Reclaiming My Path

I pushed the door open and saw Giovanna standing there in my silk robe—my gift from Enzo—and wearing my heirloom pendant. She lifted a brow and mocked me, “The robe fits, the pendant’s mine, and you—get out.” I grabbed Enzo, demanding an explanation, but he shoved a fake contract in my face, saying, “You signed it.” “I did not. Stop lying!” I snapped. He snapped at me, “This is family business. You know nothing.” It seemed three years together was nothing but an act. That very night, I ran away to Milan. I had nowhere to go and no one to turn to until Mark showed up out of nowhere. “Don’t be scared,” he said. “I’ve got you. As long as I’m around, no one touches you.” He protected me, and for a moment, I really thought I’d finally found someone I could rely on. However, when we were practicing at the shooting range later, I stared at him. “Why are you helping me?” I asked. “And don’t tell me it’s because of that mess I left behind.” His eyes flickered for a second before he answered, “Just trust me. That’s all you need to do.” Something about the way he said it made my stomach twist. This whole disaster was all one giant setup. And now here I am, gripping a gun, fighting for justice, but am I really avenging myself? Or was I already someone else’s pawn from the very beginning? Chapter 1 I crouched in front of the safe, my fingers clenched so tightly around two documents that my knuckles had turned white. One of them was our marriage contract, signed three days ago, its edges already wrinkled from being crushed in my hand. When Enzo shoved that gold-stamped contract at me, the mix of cigar smoke and his usual cedar cologne had been so thick it almost drowned me. “Lily,” he’d murmured, his fingertip brushing over the thorned rose tattoo along my collarbone—my family’s crest, the one my Papa inked on me for my eighteenth birthday. “Sign it, and we’ll be officially bonded under the Moretti name. I’ll give you half the control of the docks.” I’d told him I needed time to think. Yet now, as my fingertips trembled across the forged signature on the contract, I could see how perfectly he had copied my handwriting, because he’d forgotten one thing: a tiny rosebud I would always draw at the very end of my signature. However, on this document, there was nothing but a cold, lifeless ink dot. The second document was a partnership agreement with the Camorra. Enzo’s name sat right beside Giovanna’s, stamped with a bright red seal. The Camorra was a Naples-based mafia organization that only pretended to get along with the Moretti family while hating us behind our backs. As for Giovanna, she was the woman who always wore a timid little smile and had moved into the apartment next door just last week. The sharp tap of leather shoes echoed down the hallway, each step pounding against my chest. Panic shot through me. I shoved the papers behind me and pressed my back to the safe, holding my breath. Alas, Enzo was already at the doorway. The cuff of his black suit was dusted with cigar ash and faint traces from last night. “What are you looking through?” he asked, voice cold as steel, his eyes locked onto my clenched hand. I opened my mouth, but he was already striding over. In an instant, he snatched the documents from my grip. His fingers brushed my palm, cool with the smell of tobacco. “This is family business. Don’t get yourself involved.” He stuffed the documents into his inner jacket pocket so fast that he almost fumbled. So all I was to him was a tool to secure his power. I raised my eyes to him, feeling the thorned rose tattoo along my collarbone tug painfully against my skin. “Family business?” My voice shook. “You forge a contract to fool the entire family, and then you partner with our biggest enemy?” He flicked open a lighter with a click and lit a cigar. Smoke hovered around his face, hiding the flicker of panic in his eyes. “I didn’t have a choice,” he muttered. “Giovanna has leverage against my mother. I’m trapped.” “Your mother passed away ten years ago. What leverage does Giovanna have on her?” I whispered, my chest tightening, but I didn’t dare push him too hard, for fear he’d shut down my plans of leaving. Still, I stared at his shoes. “And her, wearing my silk robe… Was that you being ‘trapped’ too?” Last Wednesday, I saw his car parked outside the next-door apartment. Giovanna walked toward the building, wearing my cream-colored silk robe, with her arm hooked through his. That robe was my birthday gift from him. I’d