I fell for Don Lorenzo Moretti the second I saw him. Hard.

As a mafia princess, I wasn't supposed to chase anyone. But for him, I swallowed my pride and made him my mission.

A year later, he finally had me, pinning me to the bed as he moved inside me.

His eyes were pure fire, and in that mo ment, they saw only me.

For ten years, we were electric. We fucked in five-star hotels all over the world. We just fit.

I was his lucky charm at the poker table.

I took shots for him until I bled from my stomach.

I even took a bullet for him.

Then came our engagement party. Lorenzo left me standing there alone. Said something "came up."

I went back to our apartment, only to find him kissing my stepsister, Juliana.

That’s when I knew. He had always loved her. I was just a stand-in.

He tried to explain, words tumbling out in a panicked rush, promising a bigger, better party to make up for it.

A laugh, cold and hollow, died in my throat. I turned my back on him, pulled out my phone, and called my mother in Sicily.

"I'll marry into the Romano family."

A week. An entire week without a word. Then tonight, he showed up at my door, reeking of whiskey.

"Bella." His voice was a low, rough growl. His eyes devoured me.

I sat up in bed. "Lorenzo? What are you..."

He didn't answer. He just launched himself at me.

He kissed me with a desperate hunger, like he was trying to devour me, to erase the last week from existence.

"Don't..." I tried to push him away, but my voice was a whisper.

His hands tore at my nightgown.

I should have clawed his eyes out. Demanded to know why he only craved me when he was drowning in whiskey.

But when his lips found my neck, when he slid inside me with the same perfect fit we’d shared for a decade...

When that familiar fire swept through me, all my resolve turned to ash.

Maybe... maybe he regrets it.

Maybe he finally realized what he was losing.

I closed my eyes and let him pull me into that familiar, dizzying spiral.

Every thrust was a frantic, punishing claim.

"Lorenzo..." I breathed his name against his ear.

He didn't answer. He just fucked me harder, like he was trying to brand himself back onto my soul.

It went on for a long time. So long, I thought time had stopped.

When it was over, I lay limp in his arms. His heart hammered against my chest, a frantic drumbeat that finally, finally slowed.

Then, a phone buzzed.

Lorenzo’s body went rigid.

He reached for the phone on the nightstand. The moment he saw the name on the screen, all the softness vanished.

"Jules," he answered, his voice instantly gentle, careful.

My blood ran cold.

Her again. My stepsister.

"Baby, what's wrong? ...Don't cry, I'm listening... When did you get here? I'm on my way."

He sat up, his back to me.

That soft tone. That careful, protective way he spoke... he'd never used it with me. Not once.

After he hung up, Lorenzo turned to look at me. The drunken haze in his eyes had vanished, replaced by their usual icy calm.

"I have to go," he said, pulling on his clothes.

"Where?" I clutched the sheet around me.

"To handle something." He buttoned his shirt, avoiding my eyes. "And about the engagement party... I'll arrange for a bigger one. To make it up to you."

Make it up to me.

The words were a slap in the face.

So this was just a drunken fuck. A need.

And now that he was sober, he was running to her.

"When?" I heard myself ask.

"Our anniversary. Seven days from now." He pulled on his jacket and planted a business-like kiss on my forehead. "Goodnight, Bella."

The click of the door was deafening in the silent room.

I sat there, his scent still on my skin, my heart a block of ice.

There won't be another engagement party, Lorenzo.

The memories flooded back.

The first time I saw Lorenzo Moretti, he’d just taken over the family.

Everyone said he was a monster, a man with a heart of stone who would never love anyone.

I didn't believe them.

I spent a full year chasing him.

From New York's most expensive restaurants to private beaches in Italy, I showed up everywhere, a beautiful, relentless ghost in his life.

"Isabella Rossi," he’d finally snarled, cornering me against a wall. "What the fuck do you want?"

"You," I said, my voice clear. "I want you to love me."

He looked at me like I was a stupid kid.

But I won.

One night, on a whim, I said I wanted to see the northern lights in Alaska.

Lorenzo didn't even blink. He had a private jet waiting to fly me across the country just to satisfy my crazy idea.

"Why are you so good to me?" I’d asked, my head on his shoulder.

"Because you're worth it," he'd said.

Back then, I thought that was love.

Until the engagement party a week ago.

All of New York's elite were there, waiting to see us.

I stood in my custom gown, waiting for my fiancé.

Instead, his underboss, Marco, handed me a note: "Emergency. Party's off."

Every eye in the room was on me. Pity, mockery, satisfaction.

I kept my smile perfect and raised my glass. "Lorenzo always puts business first. It's why I love him."

Inside, I was shattered.

I fled back to our apartment, desperate for an explanation.

But outside our bedroom door, I heard a voice I'll never forget.

