The year the Rossi famiglia falls, my personal Underboss, Lorenzo Santoro, rises to power—becoming the Don and seizing control of the underworld.

Once, I was the untouchable Principessa. He was the Soldato, ready to die for me at a moment's notice. For something as trivial as a paper cut on my finger, he would drop to his knees with red-rimmed eyes, blowing on it for half an hour.

Now, to earn a smile from his new flame, Elena Marino, he forces me to sign a contract and makes me his live target. He watches with indifference as I am battered and bloodied under a hail of bullets.

During a blast-resistance test, shattered glass slices the corner of my eye, but Lorenzo merely looks on. "The once-delicate Principessa Rossi can't even handle a little pain?"

During attack-dog training, I am bitten to the bone, yet he shields a trembling Elena instead. "Animals don't know any better. Why are you holding a grudge against a dog?"

Then comes the real kidnapping. To save Elena, who is desperate to become Donna, he personally cuts off my escape.

"This is just a drill, Isabella," he scoffs. "Stop acting like it's real."

On the surveillance monitors, flames engulf me as I take my final breath.

A bloodstained termination contract is delivered to him. "Don Santoro, I return the life I owe you."

Only then does the man who believes he rules the world finally lose his mind.

Isabella Rossi's POV

The red dot of an infrared laser sight was locked dead center on my forehead.

350 yards away, a sniper from the Santoro famiglia was perched atop the tower.

Lorenzo Santoro's cold voice cut through my earpiece. "Target 01 is in position to test the blast resistance of the new ballistic glass. Countdown: tre, due, uno."

There was no hesitation.

With a deafening bang, the round slammed into the glass in front of me with massive force. Even though the pane held, the terrifying kinetic energy transferred through the barrier like a physical blow, rupturing my eardrum and rattling my skull.

The glass instantly spiderwebbed, a thousand silver fractures blooming in the light. A razor-thin splinter hissed through the air, grazing the corner of my eye. Blood beaded at once, mixing with cold sweat before trickling into my eye, stinging like acid.

I was Lorenzo's live target, codenamed 01.

Names didn't matter, and pain wasn't allowed. My role was simple—to replicate hostile operatives during his extravagant security exercises—or, at present, to serve as a living prop.

"Boss, defense standards met, but the impact point deviated slightly," the technician reported over the intercom.

Inside the observation room, Lorenzo sat on a velvet couch—a throne of his absolute power. His slender fingers tapped lightly against the table. Through the one-way glass, he watched the thin trail of blood tracing down my face.

For a split second, his fingers clenched.

In the past, if I had so much as pricked my finger while pruning roses, he would have dropped to one knee and pressed a devoted kiss to my hand, his eyes rimmed red with distress.

"Principessa Rossi," he would whisper. "Your blood is as precious as pearls. I can't bear to see a single drop fall."

But in the next heartbeat, the ruthlessness in his eyes crushed that ghost of a memory. Lorenzo chuckled, his voice carrying a chill through the static into my functioning right ear.

"What's the matter? Is the great Principessa Rossi scared? You were far more decisive when you threw me into that snake pit to save your own skin."

I lowered my gaze, my fingers digging into my palms until my nails pierced the skin. He still hated me for "abandoning" him during the famiglia war three years ago.

"Raise the price," I said into the mic.

Silence stretched for two agonizing seconds before a scoff came through. "Fine. We'll switch to armor-piercing rounds and run the test again. If you're still breathing when you leave that platform, you'll get one million dollars."

Armor-piercing rounds… At this distance, the already fractured glass wouldn't withstand them.

He truly wanted me dead. But I needed the money.

My Nonna, the Rossi matriarch, was burning through cash in the ICU, and the last remnant of our glory—the signet ring that symbolized our authority—was currently sitting in a black-market auction house.

I rose to my feet again, adjusting my stance to face the lethal red dot once more.

"Affare fatto, Boss. Deal done."

The second shot rang out.

With a thunderous crash, the glass shattered on impact, and the shockwave hurled me backward. A sickening crack echoed as the bone in my left arm snapped against the floor. Countless shards embedded themselves into my back and arms.

I lay face down amid the jagged debris, gasping for air. Through blurred vision, I saw Lorenzo emerge from the observation room in a bespoke black suit.