told him it was too long, and he had laughed, saying I’d get used to it. But now, seeing it draped over another woman burned like staring into a spotlight. The cigar slipped from his fingers, and the ember hit the floor, scorching the wood. He crushed it under his heel, stomping down hard. “Lily, don’t push me.” My nails dug into my palm, pain shooting up my arm. Papa always said Moretti women needed to stay composed. “I’m not pushing you.” I rose slowly and walked to the closet. One by one, I placed my neatly folded clothes into a suitcase, moving so gently it was as if everything might shatter. “I’ll be staying with Papa for a few days. It’s loud here. I won’t interfere with you and Giovanna… coordinating.” “Don’t you dare leave,” he snapped, blocking the doorway with a straight, rigid arm. “I won’t say anything I shouldn’t,” I murmured, lifting my eyes to him, doing my best to look obedient and harmless. “I won’t cause trouble for you or Papa.” He stared for several seconds before finally stepping aside. With that, I walked into the guest room and shut the door behind me. Cold sweat soaked through my back. Three years of love, one forged contract, my loyalty, and my devotion—everything had been nothing but stepping stones for his rise. I reached under the mattress, fingers finding the hard edge of my passport. Chapter 2 At six in the morning, the sky was barely turning bright when I walked into the living room with a cup of coffee. The heat from the mug burned my palm, yet somehow my chest felt frozen stiff. Giovanna was already sitting on Enzo’s lap, twirling my thorned rose pendant between her fingers. It was my coming-of-age gift from Papa. I’d torn the whole place apart looking for it last week and never found it. Now, she dangled it by the chain, giving me a smile sharp enough to cut me. “Morning, Lily. Enzo said this pendant belongs to me now.” “Can you give it back?” I tightened my grip on the cup, knuckles going white. The rim dug painfully into my palm, and my own voice shook. She let out a snort and pushed up her sleeve. A twisted burn scar snaked down her arm from elbow to wrist. “I got this ten years ago from saving Enzo. Do you have anything like that?” She leaned closer, her perfume brushing against me. It was her last year’s birthday gift from me—the same perfume Enzo told me to buy because he said Giovanna would love it. Enzo helped her off his lap, trying to sound soothing. “Enough.” Then, he turned to me, his tone colder. “Giovanna’s staying in the master bedroom. It’s easier for us to discuss the partnership. You’ll stay in the guest room for a few days. Once the deal with the Camorra is done, things will go back to normal.” “Okay.” I nodded without arguing and walked into the guest room. The moment the door clicked shut, tears burned behind my eyes, but I didn’t let a single one fall. I reached into the hidden compartment of the wardrobe and took out a metal box. Inside were the things he’d given me over the past three years. There was a silver rose brooch with our initials carved into the pin, a few empty bullet casings from our first trip to the shooting range that he’d said we should keep as souvenirs, and a faded handkerchief, blood-stained with dark red. Three years ago, during a shootout at the docks, he took a bullet for me. Back then, he’d told me, “Keep this. It’s proof I’ll protect you for the rest of my life.” I pinned the brooch to the inside of my coat, right above my heart, as if holding on to a tiny bit of warmth. I folded the handkerchief into a neat square and slipped it into the side pocket of my backpack, while the casings went into the lining of my suitcase. Then, I reached under the bed for the stash of cash, threading it into the coat’s inner seams, every stitch small and tight. By evening, Enzo walked in carrying a plate of raspberry macarons. They used to be my favorite, and he used to drive halfway across the city just to get them. “Don’t be upset. My feelings for you are real,” he said, softer this time. “Once the deal with the Camorra is settled, I’ll cut things off with Giovanna.” I picked up one macaron and took a bite. The sweetness tasted bitter, like swallowing a needle dipped in sugar, scraping down my throat. “I understand. You should go. She’s waiting in the living room,” I said, keeping my voice calm, hiding everything underneath. He let out a relieved breath and left, not noticing that I hadn’t taken a second bite. I leaned toward the door and peered through the thin