I had just settled into the car for the ride home. Before the driver could start the engine, my phone buzzed.

The image on the screen seared itself into my mind.

It was a video, sent through an encrypted channel. The scene was dark and intimate, filled with nauseating gasps and moans.

Roxy was draped over Lorenzo's lap like a wildcat in heat, wearing my own wine-red silk nightgown—stolen from my closet and torn.

Her eyes were glazed over, staring defiantly into the camera, as if taunting me.

[If your man can get here in twenty minutes, I'll let him try the new product I just got my hands on.]

Immediately, Lorenzo's profile picture—a snarling black hound—lit up. His reply was two short, urgent words:

[Wait for me.]

I clicked off the video and closed my eyes, fighting the bile that rose in my throat.

I thought I'd gone numb to it all.

But the thrill I could feel radiating from him, all for another woman, was like a dull knife sawing back and forth across my soul.

That night, I curled up at the foot of my bed, my eyes raw and burning.

The encrypted phone on my nightstand vibrated all night long.

Roxy was a demon who wouldn't let me breathe.

From dusk till dawn, she sent a new photo every hour.

My private study was a disaster.

Shredded documents littered the floor, the expensive mahogany desk was smeared with a sticky residue, and the air was thick with the cloying, sweet scent of drugs and sex.

[He couldn't get enough of me. The future Don's stamina is incredible… Is he like this with you? Or does that prim, dead-fish act of yours make it impossible for him to even get hard?]

I stared at the images.

My pride screamed, a wounded animal in the depths of my soul, but it was too weak to even hold my head high, drowned out by his endless betrayal.

Lorenzo didn't stumble home until the first hint of dawn.

He pushed open the door to find me lying in bed, tear tracks staining my face, my knuckles white from gripping the phone.

The delicate thread between us instantly alerted him to my despair.

He rushed over and pulled me into a tight embrace, his voice trembling. "Isolde, why are you crying? Who hurt you?"

I slowly lifted my head and touched my cheek. It was cold and damp.

After a long moment, I forced a broken smile that was uglier than a sob.

"It's nothing. I had a nightmare. I dreamed my fiancé was taken out by a rival family."

Lorenzo's body tensed. Then he gently kissed away my tears, his voice laced with an intoxicating affection. "Silly girl, who could possibly touch me? Don't cry, my love. It breaks my heart."

I was about to speak when the butler knocked respectfully on the door. "Sir, the gowns have been delivered. The Metropolitan Charity Gala is tonight."

Lorenzo acknowledged him, then turned back to kiss the corner of my mouth, his eyes full of guilt.

"Isolde, I was wrong to leave you at the bridal shop yesterday. To make it up to you, I'm taking you to the Met Gala tonight. You're going to be my Donna, and I want the whole city to know it."

I didn't refuse.

Thinking I had forgiven him, he excitedly swept me into the dressing room and began personally selecting jewelry for me, handling me as if I were his most precious treasure.

The Metropolitan Charity Gala was the pinnacle of opulence.

Beneath colossal crystal chandeliers, socialites clinked glasses, the air thick with the scent of money and power.

To appease me, Lorenzo went out of his way to put me on a pedestal.

He publicly announced a major alliance between the Vittorio family and a Chicago outfit, attributing the successful negotiation to my advice.

The Capos of several other families gathered around to tease him.

"Lorenzo, you spoil the Principessa rotten."

"I heard you gave her the family's ancestral estate in Sicily just to see your future Donna smile."

"A future Don this devoted puts the rest of us to shame."

Lorenzo snaked an arm around my waist, his possessive, amber eyes sweeping over the crowd as he spoke in a low, affectionate growl. "Of course. My Isolde deserves the best in the world."

A wave of envious sighs rippled through the room.

Lorenzo bent down, thoughtfully retrieving a glass of champagne for me. He looked at me, his gaze hazy. "Have a little. This fruity one is your favorite."

I took the glass but didn't drink.

Because as he leaned in, I caught a sharp, aggressive whiff of cheap perfume beneath his expensive cologne.

It was Roxy's scent.

The silent slap of it stung my face.

"I've lost my appetite," I said, turning my head away.

Just then, the grand ballroom doors were flung open.

The same scent I’d just detected now flooded the entire room.

Beside me, Lorenzo's body went rigid. The hand on my waist began to tremble.

It was a primal reaction, a war between lust and restraint.

I followed his gaze.

At the entrance, Roxy strode in on stiletto heels, wearing a plunging, deep-V red dress that left nothing to the imagination.

