Rising From Ashes: The Architect's Comeback

Sienna Vitiello POV

The heat was a physical weight, suffocating and absolute.

The fire had jumped from the curtains to the canopy bed, transforming the room into a roaring inferno.

I was on the floor, coughing, the smoke filling my lungs like hot black tar.

I heard shouting in the hallway.

"Dante!" Valeria screamed again.

He appeared in the doorway.

He looked like a warrior forged in hellfire, his face illuminated by the orange glow of the flames.

He saw us both.

Valeria was by the door, untouched, staging a fit of fake-coughing.

I was near the window, trapped behind a wall of fire, my dress already singed.

"Dante, help me!" I croaked.

He looked at me.

For a split second, I saw hesitation.

Then Valeria whimpered.

"My leg! I can't walk!"

It was a lie. I had seen her run to the door.

Dante didn't check.

He didn't think.

Without a second thought, he scooped Valeria up into his arms.

"I’ll get you out, Val," he said, his voice thick with that savior complex that was going to kill me.

He turned his back on me.

"Dante!" I screamed.

He didn't turn around.

He walked out of the room, carrying the woman who started the fire, leaving me to burn.

I watched his silhouette disappear into the smoke.

And that was the moment Sienna Vitiello died.

The heat seared my skin.

I crawled toward the bathroom. Water. I needed water.

The ceiling groaned. A beam crashed down, blocking the door.

I curled into a ball on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor, pressing a wet towel to my face.

I closed my eyes and waited for the end.

I didn't pray to God. I cursed Dante Moretti.

Time blurred.

Then, a crash.

Strong arms lifted me. Not Dante.

A firefighter.

I woke up in the hospital. Again.

The rhythmic beep of the monitor was the soundtrack of my life lately.

Giulia was there, holding my hand. She was crying.

"You’re alive," she sobbed.

I sat up. My throat was raw as sandpaper. My arm was bandaged where the burns had licked my skin.

"Where is he?" I rasped.

Giulia looked away.

"He’s... with the police. Giving a statement."

The door banged open.

Dante marched in.

He smelled of smoke and ruin. His suit was destroyed.

He looked furious.

"Are you insane?" he shouted.

Giulia stood up. "Dante, stop!"

"You tried to kill her!" he accused, pointing a finger at me. "Valeria told me everything. You locked the door. You set the curtains on fire."

I stared at him.

The audacity was breathtaking.

"Is that what she said?" I whispered.

"She said you went crazy with jealousy," he spat. "You’re lucky she’s generous enough not to press charges."

I laughed. It hurt my throat, but I couldn't stop.

"Get out," I said.

"I’m not done—"

"I said get out!" I screamed, my voice cracking.

Giulia stepped between us.

"There are cameras in the hallway, Dante!" she yelled. "We can prove who entered the room first!"

Dante paused. Doubt flickered in his eyes.

I ripped the IV out of my arm. Blood dripped onto the white sheets.

"I’m leaving," I said, sliding off the bed.

"Sienna, you need treatment," Giulia pleaded.

"I’m going to New York," I said, walking past Dante.

He grabbed my arm. Not the burned one.

"You can't just leave. The contract—"

"Burn it," I said, looking him in the eye. "Just like you left me to burn."

He flinched.

I pulled my arm free.

I walked out of the hospital in a stolen gown and a pair of slippers.

I took a cab to O'Hare.

I bought a ticket to JFK.

As the plane took off, I looked down at the city of Chicago.

It looked small.

I blocked Dante’s number.

I blocked Giulia’s number.

I closed my eyes.

I was alone. I was burned. I was broken.

But I was free.