The Ruthless Don's Obsession: You Can't Run

Ellie POV

The apartment in Florence was supposed to be a sanctuary, but right now, it felt more like a waiting room for the executioner.

Except I wasn't in Italy yet. Not really. My mind was already there, drifting through cobblestone streets, but my body was stuck in a temporary rental on the edge of town, waiting for the date on my ticket to match the date on my phone.

My phone buzzed on the counter. David.

Art show registration closes in two days. You ready to fly?

Two days.

I looked at the calendar on the wall. I picked up a red marker and circled today's date.

It was the anniversary of my parents' death.

Usually, the grief hit me like a physical blow, knocking the wind out of my lungs. Today, however, it felt distant. Like looking at a car crash through a telescope from miles away. I was too numb to bleed.

I turned back to the few boxes I had brought from the estate.

I didn't want to bring ghosts with me across the ocean.

I opened a box of old clothes. Inside lay a silk scarf Marcus had bought me in Paris and a pair of gloves he said made me look like a lady.

I threw them into the donation bin.

Every item I discarded felt like peeling off a layer of burnt skin. Painful, but necessary if I ever wanted to heal.

I picked up a family crest pin. The Thorn crest. A rose wrapped in barbed wire.

I held it over the trash can, my fingers trembling just slightly.

The doorbell rang.

I flinched, dropping the pin. It skittered across the floorboards.

I walked to the door and looked through the peephole.

David.

I opened the door. He was wearing a sharp charcoal suit, looking every bit the successful architect he was. He looked safe. He looked like the opposite of Marcus.

"Ellie," he said, scanning my face with a practiced concern. "You look... tired."

"I'm fine," I said. My voice was flat-a calm lake hiding a monster beneath the surface. "Just packing."

He walked in, his eyes darting around the sparse room. He saw the donation bin. He saw the empty walls.

"I tried to call Marcus," he said, loosening his tie as if checking an item off a list. "To tell him you were safe here. That you were just taking some space before the wedding."

My spine stiffened. "And?"

"He didn't ask how you were," David said quietly. "He just said, 'Good. She needs to learn her place.'"

Her place.

Under his boot.

I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just nodded, accepting the cruelty like he had told me it was going to rain.

"I'm going to the cemetery," I said. "It's the anniversary."

David glanced at his watch. He grimaced, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features before he smoothed it over. "Ellie, I can't. I have a site visit in twenty minutes. The client is flying in."

"It's okay," I said. "I can go alone."

"Are you sure?"

I looked at him. He was my fiancé. He was supposed to be my partner. But in that moment, looking at his apologetic yet distracted eyes, I realized he was just another man with priorities that didn't include me.

"Go," I said. "I'm used to being alone."

He kissed my cheek. It felt dry, perfunctory. "I'll make it up to you."

When the door clicked shut, I let out a breath I had been holding for ten years.

I took a taxi to the cemetery.

The sky was a heavy slate gray, pressing down on the earth as if trying to crush it.

I walked to the double headstone. Thomas and Sarah.

I knelt in the wet grass, the dampness seeping instantly through my jeans.

"I'm leaving," I whispered to the cold stone. "I'm finally doing it."

I started to pull weeds from around the base of the stone, needing to do something with my hands. My fingers brushed against something hard and metallic.

I froze.

I dug it out, clawing at the mud.

It was tarnished, covered in grime, but I knew the weight of it.

My mother's silver locket.

The one I gave to Marcus when I was eight. The one he swore to keep in his safe. The one he said he would guard with his life.

Here it was. Buried in the dirt like garbage.

He hadn't just rejected me. He had desecrated the only piece of my mother I had left.

A scream built in my throat, but it never came out.

The pain was too big for sound. It was a black hole, collapsing inside my chest.

I gripped the locket so hard the metal cut into my palm.

"You liar," I hissed, my voice trembling. "You absolute liar."

The world tilted.

Black spots danced in my vision. The gray sky spun overhead.

My knees gave out.

I fell sideways into the wet grass. The cold mud seeped into my skin.

I tried to push myself up, but my arms were made of water.

The last thing I felt was the icy bite of the locket against my palm, and the crushing weight of a betrayal that finally broke me.