Luca had said. A way out. Or a trap.
I didn't know which, but I tucked it back into my pocket, unwilling to let it go.The gala was in a grand hotel ballroom, all crystal chandeliers and velvet drapes, the kind of place where wealth wore a mask of generosity.
The air smelled of perfume and ambition, and every smile hid a blade. Dante stood beside me, his hand on my waist, his presence a tether I couldn't escape. I wore the black dress, my hair pinned up, my face a mask of compliance. But inside, I was a storm.
"Smile," he murmured as we entered, his voice low, his breath brushing my ear. "They're watching."
I forced a smile, my lips tight, my eyes scanning the crowd. Men in tuxedos, women in glittering gowns, all of them part of Dante's world—businessmen, politicians, criminals dressed in civility.
I recognized the silver-haired man from the club meeting, his wolfish grin flashing as he raised a glass in our direction. My stomach twisted, but I kept my expression neutral.
Dante guided me through the room, introducing me to people whose names I forgot as soon as they spoke. They all said the same things: Congratulations.
She's lovely. Quite the match. Their words were hollow, their eyes sharp, searching for cracks in the facade. I wondered if they saw me or Liliana when they looked at me.
Halfway through the night, Dante was pulled into a conversation with a group of men, leaving me standing by a champagne table, Matteo a silent shadow a few feet away.
I sipped my drink, the bubbles sharp against my tongue, and scanned the room for anything—anyone—that felt out of place.That's when I saw her.The blonde from the gallery, her red lips curved in a smirk, her dress a deep crimson that screamed confidence.
She was talking to a man I didn't recognize, her hand on his arm, her laugh carrying over the hum of the crowd. But her eyes were on me, sharp and knowing, like she was waiting for me to break.
I turned away, my heart pounding, and nearly collided with the silver-haired man. He caught my elbow, his grip firm, his grin too wide.
"Careful, Mrs. Virelli," he said, his voice dripping with mockery.
"You don't want to make a scene."
I pulled my arm free, my skin crawling. "Who are you?"
He chuckled, low and rough.
"Someone who knows more than you think. Tell me, how's married life treating you?"I didn't answer, my jaw tight. His eyes gleamed, like he enjoyed my discomfort.
"You look like her, you know," he said, leaning closer. "Liliana. Same eyes. Same… fragility. Shame what happened to her."My blood ran cold. "What do you know about her?"
"More than you," he said, his grin fading. "But not as much as Dante.
Ask him about the accident. See if he flinches."
He walked away before I could respond, melting into the crowd like a ghost. I stood there, my heart hammering, the champagne glass trembling in my hand. Matteo was watching me, his eyes narrowed, but he didn't approach.
I needed air.I slipped out of the ballroom, ignoring Matteo's shadow, and found a quiet hallway lined with mirrors. My reflection stared back at me—pale, hollow-eyed, a stranger in a black dress.
I didn't recognize myself anymore. The girl who'd dreamed of becoming a doctor, who'd clutched a scholarship letter like a lifeline, was gone.
In her place was someone who carried knives and secrets, someone who didn't know who to trust.The phone in my clutch buzzed, and I froze.
I glanced around, ensuring I was alone, then pulled it out.A message from Luca: What did you see tonight?My fingers hovered over the screen. I could tell him about the silver-haired man, the way he mentioned Liliana, the threat in his words.
But something stopped me. Luca wasn't my ally—he was another player in this game, and I was starting to realize I didn't know the rules.I typed: Nothing new. Just a gala. Dante's showing me off.
I hit send and tucked the phone away, my pulse racing. I didn't know if I was lying to protect myself or to protect Dante. The thought made me sick.
When I returned to the ballroom, Dante was waiting. His eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, I thought he knew—about the phone, the key, the journal. But he just took my hand, his grip firm, and led me to the dance floor.
The music was slow, a haunting melody that wrapped around us like a chain. He pulled me close, one hand on my waist, the other holding mine, and we moved together, a performance for the watching crowd.
But his eyes were on me, searching, like he was trying to see past the mask I wore.
"You're quiet tonight," he said, his voice low.
"I'm always quiet," I replied, my tone sharper than I meant.
He tilted his head, his lips curving slightly. "Not like this. What's wrong?"
I wanted to laugh. What's wrong? Everything. The red envelopes. Luca. Liliana. The blood on my hands from the cellar. The way his touch made me feel things I didn't want to feel. But I couldn't say any of that. Not here. Not now.
Instead, I asked, "Who was the man with the silver hair?"