crack. The living room lights were still on. Enzo sat on the couch, with Giovanna curled against him. I spat the macaron into the trash. The last bit of hope in my chest dissolved with that sugary taste. Chapter 3 At four in the morning, a violent pounding on the door snapped me out of my shallow sleep. The pounding was heavy and frantic, shaking the door so hard that it vibrated on its hinges. I jolted upright, instinctively keeping my steps quiet so I wouldn’t wake Enzo. However, the second I cracked the door open, Giovanna shoved it wide with full force. The impact knocked me backward. I stumbled two steps and hit the wardrobe hard. She marched straight into the guest room, hands on her hips, her eyes wide and wild. “Where’s my coat? Where did you hide it?” she yelled, her voice shrill as she started ripping through my closet, and hangers clattered loudly as she yanked them off the rod. My shirts and dresses flew across the floor, my neatly folded clothes scattering like torn paper. “I haven’t seen your coat,” I said, standing at the doorway as a cold dread spread through me. She wasn’t looking for anything. She was picking a fight—one she wanted Enzo to walk in on. Suddenly, Giovanna spun around and lunged at me, grabbing my arm. Her nails dug into my skin so hard I gasped. Before I could pull away, she threw herself backward, and her forehead slammed into the doorframe with a sickening thud. Blood welled instantly, sliding down her temple. “Enzo! Lily pushed me! She threw my things everywhere!” she screamed, her voice sharp enough to slice through the quiet dawn. Enzo’s footsteps thundered from the master bedroom. In seconds, he was there. He yanked me away with such force that I crashed into the wall. A dull ache shot up my spine, but I bit down hard, refusing to cry out. He didn’t even look at me. Instead, he crouched beside Giovanna, holding her gently. “Are you okay? Does it hurt? I’ll take you to the hospital.” His voice was full of worry, and his fingers brushed her cheek, wiping the blood with a softness that I had never seen before. Giovanna leaned into his arms, sobbing as she shook her head. “I’m fine. I fell on my own. Don’t blame Lily for it.” Then, she glanced at me. Her eyes glinted with triumph, like a cat proudly showing off the mouse it had cornered. Enzo finally turned my way. His gaze was as cold as winter frost. “Lily, I’m very disappointed in you.” The disappointment in his tone stabbed my heart. “I didn’t push her,” I said quietly, voice trembling. “She hit the door herself, and she threw my clothes–” “That’s enough.” He cut me off sharply, irritation showing in his frown. “I’m taking Giovanna to the hospital. Clean this place up.” He stood, lifting Giovanna into his arms. “We have a video conference with the Camorra at three o’clock this afternoon. Don’t mess things up.” He started toward the door, then paused to give one final command. “Don’t go anywhere. Stay inside. It’s not safe out there.” “Okay.” I nodded and watched them disappear down the hallway. As I leaned against the wall, my tears slipped out at last, falling onto my shirt and soaking through the fabric. However, I didn’t have time to cry for long. If he came back early and found anything off, everything would be over. Dropping to my knees, I started gathering my clothes one by one, folding them quickly. Then, I pulled out the suitcase hidden behind the entryway cabinet, unzipping it slowly so it wouldn’t make a sound and attract unwanted attention. I checked my essentials. My clothes, passport, and cash were all there. On the living room table, I scattered the documents he would need for the afternoon meeting, just enough to make it seem like I’d only stepped out for a bit and would return soon. I left the house key on the entryway cabinet, pinning it under a note that said, “Hope the partnership goes well.” After that, I eased the door shut behind me, as quietly as if I were trying not to wake a sleeping giant. Outside the building, the early-morning air was cold against my cheeks. I waved down a cab, pulled the door open, and slid inside. “The central train station, please. And can you go fast? I’m in a hurry.” The driver nodded and stepped on the gas. I took one look back at the building and didn’t look again. Chapter 4 At noon, Enzo brought Giovanna back from the hospital. He was carrying a small brown bag filled with disinfectant and bandages. Giovanna leaned gently against him, a strip of gauze taped to her forehead, her face pale. When