Three years ago, at the very wedding I had meticulously prepared, my fiancé, Vito Rossi, turned the ceremony into a stage to propose to his childhood sweetheart, Isabella.

　　When I dared to confront him, he didn't offer an apology. Instead, he threw me into a subterranean dungeon. Whippings, starvation, and systematic humiliation—I nearly drew my last breath in that living hell.

　　Eventually, I chose to let them go. I walked away and married the man who sits at the absolute peak of the underworld—Lorenzo De Santis, the Godfather of the De Santis family.

　　Three years later, at the San Antonio Docks.

　　I accompanied Lorenzo for a business negotiation, but a sudden matter forced him to step away, leaving his men to receive me. I never expected to run into Vito after three years of silence.

　　Vito and his now-fiancée humiliated me in front of the crowd, even accusing me of being a spy and threatening to arrest me.

　　I turned my gaze toward my husband, who had just arrived—the man who rules the entire Mafia world. I lifted my chin and looked at him.

　　"Lorenzo," I said, my voice steady and clear. "This maniac wants to throw your wife into a dungeon again. How do you intend to handle this?"

Saint Antonio Pier should have been buzzing today.

With the legendary, mysterious Don Lorenzo de Santis due to arrive, the entire Rossi family was on edge.

"No outsiders! Get lost!"

Marco, the gate supervisor, shoved me aside roughly.

I lost my balance completely and stumbled backward, crashing into someone's solid chest.

"Sorry, I—"

"Vito Rossi?"

I turned to apologize, then froze the second I saw who it was.

Seeing me, Vito Rossi's eyes flashed with surprise, but he quickly masked it.

He frowned slightly and stepped back, cold.

Marco caught his expression and went pale.

"Mr... Mr. Rossi!"

"Don't be angry, sir. There's some woman here causing trouble. I bet she figured out someone important was coming today. Probably trying to get inside to seduce you, or maybe crawl straight into your bed! I'll get rid of her right now!"

He waved his baton at me threateningly.

Vito's face darkened. He raised a hand to stop him. "Enough."

I was a little surprised.

Vito let out a cold laugh and looked at me.

"Three years. Cecilia, I thought after you left me you'd make something of yourself. Turns out you're here staging some reunion stunt? If you walked away without a word back then, why come back now? Begging for my pity? Or begging me to take you back?"

In that instant, every memory from three years ago came flooding back.

Vito Rossi used to be my fiancé.

Because of some bullshit betrayal charge, he locked me in a moldy dungeon.

Hunger. Whip marks. Guards humiliating me.

While Vito danced with socialites upstairs in the ballroom, I was curled up in damp straw, trying to count my own ribs just to stay alive—that time taught me one thing for sure: I didn't need him.

But I wasn't that orphan begging for his mercy anymore.

I was the long-lost daughter of the Hernandez family. I was the wife of Lorenzo—the Don whose name alone made Vito tremble.

Before I could speak, Vito went on. "Cecilia, don't stand here making a scene. I spent three months begging for this meeting with Don Lorenzo. In a minute I have to treat his wife like royalty. I don't have time to hear your excuses about running off three years ago."

I looked at Vito's face—arrogant and fawning at the same time—and couldn't help but smile coldly.

So he knew Lorenzo worshipped his wife, but he had no idea the "royalty" he was about to grovel to was standing right in front of him, getting insulted.

"Say something. Don't play dead."

Vito saw my expression and frowned harder.

I took a deep breath. I didn't feel like digging up old dirt, so I just looked at him and said, "Aren't you here to pick me up? Let's go."

With that, I turned coldly and tried to step around him.

But he stretched out his arm and blocked my path.

"Pick you up?" Vito sounded like he'd just heard the joke of the year, his tone dripping with mockery. "Cecilia, haven't seen you in three years and you still can't lie for shit."

"Vito, darling? What's going on?"

A sugary voice drifted over from behind him.

I looked up.

Isabella, dressed in a white lace gown, clung to Vito's arm, her thin heels clicking as she walked over. She looked like some kind of saint, wearing that sickeningly graceful smile.

"Cecilia? Is that you?" She saw me and covered her mouth in exaggerated shock. "I thought you'd been dead for three years. Vito, why didn't you tell me she was still alive?"

The fakeness made me sick.

Isabella was Vito's childhood friend.

Back then, her brother pulled some dying man stunt, wanting her to marry Vito. And that bastard Vito? He took the wedding I'd spent six months planning and turned it into a proposal—to her.

He even had the nerve to tell me it was just for show, that he'd divorce her later and marry me.

I refused. We had a huge fight. Then Isabella set me up.

And Vito?

He didn't even bother to investigate. Just threw me in a dungeon without asking a single question.

"Wait, what's that in your hand?" Isabella suddenly asked.

Vito's eyes followed hers and landed on the corner of a medical file sticking out of my bag.

Before I could say anything, Marco the lapdog rushed over and snatched it from my bag.

"Let's see what treasure you're hiding!" Marco flipped it open and shouted dramatically, "Late-stage pancreatic cancer? Diagnosed yesterday!"

Vito's face changed instantly.

He looked me over, frowning, his expression somewhere between confused and distant.

