Three years ago, I drugged the mafia heir, Vincent.

After that one wild night, he didn’t kill me. Instead, he fucked me until my legs went weak, gripping my waist and whispering the same word over and over: “Principessa.”

Just as I was about to propose, his first love, Isabella, returned.

To keep her happy, Vincent let a car hit me, had my mother’s heirlooms thrown to stray dogs, and sent me to prison…

But when I was finally broken, flying to Boston to marry someone else, Vincent tore New York City apart to find me.

To the world, I'm Sophia Romano—the family's wild, radiant princess. Vincent is the mafia heir—stoic, controlled, the very picture of restraint.

But every night, he grips my waist, fucking me until my legs go weak while whispering my name over and over: "Principessa."

He just doesn't know that in two weeks, I'm marrying someone else.

The sheets are still damp with our shared heat. I lie in bed, catching my breath as Vincent rises to dress.

From my side of the bed, I watch his long fingers deftly buttoning his shirt.

"Not staying tonight?" I ask.

"Family meeting," he says without turning. "Be good."

That again.

I sit up, letting the sheet pool around my waist. Vincent's hands pause for a moment before he moves to knot his tie.

"Vincent."

"Hmm?"

"Nothing."

He turns, leans down, and presses a kiss to my forehead. "I'm leaving."

The moment the door clicks shut, I snatch my phone and dial a familiar number.

"Father, I accept the marriage alliance. In two weeks, I'll marry the dying Sterling heir in Boston. But I have one condition."

On the other end of the line, Don Romano sounds ecstatic. "Good! Name it!"

"We'll talk in person."

I hang up, and my eyes fall on the phone Vincent left on the nightstand.

The screen lights up with a new message.

From: Isabella

Vincent, thanks for coming with me to the hospital today. The doctor said my recovery is going well, and it's all because of you. I'd love to see a movie with you tomorrow, just like old times.

It's followed by a kissing emoji.

I stare at the message, my fingertips trembling.

Vincent has never taken me to the hospital. Not even when I broke a rib during training.

I get dressed and discreetly follow his car.

He pulls up to a cozy Italian restaurant on Mott Street. From a distance, I watch him stride toward a girl in a white dress.

Isabella.

She's even thinner than she appears in photos. Vincent reaches out, tucking a windswept strand of hair behind her ear. He touches her as if she's made of porcelain, liable to shatter at any moment.

I've never seen him look so gentle, except when we're in bed.

Three years ago, my father sent me to Vincent. The sight of his handsome, cold face made my knees weak.

"Sophia needs a proper education in how our family operates," Don Romano had told Vincent. "She's too wild. You're the only one who can handle her."

I was nineteen then, fresh out of boarding school and brimming with rebellion. I thought Vincent was just another man trying to tame me.

So I decided I would tame him first.

The first time we met, I wore a miniskirt to his office just to provoke him. Vincent sat behind his desk and didn't even bother to look up.

"Close your legs, Sophia."

"Why?"

"Because the way you're sitting suggests the Romano family lacks class."

I deliberately hiked my skirt higher. "How about now?"

Vincent finally looked up, his eyes cold behind his gold-rimmed glasses. "Get out."

For months, I did everything I could to get under his skin. I slipped flirtatious notes into his files, sabotaged missions he assigned, and even put a laxative in his whiskey.

Vincent always cleaned up my messes with infuriating calm, then told me in that patronizing tone, "Sophia, you're a smart girl. You need to apply that intelligence to the right things."

Until that night.

I drugged his drink, desperate to see what a Vincent without his iron control would look like.

I just didn't expect to still be in the room when the drug took hold.

Vincent pinned my wrists, his breathing heavy and ragged. "What did you put in my drink?"

"You've already guessed, haven't you?" I met his searing gaze. "Want to try me?"

That night changed everything.

When I woke the next morning, Vincent was already dressed.

I thought he'd be furious, that he'd send me back to my father. "Vincent, I—"

"Principessa," he murmured, stroking my cheek. "This will be our secret."

Principessa. Little princess.

That was the word that made me fall completely.

