I'm going to die.

In the eyes of the underworld, I was a sinner. My death would be a final, cursed dishonor.

But even with the Ricci family in ruins, I was still the noble Principessa.

The Ricci pride in my blood would not allow my body to fall into the hands of a rival Family.

Humiliation. Desecration. Photographs flaunted for all to see.

I didn't much care if my body became a trophy to celebrate their victory.

But if the world knew the last of the Ricci bloodline had become a plaything for our enemies, it would be a disgrace to the entire Family.

After weighing my options, I dragged my broken body to the turf of my ex-boyfriend, the man I'd left seven years ago, now the Don of the Falcone family.

"After I die, I need you to handle my body."

He was silent for a long moment, then let out a cold laugh.

"Of course. I'll sink you in the Hudson River with a tombstone tied to your feet, engraved with the name of your filthy family."

To think I'd lived my entire life as a princess, only to end up begging my ex-boyfriend to dispose of my corpse.

It was late autumn in New York, and the night wind carried a biting chill.

Standing before the private club owned by the Falcone family, I took a deep breath of air thick with the smell of cigars and whiskey.

My emotions were a tangled mess.

These days, you could find hitmen, money launderers, and arms smugglers, but no one specializing in dignified disposals for fallen royalty.

You would think with so many families falling, someone would have already cornered that market.

A new Family might even make its fortune from it.

I was dying. ALS.

After the shock, despair, anger, and a complete breakdown, I had calmly accepted my fate.

My Family was long gone, and I had filed for divorce from Julian, the heir to the Thorne family, and my husband in name only.

I had no one left anyway.

Death would just be another empty room in my lonely existence.

But I absolutely could not let myself die in this damned, cheap apartment, only to be discovered by some landlord or neighbor and become a case file for the FBI.

Worse yet, being carried off by those bastards from a rival Family, becoming another tool for them to disgrace the Ricci name.

Once those bastards found my body, they would surely take pictures to commemorate the occasion, parading their prize through the underworld.

By then, it would be too late.

I was vain in life. I refused to let my death become a grotesque public spectacle.

I still had some shred of the Family's dignity left.

I would not become a joke to our rivals, a final stain on the Ricci name.

I especially didn't want to become the butt of their jokes at the dinner table.

Rotting, turning black, festering, swarming with maggots.

It was out of the question.

After all, what woman wants to become so hideous, even in death?

Besides, with all the major families in the middle of bloody purges, there were enough bodies to deal with.

Mine didn't need to add to the problem.

So I had to find someone capable of "cleaning up" after me.

Someone who could make me disappear completely after I died, without a sound, without a trace.

After thinking it over and over, I could only think of one person who could pull it off: Massimo Falcone.

The Don of the most powerful new Family in the criminal underworld.

He could certainly help me evade my enemies and arrange a proper end for me.

More importantly, he was the only person in the world I could still trust not to let my illness become instant fodder for the tabloids.

At least, that's how it was seven years ago.

But back then, our breakup had been ugly.

He was just a low-level soldier for my family then, spilling blood for pocket change.

I was the family's revered Principessa.

I knew he loved me with a fierce, desperate passion, but I threw him away after a humiliating tirade.

"Massimo, it was just for fun. I'm bored of you now. Get the hell out of my sight."

"You didn't really think the Don's daughter would marry a street soldier, did you?"

"Ha! I can't afford to bring that kind of shame on the Ricci name!"

Those words were like knives, slicing through every bond between us.

I'll never forget the look of utter devastation on Massimo's face.

I knew it all too well. I had personally destroyed his love for me.

And now, seven years later, he was the Don, a man whose name struck fear into everyone's hearts.

At an age when others were still fighting for street corners, he already ruled the East Coast underworld, a cold, ruthless, and decisive king.

While I had been reduced to this.

And to top it all off, I was dying.

And now I had to crawl back to the same street thug I once despised and beg him to dispose of my body.

To show my sincerity, I decided to meet Massimo in person.

