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I feel physically sick.

The expensive dinners, beautiful dresses, weekends in Malibu, and the nights I spent wrapped in Enzo's arms all come rushing back. I remember every evasive answer, every phone call that interrupted our time together, and the way he looked at me when he said he wanted something worth coming home to.

I trusted him.

I believed every beautiful thing he said.

And now I'm kneeling on my kitchen floor, trying to save his wife's life.

"Ma'am?" the dispatcher says. "Are you still with me?"

"Yes." My voice breaks. "She's awake. Please hurry."

Valentina closes her eyes, and terror surges through me.

"No, no, stay with me." I lean closer, keeping pressure on the wound. "You can hate me all you want, but you are not dying in my kitchen. Do you understand?"

Her eyes open again, and I nearly sob with relief.

I don't know whether she's telling the truth about Enzo. Part of me refuses to believe it, but another part already knows.

Because the ring makes sense now.

So does everything else.

The paramedics arrive with two police officers, and suddenly my little apartment is full of strangers. One paramedic takes over caring for Valentina while another asks me to move away.

I scramble backward, staring at the blood covering my hands.

There's some on my dress, too. The beautiful burgundy dress Enzo bought me, the one I was wearing when I kissed him goodbye.

I don't think I'll ever wear it again.

"Ma'am?" A police officer crouches in front of me. "Can you tell me what happened?"

I explain about the unlocked door, my missing cats, and the noises coming from the hallway. By the time I reach the part about the knife, I'm shaking so hard I can barely get the words out.

"I told her to stop," I whisper. "I didn't know who she was. I thought somebody had broken into my apartment."

"Was the door damaged when you arrived?"

"No. It was just unlocked. I always lock it."

He writes something down before asking whether I knew the injured woman.

"Never seen her before tonight." I glance toward the paramedics. "She says she's married to my boyfriend."

The officer looks up.

"What's your boyfriend's name?"

"Lorenzo Moretti."

Something changes in his expression.

"Moretti?"

I nod, and he exchanges a look with his partner that makes me wonder what the hell else is going on.