For the next two years, we maintained this strange, clandestine relationship. By day, he was the same composed, rational Vincent. But at night, he'd whisper "Principessa" in my ear and fuck me until my legs gave out.

I thought he loved me.

Until my birthday.

I'd spent the entire day preparing, put on my most beautiful dress, and booked a table at the restaurant where we first met. I was going to tell him I loved him, that I wanted to be with him, no matter the cost.

But Vincent never showed up.

I sat alone in that restaurant for three hours, until even the waiters started to look at me with pity.

The next day, photos of Vincent greeting another woman at the airport went viral.

In the pictures, Isabella was nestled in his arms, the two of them as intimate as lovers.

So that’s where he'd been last night. He'd gone to pick her up.

I laughed bitterly and drank until I couldn't feel anything. I wanted to confront him, to demand to know what I was to him. A fuck buddy? A tool?

But I didn't have the courage.

I was too lonely, too addicted to the warmth he offered.

That night, Vincent came home to find a wreck. I'd used a wine bottle to smash every single picture of Isabella in his study.

He didn't even flinch. He just instructed the maid to clean up the mess and take care of me, then walked right past me.

In that moment, I finally understood. Vincent was the family heir—untouchable, cold, and proud. His tolerance wasn't a sign of affection. He simply couldn't be bothered to argue with me.

After that, he still called me Principessa in bed, as if nothing had changed.

But my heart was already dead.

Outside the restaurant, Vincent opened the car door for Isabella. They were laughing about something.

I looked away and drove back to the Romano family estate.

In the living room, Don Romano and my stepmother, Maria, were watching TV. When I walked in, my father turned it off.

"Alright, what's your condition?"

I sat on the sofa opposite them. "I want you to disown me."

Don Romano's expression froze. "What did you say?"

Maria, sitting beside him, practically lit up.

"I said, I'll marry the Sterling family's dying heir. In exchange, we sever all ties. From this moment on, I am no longer a Romano. You can welcome your mistress and your bastard daughter into this home with open arms. The day you staged the car crash that killed my mother, I stopped wanting you as a father anyway!"

Don Romano's face turned ashen. "I told you, that crash was an accident!"

I met his gaze and sneered. "Accident or not, she died on her way to find you cheating with Maria. Dad, let's stop pretending we're a happy family. You've been trying to sell me to the Sterlings for five months. Isn't it just so your precious mistress can finally marry into the family, so your bastard daughter can finally take the Romano name?"

Don Romano shot to his feet. "Sophia, you want to be disowned? Fine! As of tomorrow, you are no longer my daughter!"

"Deal," I said, turning to head upstairs. "Oh, and don't forget to inform the Sterling family. Their bride is no longer the eldest daughter of the Romano family, but a parentless orphan. Ask them if they're still willing to pay the same price."

Back in my room, I shut the door, and the mask I wore finally crumbled.

Tears streamed down my face. I curled up on the bed, a wounded animal licking its wounds.

Do you know, Vincent? To finally leave you, I had to give up the only thing I had left.

The next morning, I heard the sounds of furniture being moved downstairs.

I rose and walked to the landing of the staircase.

A familiar figure stood at the bottom.

Isabella.

My blood ran cold.

Isabella stood at the bottom of the stairs in a simple white dress, the picture of fragile innocence.

She spotted me, and a brilliant smile spread across her face. "You must be Sophia. I'm Isabella. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

I didn't answer, just stared down at her.

Don Romano emerged from the living room. Seeing Isabella, a rare look of paternal affection crossed his features.

"Isabella, you must be tired from your journey. Have Sophia show you to your room."

"Thank you, Uncle Romano," Isabella replied sweetly.

"Take Sophia's room. It gets the best light, perfect for your recovery," Don Romano announced.

I turned to him. "My room?"

"From now on, it's Isabella's room. You can move to the third floor. There's an empty guest room up there."

A cold laugh escaped my lips. "No, thanks."

I went back upstairs and began to pack.

Thirty minutes later, I was dragging my suitcase down the stairs.

