---- Chapter 19 Alex POV: The call came at 3 AM. A private investigator I'd hired outside the family, a ghost who owed me a favor. "| found her," he rasped. "Paris. Le Marais district. She owns a small art gallery. Under the name Kat Jensen." | didn't even pack a bag. As | was leaving the apartment, | ran into my father in the hallway. He looked at me, at the desperation in my eyes, and for the first time in months, | saw a flicker of something other than disappointment. "Go," he said quietly. "Apologize. On your knees, if you have to. Maybe you still have a chance to bring back the De Luca queen." The flight across the Atlantic was the longest eight hours of my life. Hope and terror warred within me. What if she wouldn't see me? What if she had already moved on? | found the address. It was a small, charming gallery, the front painted a bright, cheerful blue. The sign above the door tead "Galerie Jensen." My heart hammered against my ribs. | looked through the window. And there she was. ---- She was talking to a customer, a vibrant, radiant smile on her face. She was glowing with a happiness | had never given her. She wasn't the caged bird | remembered. She was free. And she was breathtaking. | couldn't wait another second. | pushed open the door, the small bell above it chiming. "Katarina," | said, my voice hoarse. Her smile vanished. It was replaced by a look of cold, distant recognition. The kind you give a stranger who looks vaguely familiar. "Alex," she said, her voice flat. "What are you doing here?" "| came for you," | said, taking a step toward her. "I'm sorry. For everything. | was a fool. A blind, arrogant fool. Please, come home." She didn't move. She simply pulled out her phone and showed me the screen. It was a bank statement. A transfer from the De Luca family account for a staggering sum of money. "We're settled, Alex," she said, her voice like ice. "The transaction is complete." "| didn't know about that!" | pleaded, my composure cracking. "| never would have signed it if | knew. Kat, please." | reached for her hand, my fingers wrapping around her wrist. ---- "Let her go." A man stepped out from a back room. The man from the photographs. He was calm, but his eyes were hard. He placed his hand on my arm and, with surprising strength, gently but firmly removed my grip from Katarina's wrist. "You heard her," he said. "You should leave." "Who the hell are you?" | snarled, my authority, my power, suddenly meaningless in this small, sunlit room. Katarina looked directly at me, her blue eyes empty of any emotion. "I'm sorry," she said to the man, Julian. "| don't know who this is." She then turned to the gallery's security guard. "Please escort this man out." The guard, a large man, put a heavy hand on my shoulder. | could have broken him in two, but | was paralyzed. By her words. *I don't know who this is.* She had disowned me. Erased me. As the guard pushed me out onto the sidewalk, | watched as she turned her back on me and walked away, her arm linked with Julian's. The Underboss of the De Luca family, a man feared throughout the underworld, had just been thrown out of a tiny art gallery. And | had never felt so utterly and completely ---- defeated. Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!