The Amnesiac Principessa Who Gave Up the Donna’s Signet Ring - Chapter 8

Chapter 8 One month later. At the Palazzo D'Oro, the Rossi family's six-star hotel on the shores of Serafino Bay, the top-floor ballroom was ablaze with lights. The Rossi family had booked three entire floors for a homecoming banquet for their princess, an event that sent shockwaves through the Serafino underworld. Only the most powerful Mafia bosses and the political and business titans who controlled the nation's economy were granted entry. Luca attended the banquet with Mia. In just thirty days, the Bellini family's overseas arms routes had been ruthlessly dismantled by an unknown force.

Their territory had shrunk drastically, and their losses were so catastrophic they were on the brink of bankruptcy. He hadn't slept for nights on end. His eyes were sunken, his sharp jaw covered ina scruffy, defeated beard, and he had lost a shocking amount of weight. The old wound in his chest flared up more and more a frequently, and even the maximum dose of painkillers couldn't suppress the agony. He had used every connection he had to find me, but to no avail. It was as if I had been deleted from the world.

Every night, he would retreat to that damp storage room in the north wing, holding the nightgown I'd left behind and staring into the darkness until dawn. Because the moment he closed his eyes, all he could see was the resolute image of my back as I walked away into the blizzard. Entering the ballroom, Luca's gaze wasn't on the business magnates in their tuxedos. His eyes scanned every waiter carrying champagne, every shadowy corner of the hall. He stubbornly believed that a woman with a wiped identity could only be surviving on the bottom rungs of society. Mia clung to his arm, pouting.

"Luca, what are you even looking for? We're here tonight to make peace with the Rossis. Can you please be serious..." A flash of disgust crossed Luca's eyes, and he violently a shook her hand off. "Shut up. And just stand there." At eight o'clock sharp, the massive crystal chandelier in the ballroom went out without warning. Asingle, blinding spotlight shot down from the dome, illuminating the red-carpeted spiral staircase on the second floor. The powerful dons in the room instantly fell silent.

The current Don of the Rossi family, Lorenzo Rossi, appeared at the top of the stairs in a bespoke, pure black suit. He turned and, like a true gentleman, extended his right hand. Ahand ina long, ivory silk glove gently rested in his palm. I wore a silk gown, hand-stitched over three years by Europe's most venerable atelier, its train glittering with crushed diamonds, as I stepped out of the shadows and into the light. My cheeks were rosy, my back was straight, and gone was the timid, cautious fear of abandonment that had defined me for the past seven years.