he pushed open the front door, the living room was empty. Sunlight streamed through the windows, catching even the dust in the air. His first instinct was to call out, “Lily?” There was no response but only an echo circling the room. “Have you organized the documents? We’ve got a video conference with the Camorra at three.” He raised his voice on the second call, but still nothing. A hint of unease crept into him. I was usually obedient, and even when I was upset, I still handled whatever needed to be done. I never just disappeared. Giovanna sat on the sofa and squeezed some ointment onto her hand. She said softly, “Maybe she’s in the guest room. She apologized to me this morning, so she shouldn’t be angry. She’s probably just tired and taking a nap.” Enzo nodded and headed to the guest room. However, when he pushed the door open, the room was spotless. It looked like no one had lived there at all, and the raspberry macarons on the nightstand were still perfectly arranged, untouched. He checked the master bedroom next, only to find Giovanna’s clothes hanging inside the closet. He checked the study, finding that the drawers were shut tight with no signs of disturbance. He checked the kitchen, but the coffee machine was cold, and the sink was empty. He searched every corner of the house, even the storage cabinet on the balcony, and there was still no sign of me. Yet, the faint scent I always left behind seemed to hover in the air. As he walked to the entryway, pulling out his phone to call me, he froze. Sitting on the cabinet was the spare house key that I always kept with me. Now it lay there quietly, and under it was a folded note. He picked it up and opened it. The note read, “Hope the partnership goes well.” The message hit him hard. His grip tightened, knuckles going pale as the note crumpled under his fingers. “No,” he growled, disbelief cracking through his voice. “Impossible.” He dialed my number. His hands were trembling so hard that he could barely press the screen. A mechanical tone answered him, “The number you have dialed is currently unavailable.” He tried again and again, but the same automated message replied to him each time. He bolted out of the house. Downstairs, the security guard was reading a newspaper in the booth when Enzo grabbed him by the arm so abruptly that he dropped the paper in shock. “Did you see Lily? A woman in a beige coat!” His voice was frantic, every breath unsteady. “About thirty minutes ago–Did she leave here?” The guard nodded rapidly, stammering, “Y-Yes! I saw her! About half an hour ago. She took a cab headed toward the central train station!” Enzo released him and stumbled back a few steps. His heart clenched, as if an invisible hand had reached inside and squeezed until he couldn’t breathe. He had always assumed that I was just throwing a small tantrum, that I would calm down in a few days. He thought I wouldn’t leave him, that I would wait for him to settle things with the Camorra. Never did he imagine that I would actually walk away without saying goodbye, leaving behind just a key and a note. He sprinted to his car, fumbling with the ignition. His hands shook so hard that he didn’t even fasten his seatbelt before hitting the gas. He ran through two red lights on the way, the scenery outside blurring past. His mind flooded with memories of me, of the first time he saw me standing beside Papa in a white dress, my smile bright and innocent; of how I argued with the elders to help him gain control of the docks, refusing to back down even when they called me “ill-behaved.” He remembered that I visited him every day when he was recovering in the hospital, bringing him food I had made myself. I had held his hand and cried, “You can’t get hurt. I’m scared to be alone.” I had even given him a pair of silver cufflinks for his birthday last year, saying, “I hope you think of me every time you wear them.” Each memory hit hard, each one like a punch to the chest. Only now did he finally understand that I wasn’t without anger or hurt. I had simply swallowed the pain, his lies, and his betrayals quietly. “Lily… don’t leave,” he whispered, tears slipping down his face. “I was wrong. I’ll cut things off with Giovanna. I’ll end the deal with the Camorra.” When he got to the central train station, he jumped out of the car and ran inside. The station was packed with travelers dragging their luggage through the crowds. “Lily! Lily!” he shouted, scanning the faces around him. His voice quickly turned