I walked toward the entrance, my steps a little unsteady in my high heels.

The bodyguard on the left noticed me first.

Shock flashed across his face, quickly replaced by vigilance.

He tapped his partner's arm, and they both turned to face me.

It had been seven years, the first time I had ever set foot on Massimo's territory.

"Miss Ricci?" the one on the right ventured, his voice laced with disbelief.

They clearly recognized me, or at least had seen my photograph.

"I'm here for Massimo," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

They exchanged a look, and one of them disappeared into the depths of the club.

A few minutes later, he returned and informed me coldly, "Don Falcone will see you."

The title, Don Falcone, still sounded strange to me. Ironic, even.

How the tables have turned.

I was led down a dimly lit hallway and into a lavishly decorated office.

Massimo was sitting in a massive leather chair, a wall-to-wall liquor cabinet behind him.

"Well, look who's come crawling back."

The chair swiveled around slowly, revealing his face.

Massimo didn't stand, nor did he invite me to sit.

"I'm dying," I said, getting straight to the point. "I need your help one last time."

He smirked as if he'd heard a joke. "You're only dying now?"

"As far as I'm concerned, you should have been in hell years ago."

He was mocking me, humiliating me.

But I was a woman who no longer feared death, so why would I care about his taunts?

"I know you've always wanted me dead. But this time, I really won't last three months. I figured you'd want a front-row seat to watch me go."

"It's a once-in-a-lifetime offer."

I tried to persuade him, desperate for him to agree.

Massimo suddenly burst into a low, wild laugh that echoed through the office.

"Chiara, you'll really stop at nothing to get your claws back into me, won't you?"

His voice dripped with vicious pleasure.

"I know things haven't been going well for you these past few years."

"Your father ate a bullet in his office, your mother ran off with the family's last dime and some casino dealer, and you? The Thornes tossed you out like yesterday's trash."

"What, no one wants you now, so you came running back to me?"

"Trying to win my sympathy with this dying act?"

"You think I still have any feelings for a shallow, materialistic woman like you?"

He walked over to me and seized my chin. "I would never want a woman like you."

"If you really were to die in front of me, I'd just sink your corpse in the Hudson River, with a tombstone tied to your feet, bearing the name of your filthy family. You and your father can be reunited at the bottom of the river!"

I gave it some serious thought.

A watery grave in the Hudson sounded miserable.

But it was probably better than rotting in public and becoming a tabloid headline, right?

I looked up at him and said in earnest.

"Fine. But don't use granite. The veining in marble would better suit my complexion."

"You…"

My words silenced him, the expression on his face freezing.

He must have thought I was trying to provoke him.

I didn't move, unwilling to give up just yet.

"Massimo, I'm serious…"

"Get out!" he roared.

I turned to leave. As I reached the door, I glanced back at him.

"I'll find a fixer in Chinatown. I won't bother you again."

Just as my hand touched the doorknob, a chair crashed to the floor behind me.

"You're not going anywhere."

Massimo's voice came from behind me, laced with a strange possessiveness.

"Your 'corpse'? I'm claiming it."

The crash of the overturned chair shattered the silence in the office.

I didn't look back, pushing the door open and walking out.

Even the bodyguards in the hallway looked at me with pity.

They must have heard the whole conversation.

Secrets don't stay buried for long in the underworld. No different from the world outside.

I stepped out of the club, and the cold wind made me sneeze.

That was a good thing, I supposed.

Soon, I probably wouldn't even have the strength to sneeze.

Urgent footsteps approached from behind.

"Get in the car," Massimo's voice sounded behind me.

I turned to see him standing beside a black Rolls-Royce.

"I told you, if you're not willing, I'll handle it myself."

"You think I'd just let you walk away?" He opened the car door. "I said get in the car, Chiara."

"We're not finished talking."

In seven years, our positions had been completely reversed.

Now, he held all the power, and I no longer had the right to refuse.

The car drove slowly.

Massimo sat across from me, his eyes occasionally flicking to me in the rearview mirror.