He loomed over me. His black leather shoe came down on my bloodied hand, grinding it into the floor with deliberate cruelty.

"Isabella, look at you now. Wagging your tail and begging for money like a stray."

He crouched, his fingers gripping my chin with bruising force. Those eyes, which once held nothing but loyalty and adoration, were now thick with intense hatred.

"You make me sick."

Cold sweat drenched my body as pain tore through me, but I still forced a stiff, broken smile.

"Don Santoro," I said hoarsely. "Are you satisfied? If so, pay up."

That sentence snapped his last thread of control.

Isabella Rossi's POV

Brutality flared in Lorenzo's eyes. He shoved me away with a violent jerk, then wiped his fingers with a handkerchief as if cleansing himself of filth.

"Give this Soldato her check," he said coldly. "Then get her out of my sight."

With that, he turned on his heel, leaving without a second glance. Just as he reached the door, he paused. His gaze, dark and sinister, locked onto me over his shoulder.

"And one more thing," he added. "Elena is hosting a celebration tonight, and we're short on entertainment. Be there."

I picked up the check from the floor, blowing gently on the wet blood until it was dry enough to fold, then slipped it into my inner pocket.

The paper pressed against my fresh wound, but I felt no pain.

"Fine. As long as you pay," I said flatly.

…

The Santoro Estate was ablaze with light.

Once, this had been the Rossi ancestral home. Three years ago, when the Rossi famiglia fell, and I was sent to prison, Lorenzo seized our territory with ruthless efficiency—including this very estate.

Now, it housed a new mistress with ambitions of becoming Donna.

Elena Marino, draped in white haute couture, clung to Lorenzo's arm.

"Lorenzo, I heard you invited Bella here? She… she just got out of prison. She has such a dangerous edge to her now. I'm a little scared."

She glanced toward the entrance, her expression timid and her voice soft, but her eyes gleamed with a triumph she couldn't quite hide. She was nothing more than an Associate, yet she was being treated with the reverence of a Donna.

Lorenzo wrapped his arm around her waist. "Don't be scared. She's nothing but a stray now. You're the mistress of this house. You can toy with her however you like."

Dressed in plain black workwear, I felt utterly out of place in the lavish hall.

Capos from every district filled the room, their eyes mocking.

"Isn't that the former Principessa Rossi? I heard her leg was broken in prison. Look at her limp."

"Keep it down. She's no Principessa anymore. She's just a desperate madwoman selling her life for a paycheck."

I tuned them out and walked straight toward Lorenzo.

Standing before him, I held out my hand. "Don Santoro, I'm here for my fee."

He swirled his wine, watching me with a smile that never reached his eyes.

"What's the rush?" he said. "Isabella, you used to be a master at taming beasts, didn't you? If I recall correctly, I was the first monster you ever broke."

He clapped his hands.

Two Soldatos walked in, straining against the leashes of a massive Rottweiler.

Unmuzzled, its fangs bared, ropes of saliva dripping from its jowls. It looked rabid, clearly hyped up on stimulants.

"It was trained for protection," Lorenzo said softly, patting Elena's back to soothe her.

Then, his gaze turned bone-chillingly cold. "Isabella, I heard you learned how to fight in prison. Why don't you give Elena a show? If you can make it lie down obediently, you get a hundred grand tonight."

"A hundred grand…" I murmured.

I stared at the restless beast. Its eyes were bloodshot, a low growl vibrating deep in its throat.

This wasn't entertainment; it was a gladiator match. But I couldn't walk away from that money.

I took off my jacket, revealing arms mapped with scars and fresh bandages from the ballistic test earlier that afternoon.

"Deal."

I had barely taken two steps when the Rottweiler went berserk. It broke free of the leashes and lunged at me with a thunderous roar.

Guests shrieked and scattered in panic.

I rolled aside, narrowly escaping its snapping jaws, but its claws raked across my arm, leaving three gashes deep enough to expose the bone.

As soon as it hit the floor, it spun around and charged again.

This time, I didn't dodge.

During my three years in prison, I had fought women twice my size over things as small as half a bun a cellmate once shared with me.