As if she were the star of the evening.

She ignored the shocked stares, her bewitching eyes fixed solely on my fiancé.

Roxy walked straight to the main table, ignoring the high-ranking family members and politicians seated there. Her kohl-rimmed eyes were locked on Lorenzo as she swayed her hips, stopping right at his side.

She didn't need an invitation.

A wave of gasps spread through the hall. People began to whisper, trying to place her.

"Isn't that the dancer from his club? What gives her the nerve to sit next to the future Don?"

"Isn't she afraid Lorenzo will have her tossed in the Hudson for this?"

"Shh, keep your voice down! I heard she's backed by some serious drug money. You see the jewels she flashes on her livestreams?"

Just as I averted my gaze, I saw Roxy brazenly take Lorenzo's hand and press it against her chest, right in the cleavage of her dress.

Lorenzo's hand froze. He tried to pull it back, but Roxy just smiled, holding it fast as her body swayed.

My heart stopped.

I stared at Lorenzo.

Push her away, a voice screamed inside my head. For God's sake, push her away, now!

But after a moment, Lorenzo’s struggle ceased. He didn't pull his hand away.

I jerked my head to the side, my fingers clenching so tightly my nails dug into my palms.

A searing pain erupted from the core of my being, like a white-hot dagger plunging straight through me.

I was lost in a daze for the rest of the charity auction, until the final item was unveiled and gasps from the crowd snapped me back to reality.

I looked up to see a dazzling "Star of Sicily" blue diamond necklace resting on a velvet display.

The auctioneer was enthusiastically recounting its history.

Legend had it the necklace once belonged to a Sicilian queen, a symbol of eternal, unwavering loyalty.

Perhaps sensing my interest, Lorenzo raised his bidding paddle without a second thought.

"Ten million dollars!"

Then, a sultry female voice sounded from beside him.

"Thirty million dollars!"

He turned to see Roxy had also raised a paddle. She met his displeased glare with a seductive smile.

"So sorry, future Don. My patron is quite fond of me and insists on gifting me this necklace!"

Lorenzo's face darkened instantly. "Fifty million dollars!"

"One hundred million dollars!"

"One hundred and fifty million dollars!"

…

Finally, Lorenzo made a curt gesture.

The auctioneer slammed his gavel down with a flourish.

"My goodness! Mr. Vittorio is buying it outright!"

"Congratulations to the Vittorio family on winning the Star of Sicily!"

Amid thunderous applause, Lorenzo nonchalantly pulled his hand from Roxy's grasp and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"Wait for me here, my love. I'll go handle the paperwork."

I watched him leave, and then I saw Roxy rise from her seat, giving me a look loaded with meaning as she followed him out.

It wasn't until everyone had left that I finally unclenched my fists. My nails had dug in so deep that my palm was bleeding.

But I felt no pain. I just stood up and walked out.

The screen of my phone was lit up with a single, unread, anonymous message.

"The private lounge on the top floor. Come and see who your man really belongs to, my dear future Donna."

After the guests had dispersed, the empty hallway echoed with my footsteps.

Bodyguards stood at a distance, quietly turning away anyone who tried to approach the lounge.

Before I even got close, I heard them.

The sound of fabric ripping, a dull thud against a wall.

I leaned against the cool marble, staring blankly at the scene before me.

The lounge door was ajar. Lorenzo had Roxy pinned against the wall.

The veins on his forehead bulged, his large hands clamped tightly around her slender neck. "Are you out of your mind, Roxy?!"

"What the hell was that, in front of the families, in front of Isolde?!"

Roxy showed no fear.

Her long legs, clad in red silk, wrapped around Lorenzo's lean waist.

She tilted her head back, her eyes glazed, and breathed hotly against his ear.

"My dear Lorenzo, your body is so honest. The moment you touched me… you were hard as a rock, weren't you?"

Lorenzo's body went rigid.

I could see the reason in his eyes crumbling, replaced by a murky, possessive desire.

"Shut up…" he gasped, but the hand on her neck loosened, sliding up to grip the back of her head instead.

"I want to kill you…"

"Then kill me."

Roxy moaned, offering her lips. "Right here, in your own way… kill me."

The next second, Lorenzo let out a feral growl.

He crushed his mouth to hers, his hands brutally tearing at the crimson fabric of her dress.

They were shamelessly entangled once more.

The piercing pain of betrayal made my legs give out, and tears streamed silently down my face.