Twenty minutes later, we pulled up in front of my dilapidated apartment building.

It suddenly occurred to me that he knew where I lived without even having to ask.

"You don't have to come up," I said, pushing the door open.

"Not welcoming me in?" He got out after me. "I want to see how the Ricci princess is living these days."

I bit my lip. "Suit yourself."

The elevator had been broken for three months, so we climbed the five flights of stairs.

He walked into my apartment, or more accurately, the place I slept.

From the cheap appliances in the kitchen to the canvases stacked by the bedroom door, to the obviously second-hand sofa.

His eyes scanned every inch of the cramped space.

I almost felt apologetic for bringing the great Don Falcone to such a shabby place.

"Not as bad as I imagined. At least it's clean."

"I'm surprised you're not on the streets."

With one hand in his pocket, he ran his other along the wall. "I thought I'd find you begging on some street corner."

I took off my coat. "Disappointed?"

"A little." He turned to face me. "You've managed to hold on to one last shred of dignity. I don't like that."

I endured his insults and walked silently toward the bedroom.

From the bottom drawer of my nightstand, I took out a rusty safe deposit box key and a handwritten letter of authorization on Ricci family letterhead.

"I don't have much to give you, but there's something in here."

I placed the key and the letter in front of him.

"It's the last of my family's 'clean' assets, along with some old secrets about the Torrino family's money laundering routes."

"It should help you with the enemies still circling you."

He didn't even glance at them, his expression growing dangerous.

"You think I give a damn about this garbage?"

He lunged at me, grabbing my shoulders and slamming me against the wall.

"Do you really think I need to rely on the scraps of the Ricci family to secure my position now?"

His breath, smelling of whiskey and mint, hit my face.

"What do you take me for? Am I still that same street thug you could buy off for a few thousand in protection money?"

His grip was painful. I tried to push him away, but my arms were already growing weak.

Damn this disease.

"Massimo, that's not what I meant…"

"I'm not trying to buy you," I managed to say. "I just want to offer something of equal value."

"Value?" He let out a cold, chilling laugh.

"The only value you have now is letting me watch you die with my own two eyes."

I gave up trying to explain.

It was pointless. He would never believe me, not a woman who had abandoned him.

"Then let me go," I whispered. "I'm sick. I need to rest."

He released his grip but didn't step back.

"I'm not leaving." He sank onto the sofa as if he owned the place. "I need to make sure you don't run off in the middle of the night."

"Don't worry," I said with a bitter smile. "I can barely climb the stairs. Where would I run to?"

"Even better." He leaned back against the sofa. "Since you love playing this little death game so much, I'll play along."

"But if you're not dead when the time comes, Chiara, you know the consequences."

I smiled too.

Yes, he had power, money, and men.

But I had an ally too. I had Death on my side.

He wanted to go against me? This was one fight he was guaranteed to lose.

When I woke up, Massimo was still sitting on that worn-out sofa.

He hadn't slept, just sat there, staring at me.

"You sat here all night?" I struggled to push myself up from the bed.

"I told you, I'm making sure you don't run." He stood up.

"I have some things to take care of now. You stay put. Don't try any funny business."

It was almost laughable. What could a dying woman do?

The plan had been simple. Massimo would show up to collect my body after I died.

We had agreed to contact each other every three days to confirm I was still breathing.

If I didn't contact him for more than three days, the game was over.

He already had the key to my apartment and would have to come deal with the aftermath.

Even with the autumn chill, the apartment was stuffy. A body wouldn't last long in here.

But he was at my door again the very next day.

"Get dressed. You're coming with me."

"Where are we going?"

"To see your new home."

His expression was cryptic. "Saying I'd sink you in the river... I spoke in anger. I've changed my mind."

"Since you're in such a hurry to see your father, I'll grant your wish."

I knew him too well. He was convinced I was acting, that my claims of dying were a play for sympathy, an attempt to reawaken his pity.

So he was finding new ways to torment me, waiting for me to break and beg.

I had no intention of giving him that satisfaction.