I met its razor-sharp teeth head-on, jamming my left hand into its mouth to lock its jaw open. With my right hand, I drew the dull knife hidden in my boot and drove it into its throat.

It was a single, lethal strike. The Rottweiler whimpered once and collapsed.

Blood soaked my hand as I pulled free.

The hall fell into deathly silence.

Panting, I forced myself upright and met Lorenzo's gaze. His pupils contracted sharply. He stared at my practiced, lethal movements. A flicker of panic flashed through his eyes.

The Isabella he remembered couldn't stomach watching a chicken slaughtered. Yet, the woman before him now exuded a menace more terrifying than any beast.

I held out my mangled, blood-soaked hand. "The show's over. Pay me."

"Dio mio! Lorenzo! My dog! That was my dog!" Elena burst into hysterical sobs. "Isabella, you pazza! Why did you kill him? He just wanted to play with you!"

Her cries snapped Lorenzo back to himself. His face darkened as he strode over and slapped me hard across the face.

Isabella Rossi's POV

The slap snapped my head to the side. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, and my left ear—already failing me—went completely deaf.

"Who gave you permission to kill it?"

Lorenzo seized my collar, his eyes burning with terrifying intensity. "Isabella, your life isn't worth as much as Elena's dog. You frightened her. For that, you deserve to die."

I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and looked up at the man I had once risked everything to protect.

In my memory, Lorenzo had been just as feral as that Rottweiler. Back then, even if he accidentally hurt me, I would cradle his head and gently stroke his back until the madness left him.

I had turned him from a rabid man into a loyal Underboss. But now, for the sake of a dog, he wanted my life.

"You're right." I lowered my head, my voice eerily calm. "The dog is dead. The show's ruined. Keep the hundred grand."

With that, I turned to leave.

"Stand right there."

Lorenzo's icy voice rang out behind me.

"Since you frightened Elena, you'll pay according to the Legge della famiglia. Get in the pool outside. You don't come out until she stops crying."

It was the dead of winter. The temperature outside had dropped to 20°F.

But I didn't look back. Dragging my bleeding arm, I walked out and plunged into the bone-chilling water.

The instant the icy water swallowed me, the cold stabbed into every pore like needles.

The sensation was hauntingly familiar.

Three years ago, the night had been just as cold. The Rossi famiglia was being purged by our arch-rivals, the Serpentellis. Lorenzo and I had been cornered at the edge of a cliff overlooking the river.

He was critically wounded and unconscious. To make matters worse, the only inflatable life raft we had was a one-seater.

I strapped the only bulletproof vest onto him and shoved him into the raft. Then, I lured the assassins away before plunging into the freezing river myself.

Later, I was captured, tortured, framed, and imprisoned.

But in Lorenzo's memory, I was the one who betrayed him—pushing him toward the Serpentellis to buy myself time, fleeing in the only bulletproof vest available. He believed it was Elena—passing by at just the right moment—who had saved him.

Underwater, I let my eyes drift shut. The ice seeped into my wounds, turning searing pain into numbness.

Just as I thought I might actually die there, a hand fisted in my hair and yanked me back to the surface.

I broke into a fit of hacking coughs. Lorenzo crouched at the edge of the pool, gripping my chin, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"Isabella, are you that desperate to die?"

As he saw my lips turning purple from the cold, an inexplicable irritation surged through him. He should have felt satisfied. But looking into my lifeless eyes made him feel as though something in his own chest was being hollowed out.

"Don Santoro…"

Trembling, I pulled a soaked plastic pouch from my pocket. Inside lay the check. The waterproof seal had held. The check was still dry.

"Have I… soaked long enough? Can I have my hundred grand now? Consider it a Soldato's compensation."

Lorenzo let out a laugh of pure, jagged rage and shoved my face away.

"Fine. You're unbelievable, Isabella. There truly isn't anything you won't do for a paycheck, is there?"

He stood up, looking down at me. "Tomorrow, there's a major project—a rescue drill for the Underbosses. Play your part, and I'll give you five million dollars."

Five million dollars.

That was enough to reclaim the signet ring, pay for Nonna's kidney transplant, and buy my one-way ticket out of this hell.

A faint spark flickered back to life in my eyes. Even knowing it was likely another trap, I had to walk into it.

"Fine. I'm in."