hoarse, but he didn’t stop. When he saw a woman in a beige coat, he rushed toward her and tapped her shoulder, heart in his throat. However, when she turned around, it wasn’t me. He then spotted another similar figure and ran again, but still, he was wrong. He ran around the station a couple of times until sweat soaked through his shirt. At last, he sank against a pillar, gasping for breath as people streamed past him. His chest felt hollow, like something vital had been carved out. Only then did he understand that he hadn’t just lost a woman. He had lost me, the one person who had loved him wholeheartedly and given him everything I had. Chapter 5 By the time Enzo returned to the house, the sky had already turned dark. The living room lights were off. Only the entryway lamp was on, casting a pale glow across his exhausted face. Giovanna heard the door and immediately stood from the couch, hurrying toward him. “You couldn’t find Lily?” she asked softly, her voice careful, almost timid. She held his coat in her hands, offering to help him take it off. Enzo didn’t take it. He stepped aside, avoiding her touch, his eyes filled with fatigue. “You knew she was leaving, didn’t you?” he asked suddenly, fixing his gaze on her. His voice was cold and sharp. Giovanna froze. Then, her eyes reddened, and tears burst out fast. “How would I know that?” Her voice trembled as she clutched the hem of her shirt. “I just… I just didn’t want you to leave with her. I got a little emotional, that’s all.” She reached out as if to touch his arm, but she eventually pulled her hand back, looking even more pitiful. “The day I said she pushed me… I was scared. I didn’t mean to lie to you.” Enzo frowned but said nothing. His eyes drifted to the bandage on her forehead. Seeing his glance, Giovanna suddenly dropped to her knees with a thud and grabbed his pant leg tightly. “I saved you. You can’t doubt me!” she cried, her shoulders shaking. “If I hadn’t pulled you out when the Camorra attacked you back then, you would’ve–” Enzo cut her off. “Get up.” He reached down and helped her to her feet, his voice losing some of its edge. “I’m not doubting you. I’m just… overwhelmed.” He sighed and walked over to the couch, lowering himself onto it. Giovanna immediately moved closer, gently patting his back. “I know you’re hurting. I’ll stay with you. I’ll treat you better than Lily ever did.” Enzo didn’t respond. His eyes were distant, fixed on the stack of documents on the table—files for the afternoon’s meeting that I had placed there on purpose. Suddenly, he stood up and headed for the guest bedroom. He pushed the door open. The closet door was wide open, and nearly everything was gone. Only a few old pieces of clothing remained. The nightstand drawer was cracked open. Inside, the metal box lay empty. He picked it up, fingers tracing the pattern on its lid. It used to keep the brooch, the handkerchief, and a spent bullet casing that he’d given me inside it—all the little memories we had shared. Now, everything was gone. “She’s really not coming back,” he murmured, his voice hollow with disbelief. Giovanna walked over and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. “It’s better if she doesn’t. We can build our life together now. I’ll help you with the Camorra negotiations and gain you even more power.” Enzo didn’t push her away, but his mind drifted to me—how cautious I always was when I hugged him, how neatly I folded his shirts, and how I made his coffee just the way he liked it. Something inside him felt missing, like a piece of him had been cut out. He pulled out his phone and called me again, but my phone was still turned off. The cold, mechanical tone echoed harshly in his ear. He tossed the phone onto the couch, leaned back in the chair, and closed his eyes. Seeing that he wasn’t rejecting her, the corner of Giovanna’s mouth curled into a faint smile that was gone just as quickly. She spoke gently, “Don’t think about it. You have a meeting with the Camorra tomorrow. Let me sort your documents. You should rest.” Enzo nodded, too drained to speak. He accepted Giovanna’s version of events for now, but deep down, unease twisted in his chest, as if something was being hidden from him, tucked away just out of sight. However, at that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to think about it. His mind was filled only with the image of me, the woman who had always been patient with him, gentle with him, and whom he had pushed away with his own hands.