"You've been with Isabella all this time," Juliana purred, "but the garden at the estate you built for her is filled with lilies... my favorite flower. What is it you even love about her?"

Then came Lorenzo's answer, thick with lust. "Her eyes. They're just like yours."

My hand trembled as I pushed open the door. I saw my stepsister, Juliana, panting in the arms of my fiancé.

They'd been kissing.

Ten years. And in all that time, he'd never truly kissed me. Not on the lips. Not once. No matter how many times I’d begged, pleaded, or tried to steal one.

"Bella, how did you..." Lorenzo stood up, ready to spin a lie.

I just turned and walked away.

I ignored his texts. I sent his calls to voicemail.

I couldn't face it—that the man I loved was stolen by my stepsister. The daughter of the woman who broke up my family.

Until tonight, when he came to me drunk.

And now, silence again.

I picked up my phone and dialed my mother.

"Bella? It's so late..."

"Mom," my voice was soft, but hard as steel. "I'll do it. I'll marry into the Romano family. One week from now."

The next afternoon, I decided to go to Lorenzo’s estate to get my things.

If this was really the end, I had to erase every trace of myself from his life.

I let myself in with my key. The villa was as quiet as a tomb.

Lorenzo wasn't here. Probably with Juliana.

I went straight to the bedroom and started packing my clothes and jewelry.

Every piece held a memory. Every memory was now a joke.

Walking past his study, I noticed a hidden door, slightly ajar. I’d never seen it before.

My feet moved on their own. My hand was on the handle before I’d even made the choice. I stepped inside.

And the air left my lungs in a single, painful gasp.

The walls of the secret room were covered in oil paintings of Juliana.

Juliana at eighteen, her smile innocent. Juliana in a wedding dress, looking like a saint. Juliana sprawled on a bed, a languid, seductive look on her face.

Each painting was a masterpiece. Each one screamed of the artist's deep, obsessive love.

I counted. There were over twenty of them.

Some dated back more than a decade, before he and I were even together.

So, for the ten years we were "in love," he'd been secretly painting another woman.

While I thought I was his world, his heart was a shrine to someone else.

I was just her understudy. The thought was a shard of glass in my gut, and before I could even pull it out, I heard Lorenzo’s voice.

"Jules! Are you okay?"

I hurried out of the secret room just in time to see Lorenzo carrying Juliana through the front door.

Her face was pale, one ankle bare and swollen. She was hurt.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Jules twisted her ankle," Lorenzo said, gently setting her down on the sofa like she was made of glass.

He wouldn't look at me.

"Just a sprain?" I eyed Juliana's frail, pathetic act.

"Yes, I just missed a step on the stairs," she said weakly. "Thank God Lorenzo got there in time."

Lorenzo immediately knelt in front of her, examining her ankle. "Does it still hurt? I'll call the doctor right now."

Watching him kneel before another woman was like a knife in my gut.

"Lorenzo," my voice was ice. "Do you have any idea whose daughter she is?"

He looked up, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

"She's the daughter of the homewrecker who destroyed my family," I spat. "And now you've brought her spawn into our bed."

Lorenzo's face darkened.

"Bella! What the hell are you saying?" he shot up. "What do their parents have to do with us? That's a fucked-up thing to say!"

"Fucked up?" I laughed, a bitter sound. "You two are what's fucked up!"

"Enough!" Lorenzo roared. "Stop being so fucking dramatic, Bella."

Dramatic.

That’s what he called it.

Just then, Juliana held up her right hand. A gold ring flashed in the light.

"Bella, are you mad about this?" she asked, all innocence. "Lorenzo said it was just a regular ring."

A regular ring.

My heart seized.

It was the Moretti family signet ring, passed down for generations, engraved with the family's lion crest.

"Lorenzo, remember when I begged you to let me wear this?" I stared at him.

His face went pale. "Bella..."

"What did you tell me then?" I pushed. "You said it was against tradition. That there were rules."

"So what about now? Why does she get to wear it?"

Lorenzo’s jaw tightened. "Nothing is going on," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. "I already promised you another party. Stop making a fucking scene."

Nothing is going on.

I looked at them and wanted to scream with laughter.

"Ah!" Juliana suddenly clutched her chest, her face turning white. "My... my heart... it hurts..."

"Jules!" Lorenzo scooped her into his arms. "I'm taking you to the hospital!"

He rushed out with her, throwing over his shoulder, "Bella, we'll talk when I get back."

The door slammed shut, leaving me alone in the vast, empty living room.

I looked around and a brutal truth hit me.

In this entire house, the home we’d supposedly shared for ten years, there wasn’t a single photo of me.

Not in the living room. Not in the bedroom. Not in the study.

But in his secret room, there were walls full of Juliana.

I walked back into the secret room and looked at the paintings again.

Each one was so full of love, so full of devotion.

And me? In ten years, I didn't even get a single picture frame.

I started clearing my things.