Don Romano saw my luggage and frowned. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm leaving," I said without looking back. "Since I'm no longer a Romano, there's no reason for me to stay here."

"Sophia!" he yelled after me. "Your wedding is in two weeks! Don't be ridiculous!"

"I know." I pulled the door open. "I'll be at the wedding to fulfill our agreement."

The door slammed shut behind me. I drove away from the Romano estate without a second glance.

My first stop was the most expensive hotel in Manhattan—The Plaza.

"I'd like your most expensive suite," I told the concierge.

"For how many nights?"

"Two weeks. "

When I paid, I used the supplementary credit card Don Romano had given me. It had a five-million-dollar limit that I had rarely touched.

Today, I was going to max it out.

Once in the suite, I immediately began my revenge spending.

I contacted Vera Wang's private couturier and ordered three bespoke wedding gowns, each worth a hundred thousand dollars.

Then I bought ten sets of high jewelry and two limited-edition Rolexes.

In a single day, I spent nearly four million dollars.

Soon enough, Don Romano's call came through.

"Sophia! Are you out of your mind? You spent four million in one day!"

"What's wrong?" I asked, lounging on the hotel's plush leather sofa. "I'm being shipped off to Boston. A girl has to make a good impression."

"You need to spend that much to make an impression?"

"Of course," I said, sipping my champagne. "I'm marrying the heir to the Sterling family. I can't look cheap, can I? Besides, the Sterlings are paying five hundred million for this alliance. A few million is pocket change."

"You..." Don Romano was sputtering with rage.

"Father—oh, wait, I should call you Mr. Romano now," I laughed. "You already disowned me, so it's not right for me to spend your money. How about this: as soon as the alliance funds arrive, I'll pay you back immediately."

I hung up and continued my shopping spree.

My plan was simple: drain the Romano family's liquid assets before the alliance money came through. Then, the five hundred million would go directly into my account. If Don Romano wanted it, he'd have to come begging.

Let's see if he'd still favor that mother and daughter then.

Just as I was about to make my final round of purchases, my phone buzzed.

It was a text from Vincent. "You haven't been to the compound in three days. Is something wrong?"

I stared at the message, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs.

But I quickly composed myself. Vincent just hated it when his orders were disobeyed. That's all this was.

I replied: "Family stuff. It'll be sorted out in a few days."

Vincent didn't write back.

The next morning, as I was heading out to continue my sartorial assault, the hotel concierge stopped me. "Miss Romano, I'm terribly sorry, but your account has been frozen. You cannot continue to charge to your room."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll need to settle your bill immediately, or..." He paused delicately. "We'll have to ask you to leave."

An hour later, I was standing on the sidewalk outside The Plaza with my luggage.

Penniless and homeless.

I couldn't bring myself to sell the luxury goods I'd bought. I needed them as my armor for Boston.

I thought about calling a friend, but then I realized I didn't have any. The people who flocked around me were only there for the Romano family's power and influence.

Now that I'd been cast out, who would bother with me?

As dusk fell, I dragged my suitcase aimlessly through the streets.

Finally, I found an empty bench in Central Park and sat down.

The night grew deep. The park was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic.

I hugged my knees, counting down the five days until the wedding. I couldn't live on the streets until then.

As I worried, a few drunk men staggered toward me.

"Hey, beautiful. All alone?" one of them slurred, reeking of cheap booze.

I stood up warily. "Stay away from me."

"Don't be like that," the man said, reaching for me. "C'mon, have a drink with us."

I stepped back, but the bench blocked my escape.

Just then, a low, menacing voice cut through the air.

"She's with me."

I turned. Vincent was stepping out of the shadows, his face a thunderous mask of fury.

The drunks took one look at his imposing presence and scrambled away.

Vincent strode toward me, his gaze taking in my suitcases, then the bench.

"Homeless, and you still won't come to me?"

Vincent drove me back to his mansion in Manhattan.

I sat in the passenger seat, staring out at the passing neon lights, a gaping void in my chest.

"We're here." Vincent parked the car and walked around to open my door.

