"Isabella, what's going on?"

Vincent burst through the door, his face a mask of panic. His hair was a mess and his shirt was rumpled, like he’d run all the way home.

"What do you mean?" I asked, calmly dicing tomatoes for his favorite pasta.

"My casinos… all my protection is gone. The Torrino family pulled their security. The Benedettis recalled their funding. Even my government contacts are ghosting me." He grabbed my arm. "This can't be a coincidence."

"Maybe it's just a business realignment," I said, stroking his cheek. "Don't worry. My father's people will still protect you. I'll always have your back."

A flash of hope in Vincent's eyes.

"Really? Can you talk to your father for me? I swear I haven't done anything to disrespect the Family."

"Of course, darling." I fought back the bile that rose in my throat and kissed his cheek. "We're husband and wife. I'm always on your side."

He hugged me tightly, like a drowning man clinging to a life raft.

"Thank you, Isabella. I don't know what I'd do without you."

I wondered what his face would look like if he knew the woman in his arms had unleashed this storm.

Two hours earlier, at the Family compound.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" my father asked, looking over the files I’d handed him. "Vincent is your husband. This will leave him with nothing."

"He should have thought of that before he betrayed me," I said, taking the seat across from him. "And he didn't just betray me. He betrayed the trust of this entire Family."

"I need to see the proof."

I laid out the photos, the videos, the bank statements. Everything.

"Is this enough?"

My father's face grew darker with every image. When he saw the photo of Carmen wearing the family necklace, his fist slammed down on the mahogany desk.

"That son of a bitch! He gave a family heirloom to a common whore!"

"So you understand why I have to do this."

"I understand," he said, picking up the phone. "Notify all our partners. As of today, Vincent Romano is no longer under Marconi protection. Yes. Effective immediately."

After he hung up, my father looked at me.

"Revenge is an art, Isabella. Make sure your hands stay clean."

"I understand, Father."

Now, watching Vincent seek comfort in my arms, I almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

"Vincent, go take a shower. I'll get dinner ready."

After he left, my phone rang.

The caller ID read: Carmen Rodriguez.

I let it ring three times before answering.

"Mrs. Romano?" Carmen's voice was nervous. "I think we need to talk."

"About what?"

"About Vincent. About you. And about my baby."

So, she's finally ready to squawk.

I glanced toward the bathroom. The water was still running.

"Tomorrow. Three o'clock. Presidential suite at the Four Seasons."

"You'll see me?" She sounded surprised.

"You're about to find out, Carmen," I said smoothly, "that I'm far more generous than you can imagine."

I hung up and smiled as I continued to prep dinner.

When Vincent came out of the shower, he looked much more relaxed.

"I feel better," he said, sitting at the table. "Isabella, will your father really help me?"

"Of course," I said, serving him a plate of pasta. "The Family always protects its own. But Vincent, if someone betrays the Family, the consequences are severe. You understand that, right?"

"I understand. I would never betray the Marconi family. And I would never betray you."

He looked me right in the eye, as if he truly believed every word.

That's the most dangerous thing about liars. Eventually, they even manage to lie to themselves.

"Good," I said, raising my wine glass. "To our future."

"To our future."

The clink of our glasses sounded like a promise. The promise of the perfect revenge.