His grip on my waist tightened, just for a second. "Why?"
"He spoke to me. Mentioned Liliana."
Dante's expression didn't change, but his eyes darkened. "His name's Vincenzo. He's an associate. Stay away from him."
"Why?"
"Because he's not your friend."
"And you are?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.
He stopped dancing, his hand still on mine, his body close enough that I could feel the heat of him. "You're my wife, Amelia. That's more than he'll ever be."
I pulled back, just enough to look at him. "Your wife on paper. Not in heart. You said so yourself."
Something flickered in his eyes—pain, maybe, or regret. But it was gone before I could name it. "Keep telling yourself that," he said softly.
"Maybe it'll make this easier."
He let go of me, and the dance ended, the crowd's applause a hollow echo in my ears.
Back at the mansion, I waited until the house was silent before slipping into the library again.
The journal was still there, hidden where I'd left it, but I didn't touch it. Not yet. I needed something else—something that would give me answers, not more questions.
I searched the shelves, my fingers brushing over leather spines, until I found a locked box tucked behind a row of books. It was small, metal, with a combination lock.
I didn't know the code, but I didn't need to. The key in my pocket fit perfectly.My heart stopped as the lock clicked open. Inside was a single item—a photograph, creased and worn, of Dante and Liliana.
They were younger, smiling, his arm around her waist, her head resting on his shoulder. They looked… happy. In love. Like the world hadn't yet broken them.
On the back, in Liliana's handwriting: We thought we could outrun it. We were wrong.
I sat back, my breath shallow, the photo trembling in my hands. Outrun what? The Virelli empire? Dante's father? Something else?A noise behind me made me jump.
I shoved the photo back into the box and closed it, spinning to face the door.
It was Inez.
She stood there, her face pale, her eyes wide. "You shouldn't be here," she whispered.
"Then why are you?" I snapped, my voice low but sharp.She hesitated, her hands twisting together.
"I… saw you leave your room. I was worried.""Worried?" I laughed, bitter and low. "Or spying?"
Her face crumpled, and for a moment, I felt a pang of guilt. But then I remembered the red envelopes, the warnings, the way everyone in this house seemed to know more than they said.
"I'm not your enemy, Amelia," she said softly. "But you're making enemies you don't even see.""Like who?" I stepped closer, my voice a hiss. "Who's sending the envelopes, Inez? Is it you?"
Her eyes widened. "Envelopes?"
"Don't play dumb. The red ones. The threats."She shook her head, her hands raised. "I don't know what you're talking about. I swear."I didn't believe her. I didn't believe anyone anymore. "Get out,"
I said, my voice cold.
She left, her footsteps fading into the silence.
Midnight came, and I was back in the alley, the phone in my hand, Luca's cigarette glowing in the dark.
"What do you have?" he asked, his voice impatient.
I hesitated, the photo of Dante and Liliana still burning in my mind. "A name," I said finally. "Vincenzo. He's an associate. He knows something about Liliana's death."
Luca's eyes narrowed.
"Vincenzo Caruso?"
"I don't know his last name. Silver hair. Wolfish grin."
"That's him." Luca exhaled, the smoke curling around him. "He's dangerous. Stay away from him."
"That's what Dante said."
Luca's smirk was sharp. "And you trust Dante now?"
I didn't answer. I didn't know what I trusted anymore.
"Anything else?" he pressed.
I swallowed, my throat tight. "Dante's father. He's hiding something. About Liliana. About me."
Luca nodded, like he'd expected that. "Good. Keep digging. And watch your back. Vincenzo's not the only one circling."He turned to leave, but I stopped him.
"Wait. The envelopes. You said they're from someone close. Give me a name."
He looked at me, his scar glinting in the moonlight. "You're not ready for that yet."
"Then when?"
"When you're ready to burn this whole thing down."
He disappeared into the shadows, leaving me with the phone, the key, and a truth I wasn't sure I wanted.
Back in my room, I found another red envelope. This one was different—heavier, thicker. My hands shook as I opened it.Inside was a single item: a locket, small and silver, with a tiny photo of Liliana inside.
Her eyes stared up at me, identical to mine, her smile a ghost that refused to fade.And a note: You're not her. But you'll die like her if you don't stop.
I dropped the locket, my heart racing. Someone was in my room. Someone was watching me. Someone knew.I didn't sleep that night.
I sat by the window, the locket in my hand, the phone and key beside me, and I made a decision.I wasn't Liliana.
I wasn't Dante's wife.
I was Amelia Grey.
And I was going to find the truth—or burn this world down trying.