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."

Isabella Rossi's POV

The next day, I was taken to an abandoned chemical plant in the western suburbs.

The site was desolate—the perfect backdrop for a mafia hideout.

The script Lorenzo gave me was simple. I was to play a hostage kidnapped by a rival famiglia, awaiting rescue by the Santoro security team.

But I hadn't expected Elena to be there.

Dressed in a tactical vest, she stood beside Lorenzo, her voice cloyingly sweet. "Lorenzo, I want to take part in the drill too. I need to toughen up so I won't be a burden to you later."

To my surprise, Lorenzo actually agreed.

"Then stay by my side and don't wander off," he said softly. "The men playing the kidnappers are mercenaries from Sicanza. They're rough around the edges."

…

The drill began.

I was thrown into a shipping container, my hands zip-tied behind my back.

According to the plan, a "kidnapper" would set off smoke grenades ten minutes into the exercise to simulate a fire. Lorenzo's security team was supposed to breach the door and rescue me within five minutes.

But ten minutes passed.

What drifted in wasn't the hiss of smoke grenades, but the relentless crackle of a real inferno.

The stench of gasoline seeped through the cracks in the door. Black smoke billowed inside. The temperature soared, turning the container into a furnace.

Something was wrong.

This wasn't a smoke grenade. This was a real fire.

I struggled to the door, slamming my body against it.

I shouted for help.

"Open the door! There's a fire! A real fire!"

The door had been deadbolted from the outside. Through the cracks, I caught Elena's voice—no longer sweet, but wicked, ecstatic.

"Oh no! Did I lock it by mistake? Lorenzo… the keys… I think I dropped them into the fire."

Lorenzo's voice crackled over the intercom, cold and irritated. "Isabella, scream a little more convincingly. Your acting is pathetic."

The smoke stung my eyes until the tears streamed uncontrollably. I screamed into the mic with everything I had left. "Lorenzo, it's not a drill! It's a real fire! Elena locked the door. It's gasoline! Save me…"

The smoke filled my lungs, triggering a fit of coughing.

"Have you had your fill of acting yet?"

Lorenzo's voice extinguished my last spark of hope.

"Elena is too afraid to even kill a chicken. You think she'd lock the door and start a fire? Isabella, you'll tell any lie just to squeeze more money out of me, won't you?" he said coldly. "Since you love acting so much, stay in there a while longer. Let's see your breaking point."

Static hissed as he snapped the comms shut.

…

Flames licked the interior walls as the corrugated iron glowed red-hot.

I curled into the far corner, despair swallowing me whole.

He really did want me dead. Or worse—my life simply didn't matter to him at all.

I fumbled for my phone. The signal was flickering—weak and unstable.

I didn't bother calling for help; there was no time. Instead, I opened my bank app and transferred every cent I had earned from being a live target, killing that dog, and freezing in that pool to the hospital's account, noted as a surgical fee.

By the time I finished, my vision was fraying at the edges.

I pulled up my chat with Lorenzo. I wanted to tell him that I was terrified of fire.

Back then, every time the power went out, he was the first to rush to my side.

I wanted to tell him that I never abandoned him three years ago.

I wanted to tell him that I had once been pregnant, but the baby was kicked out of me in prison, and that I could never have another child again.

My fingers trembled over the screen, but in the end, I deleted every word of the truth. Instead, I typed one short line.

The screen flickered one last time—Message Sent—before going dark for good.

The text read, "Lorenzo, I'm returning the life I owed you today. The signet ring is at the auction house. The password is your birthday. From now on, we're even."

The phone slipped from my limp fingers, clattering onto the scorching metal floor.

Before darkness claimed me, I heard the metal screech as the container door warped in the heat—and then, a belated roar of agony.

Too bad. I didn't care anymore.