"So this is what happened after you disappeared for three years? You married some dying man just to spite me? Cecilia, you're pathetic."

"That's not mine. It's my assistant's—"

"Save it." Vito looked at my linen dress with disgust, his eyes full of condescending arrogance. "Wearing cheap market clothes. Compared to that closet full of custom silk you used to have, your taste has really gone downhill."

The guards and workers around us started whispering, looking at me with doubt and mockery.

I just dressed simple. I didn't expect to get insulted for it.

The angrier I got, the tighter I clenched my fists. "Keep talking shit and Lorenzo will have your tongues cut out."

Vito laughed coldly and stepped closer. "If he's really your husband, then call him. Right now. Have him come here with his men to pick you up. If he shows his face, I'll apologize immediately."

He stood there like he was watching a show, clearly not believing a word I said.

I bit my lip and pulled out my new phone.

The second I opened my contacts, my mind went blank. I froze.

I'd just gotten back to the country. Everything happened so fast that I hadn't even saved Lorenzo's private number—the one he never gave out—into my phone yet.

I held the phone, my finger hovering over the screen, unable to move.

"What's wrong? Dial button broken? Or did you forget your 'husband's' number?" Vito's cold laugh echoed harshly across the empty gate.

Isabella doubled over laughing, tears practically streaming down her face.

"It's okay, you don't have to keep pretending. Even if you're not doing well, we won't laugh at you."

"I know you and Vito are over, but the Rossi family's doors are always open. We knew each other once—we'll still give you a meal."

Now that Vito promised to marry her, she didn't even bother pretending anymore.

Vito looked at me with what seemed like heartbreak, clearly disappointed beyond belief.

"Cecilia, if you need help or if you regret this, is it really that hard to just admit it to me?"

"I still don't get why a wedding venue mattered so much. Was it worth staying mad at me all this time?"

I wanted to laugh, but I couldn't.

Suddenly, Isabella let out a bone-chilling, ear-piercing scream.

She pointed frantically at the gravel by my feet, her voice trembling. "Vito, look! The pink diamond ring!"

I looked down, and my heart skipped a beat. It was the ring Lorenzo had given me. It must have slipped off my finger earlier when Marco was violently wrestling the medical records away from me.

I moved to pick it up, but Isabella was faster.

She snatched it and turned to Vito, her voice dripping with false urgency. "I heard the Godfather spent tens of millions on a pink diamond at an auction just to please his wife. I’ve seen the photos—this is the one! Vito, she stole the Godfather’s ring!"

Vito didn't hesitate. He believed her instantly.

At that moment, only one thought consumed him: if the Godfather found out his precious token had been lost at the docks, the Rossi family was finished. To appease a man he hadn't even met yet, he needed a scapegoat immediately.

Before I could utter a word of defense, Vito gave a sharp nod.

Several thugs lunged. Their faces twisted into snarls as they pinned my shoulders back. The force was crushing.

Marco grabbed my handbag, ripping it open so violently that the contents spilled across the dirty ground. Vito bent down and picked up a stray sheet of paper. As he read it, his eyes turned colder than a corpse.

"A smuggling manifest of this level is only accessible to core members," he said, stalking toward me, his voice a low growl. "Cecilia, you’ve been working for my rival, the Matteo family? You brought these files into my docks to get the Rossi family wiped out?"

"No! Lorenzo asked me to deliver those! That’s De Santis family business!" I screamed, struggling against the bodyguards' iron grip.

"Take her away," Vito commanded coldly. "According to family law, stealing the Godfather’s property and leaking secrets is punishable by cutting off both hands. Cecilia, I’ll be merciful and plead with the family court to give you three to five years in a cell instead. I'll let you keep your life."

At the mention of being "locked away," every hair on my body stood on end.

"No! Let me go!" I don't know where the strength came from, but I jerked free from the guards and ran toward the dock exit like a madwoman.

I couldn't go back to a dungeon. I would rather die.

But I hadn't made it more than a few steps before a large hand reached out and grabbed a fistful of my long hair. Vito yanked me back so hard my neck snapped back, and tears of agony stung my eyes.

He produced a roll of duct tape from somewhere and wound it roughly around my wrists. Then, he backhanded me across the face.

The blow left half my face completely numb.

"Impersonating the Godfather’s wife and stealing secrets... how many times do you think the Godfather would kill you if he actually showed up?" Vito sneered, grabbing me by the throat. He began dragging me toward a black Cadillac as if I were a bag of trash. "Cecilia, you’ll never see the sun again."

I huddled in the cold backseat, trembling uncontrollably, drowned in absolute despair.

Just as the car door was about to slam shut, a deafening roar of engines thundered from the distance.

A fleet of twenty pitch-black armored SUVs tore through the dock’s security perimeter like a pack of predatory beasts. Hundreds of fully armed guards leaped out, sealing off the entire scene with drawn weapons before a single word was exchanged.

A car door opened, and a silhouette emerged—a figure so imposing the very air seemed to freeze. It was Lorenzo.

I used every ounce of strength I had left to throw myself against the car window, screaming toward him with everything I had.

"Lorenzo! This maniac Vito is trying to throw your wife in the dungeon again! Are you going to do something about it?"