Chapter 3

The last white pill at the bottom of the bottle looked particularly harsh in my palm. Elena's anti-epileptic medication was completely gone.

'Damn it, what do I do now?'

I gripped the empty bottle tightly, my knuckles white from the force. The warmth from the community fundraiser felt like just a couple of days ago, but reality always came so fast, so cruel.

"Sister?" Elena sat on the edge of the bed, looking at me carefully, "Are we out of medicine?"

I forced myself to smile: "There's still a little bit left, enough for today."

Elena was only sixteen - she shouldn't have to bear this.

"I'll go make breakfast." I hurried out of the room, not daring to let her see the despair in my eyes.

In the basement tutoring center, yesterday's newly bought textbooks were neatly arranged on the makeshift shelves. Five kids, three times a week - the pay wasn't much, but at least it gave us a glimmer of hope.

'As long as we keep going, things will get better.' That's what I told myself.

Meanwhile, in an upscale coffee shop in downtown Boston, Bianca Santangelo elegantly stirred her cappuccino. She wore a Chanel suit with a six-figure diamond necklace around her neck, every inch declaring her status and position.

"Did you find her?" Bianca asked without looking up.

The private investigator sitting across from her was a thin middle-aged man in a cheap suit, completely out of place in this luxurious café.

"Found her." He carefully handed over a manila envelope. "Stella Romano is now living in an old apartment building in the South End, running a small tutoring center in the basement. Her sister Elena has epilepsy and needs long-term medication."

Bianca took the materials and sneered as she flipped through them. "Interesting. Seems my husband's ex-wife is doing even worse than I imagined."

"Ma'am, what do you need me to do?"

Bianca set down the materials, a flash of malice in her eyes. "I want her unable to stay in Boston."

The private investigator looked nervous: "Ma'am, specifically how?"

"Simple." Bianca took a delicate sip of her coffee, as if discussing the weather. "First, trash her pathetic basement, then let all the parents know her real identity. The ex-wife of a mobster teaching children? What parent would dare take that risk?"

"I understand." The investigator nodded quickly.

Bianca pulled a stack of cash from her handbag and placed it on the table: "Act tonight. Remember, do it clean - no evidence can point back to me."

"Don't worry, ma'am."

Bianca stood up, straightening her coat. Her voice was low and full of malice: "Lorenzo is mine. No woman should even think about touching him. Not even his ex-wife."

That night, I tucked Elena into bed as usual, then realized I'd forgotten to lock the tutoring center door.

'Oh well, this neighborhood is pretty safe.' I thought wearily, deciding to check in the morning.

But I was wrong.

At seven the next morning, I pushed open the basement door and the scene before me made my world instantly collapse.

"No... these are all the children's textbooks..."

The floor was covered with torn book pages and broken pencils. Yesterday's newly bought whiteboard was smashed to pieces, glass shards scattered everywhere. Even the few small chairs I'd found at the thrift shop were broken and thrown around.

I knelt in the middle of the ruins, trembling as I picked up a torn math worksheet. This was Tommy's homework from yesterday - he'd been excited for ten whole minutes after solving that problem.

Footsteps approached, and I looked up to see Mrs. Johnson from upstairs. She glanced at the chaotic scene with no sympathy on her face.

"You're Stella Romano, right?" she said coldly.

"Yes, hello Mrs. Johnson." I quickly stood up. "Do you know who did this?"

Mrs. Johnson pulled a paper from her bag: "This is what every household received this morning."

I took the paper, which had typed text:

"WARNING: Stella Romano is the ex-wife of Santangelo crime family member Lorenzo Santangelo. For your children's safety, stay away from this dangerous woman. Her presence here is no coincidence and may be a premeditated infiltration."

My hands began trembling uncontrollably: "This... this isn't true! I'm just..."

"We can't let our children associate with mob people." Mrs. Johnson cut me off, her voice without a trace of warmth. "Not even an ex-wife. I've already notified the other parents. Starting today, no children will come here for classes."

"Please let me explain!" I cried desperately. "I have nothing to do with those people! I just want to help children with their homework!"

But Mrs. Johnson had already turned and left, leaving me standing alone in the ruins.

I slumped against the wall, trembling all over. A week of effort, all hope - destroyed just like that.

"Sister!" Elena's voice came from upstairs. "Are you down there?"

I quickly wiped away my tears, trying to make my voice sound normal: "Coming right up!"

Turning back to look at the ruins, my heart completely shattered. But I couldn't let Elena see this, couldn't let her know we'd lost everything again.

That night, only one desk lamp was on in the study of the Santangelo estate.

Lorenzo sat on the leather sofa, holding a glass of whiskey that he hadn't touched. Outside the window, Boston Harbor sparkled in the moonlight, but his attention was completely elsewhere.

The reports from his men had been clear - Stella's tutoring center had been destroyed, the families warned off. Bianca's handiwork, obviously. He should feel satisfied. This was what he'd wanted, wasn't it? To see his former wife stripped of everything, just as she'd once stripped him of his illusions.

But the familiar taste of revenge felt... hollow tonight.

"Darling, still awake?" Bianca walked into the study wearing a silk robe, a smug smile on her face.

Lorenzo didn't look up: "What did you do today?"

"What do you mean?" Bianca blinked innocently.

"My people told me that tutoring center in the South End was trashed." Lorenzo's voice was calm, but Bianca could hear the dangerous undertone.

She walked over to Lorenzo, gently touching his shoulder: "Darling, I cleared away that woman's lingering influence for you."

Lorenzo finally looked up at her, his gaze unfathomable: "What did you do?"

Bianca sat down beside him, snuggling against him playfully: "Just helped her understand her place. Having a mobster's ex-wife parading around Boston isn't good for the Santangelo family reputation, is it?"

Lorenzo was silent for a long time, long enough that Bianca began to feel uneasy.

He'd built his entire existence around controlled revenge.

But why did the image of her kneeling among those destroyed children's books make his chest tighten?

"Lorenzo?" Bianca called his name carefully.

He finally spoke, his voice cold as ice: "Do whatever you want, but don't let me know the details."

Bianca relaxed, kissing his cheek: "I knew you'd understand. This is better for everyone."