The Billionaire Who Lost His Sun

I was arranging lilies for my engagement party when the hospital called. A dog bite, they said.

My fiancé, Salvatore Moretti, was supposed to be in Chicago on business. But he answered my frantic call from a ski slope in Aspen, with the sound of my best friend, Sofia, laughing in the background.

He told me not to worry, that my mother’s injury was just a scratch. But when I got to the hospital, I learned it was Sofia’s unvaccinated Doberman that had attacked my diabetic mother. I texted Sal that her kidneys were failing, that they might have to amputate.

His only reply: “Sofia is hysterical. She feels terrible. Calm her down for me, okay?”

Hours later, Sofia posted a photo of Sal kissing her on a ski lift. The next call I got was from the doctor, telling me my mother’s heart had stopped.

She died alone, while the man who swore to protect me was on a romantic vacation with the woman whose dog killed her. The rage inside me wasn't hot; it turned into a block of ice.

I didn't drive back to the penthouse he gave me. I went to my mother’s empty house and made a call I hadn't made in fifteen years. To my estranged father, a man whose name was a ghost story in Salvatore’s world: Don Matteo Costello.

“I’m coming home,” I told him.

My vendetta wouldn’t be one of blood. It would be one of erasure. I would dismantle my life here and disappear so completely, it would be as if I had never existed.

Chapter 1

Adriana “Ria” Rossi POV:

The hospital's call came while I was arranging flowers for my engagement party; a dog bite, they said. An hour later, my fiancé’s laughter echoed from a ski slope in Aspen, telling me not to worry while my mother was dying.

The scent of lilies was thick, almost suffocating, filling the pristine white apartment Salvatore Moretti provided for me. I was trimming the stems of a new bouquet, the crisp snap of green under the shears a satisfying, rhythmic sound in the quiet. Everything in my life was about rhythm, about maintaining the perfect, placid surface expected of the future wife of the Moretti Family’s heir.

My phone buzzed on the marble countertop, an unfamiliar number flashing on the screen. I wiped my damp hands on my jeans before answering.

“Hello?”

“Is this Adriana Rossi?” a crisp, professional voice asked.

“Yes, this is she.”

“Ms. Rossi? It’s St. Michael’s. There’s been an incident with your mother, Elena.”

The shears slipped from my grasp, clattering loudly against the floor.

A cold, sharp feeling, like swallowing glass, shot through my stomach.

“What incident? What’s happened?” I demanded, my voice tight.

“She was brought in with a severe laceration to her leg. A dog bite. We need you to come down as soon as you can.”

My keys. I needed my keys. I grabbed my purse, my mind racing. A dog bite?