Why was it always like this? He didn't love me, but he slept with me, and he was still so damn considerate.

A lump formed in my throat.

I got out of the car and followed him, dragging my suitcase behind me.

I knew this house all too well. Every corner held a memory of our bodies tangled together.

Vincent reached for my suitcase, about to take it to my usual bedroom.

"Don't," I said, heading straight for a guest room. "I'm only staying for twelve days. This is fine."

Vincent stopped in his tracks. "You can stay as long as you want."

I put my suitcase in the guest room and closed the door.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone. Twelve more days, and I would leave New York forever.

The next morning, I went downstairs. Vincent was already in the dining room. He saw me and gestured to the seat across from him.

I sat. A maid brought me milk and toast.

"Vincent," I began.

He looked up, his gaze calm behind his glasses.

"Did you know Isabella is Maria's daughter?"

"I found out yesterday," he said, his face unreadable, showing no hint of guilt.

I gave a bitter smile. "What is Isabella to you?"

Vincent put down his coffee cup. "A high school classmate. She took a bullet for me once, saved my life. She's been recovering in Europe ever since."

"Really? Just a classmate? A savior? Is it that simple?"

Vincent's brow furrowed slightly. "Sophia, I don't want you targeting her just because she has returned to the Romano family."

I laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. "Is that a warning?"

"It's a reminder," Vincent's tone was cold. "Isabella's health is fragile. She can't handle any trouble."

I nodded, saying nothing more.

Vincent was more direct in his defense of Isabella than I had ever imagined. What else was there to ask?

"I understand," I said, getting to my feet. "I'm going upstairs."

I stayed in the guest room all day. The maid brought lunch and dinner to my door. I didn't go down.

That night, I lay in bed, unable to sleep. Usually, Vincent would open the door around this time, push me down without a word, and grip my waist while calling me Principessa.

But tonight, the hallway was silent.

Of course. His first love was back. Why would he be thinking of me?

The next day was Saturday. Vincent didn't go to the compound.

At ten in the morning, he knocked on my door.

"Sophia, there's a party tonight. You're coming with me."

I opened the door. Vincent was already dressed in a sharp black suit.

"What party?"

"A gathering between the families."

Not wanting to be alone in this house full of our memories, I nodded.

At seven that evening, Vincent's car pulled up to a private club.

I followed him inside and found the place lavishly decorated with flowers and streamers.

It didn't look like any mafia gathering I'd ever been to.

Before I could ask, I heard a familiar voice.

"Vincent! You're finally here!"

Isabella, in a white evening gown, fluttered over like a butterfly. She saw me, and her expression faltered for a fraction of a second before she plastered on a sweet smile.

"Sophia's here too! That's wonderful!"

I glanced around and saw a large banner that read, "Welcome Home, Isabella."

It was a welcome party. For her.

Vincent had brought me to Isabella's welcome home party.

I turned to leave, but Isabella stopped me.

"Sophia, what's wrong? Are you not feeling well?" she asked, her voice dripping with concern. "I heard you moved out of your house. Is it because of me? I'm so sorry, I had no idea Uncle Romano would let me stay in your room."

Her voice was soft and gentle, but loud enough for everyone around us to hear. A few guests looked my way with questioning eyes.

"It's fine," I replied curtly. "It's just a room."

"But Uncle Romano said you even disowned him." Isabella's eyes welled with tears. "It's all my fault. If I hadn't come back..."

"Isabella," I cut her off. "The reason I disowned him has nothing to do with an outsider like you."

Isabella's tears began to fall. She looked pitifully at Vincent.

Vincent walked over, shot me a warning look, then said gently to Isabella, "Don't cry. Your eyes will get swollen."

He took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her tears. Isabella's tears turned to a smile. She blinked her wet lashes and said, "You're so good to me, Vincent."

I stood to the side, watching this tender tableau unfold.

A sharp pain pierced my heart.

In ten days, I would be gone for good, and I knew I would never be on the receiving end of that kind of tenderness from him.

I turned and walked to the bar, grabbed a glass of champagne, and downed most of it in one go.