The matching mugs we used. In the trash.

The framed photos of us. In my bag to take away.

The necklace he gave me on our first date. I left it on the nightstand.

Six more days.

Six more days until I gave Lorenzo his final gift.

Six more days until I was done with Lorenzo Moretti for good.

I had just walked out of the estate when my phone rang.

Lorenzo's name flashed on the screen.

"Bella," he sounded tired. "Jules is fine. Just a light sprain."

I said nothing.

"Listen, I know you were angry earlier," his tone softened. "I'm willing to forgive what you said to Jules. I know you were just worried about me."

Forgive me?

I almost laughed out loud.

"There's a big game tonight. I need you there with me," he continued. "Just like old times. You're my lucky charm."

I was about to say no when I heard Juliana’s voice whining on his end of the line.

"Lorenzo, I want to..."

"One second," Lorenzo said gently to her, then back to me, "Bella. Eight o'clock. Wear the red dress."

I gripped my phone.

If I didn't show, the sharks at that table would smell blood. They would see the great Lorenzo Moretti's fiancée being publicly replaced by some fresh piece of arm candy.

I couldn't let them see me like that.

I couldn't let them know I'd already lost.

Not yet. For these last few days, I would hold on to my pride.

"Fine," I said.

After hanging up, I stood by the gates and let out a cold laugh.

Juliana's heart was perfectly fine.

She'd been pulling that shit since we were kids.

Every time she wanted something of mine, she'd clutch her chest and say her heart hurt.

My piano, my prom dress, anything I loved—my father would force me to give it to her.

I thought I was too old to fall for that trick again.

But here we were. She was using the same cheap move to steal my man.

And Lorenzo, the great Don, fell for it like a fool.

At eight o'clock, I walked into the game wearing that blood-red, backless dress.

This was New York's most exclusive private club, a place only the real power players could enter.

"Isabella!" someone called out. "Back to being Lorenzo's lucky charm tonight?"

I smiled, nodded, and took my seat beside Lorenzo.

It was the place I knew best. My seat for the last ten years.

Every time Lorenzo had a high-stakes game, I was right there.

For every hand he lost, I'd drink a glass of whiskey for him.

It was our thing.

Once, I drank a dozen glasses straight and ended up in the hospital with a bleeding stomach.

Lorenzo held my hand, his eyes full of pain. "Don't ever do that again."

But I told him he was worth it.

The next game, I was right back in that seat.

Because I wanted to be the only rose by his side.

I wanted him to look at me and see no one else.

"Let's begin," Lorenzo said.

He lost the first hand.

I picked up the whiskey and downed it. The burn was searing, but my face didn't move.

Second hand. He lost again.

I drank again.

Third hand...

"Lorenzo!"

A familiar voice cut through the room.

Everyone turned. Juliana appeared in the doorway, a vision in a white sundress. A goddamn lamb walking into a slaughterhouse.

"Jules?" Lorenzo stood up, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"I missed you," she walked toward him, her eyes welling up with pathetic tears. "I was all alone at home."

Low whistles cut through the silence. A few mocking chuckles.

"Well, well, Lorenzo," someone drawled from across the table. "Didn't know it was bring-your-side-piece-to-work day."

"She's a lot younger than your fiancée."

"No wonder your engagement party..."

Their mocking eyes landed on me.

I sat there, a perfect smile plastered on my face, acting like I heard nothing.

Lorenzo glanced at me, then walked over and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Bella, go sit in the back."

His tone wasn't a request. It was an order.

The room went silent.

Everyone watched me, waiting for the explosion.

I stood up, my smile never faltering.

"Of course," I said. "Juliana does look like a much better lucky charm."

I retreated to a dark corner of the room. Juliana’s voice, sickly sweet, followed me like a poison dart. "Thank you, sister."

Lorenzo gave Juliana his seat and stood behind her, coaching her.

"Play that card," he whispered in her ear.

"Raise the bet here," his hand covered hers.

The intimacy of it reminded me of when we first got together.

The game went on.

Maybe Juliana really was his good luck charm. Lorenzo started winning. Hand after hand.

His pile of chips grew higher and higher. The smile on his face grew wider.

"I win!" At the end of the final hand, Lorenzo raised a glass of champagne.

He threw an arm around Juliana's shoulders, declaring his victory to the room.

Then, he picked up a $100,000 chip from the table and pushed it in front of her.

"A reward for my lucky charm," he announced.

The room erupted in applause.

Everyone was congratulating them, acting like they were the real couple.

I sat in my corner, picked up my whiskey, and drained the glass.

The alcohol burned in my stomach, but it was nothing compared to the ice in my heart.

My phone buzzed. A text from my friend, Sarah.

Are you okay?

I looked at the scene across the room—Lorenzo and Juliana, wrapped in each other's arms—and slowly typed back.

I've never seen things more clearly.