The door of the hospital room had barely sealed shut when my phone buzzed with a message from Lorenzo.

It was a video. He was naked, tangled up with a woman whose face I couldn't make out, and the sounds spilling out of the speaker turned my stomach.

I was shaking, my thumb already moving to kill the screen, when his call came through.

His voice came lazy and contemptuous down the line.

"Watched it? If the room number isn't on my phone by eight, more videos like that one go straight to yours. Consider it a lesson. You can see how other women take care of the man who carries your name."

"Lorenzo. I'll go."

When he heard me give in, he let out a satisfied little sigh.

"Adriana, get this through your head. You brought this on yourself. Eight years ago you took advantage of the Moretti ruin, you tore Bianca and me apart, and the day you were bound into this bloodline, you should have known. Not in this lifetime will you ever get even a scrap of real love from me."

Then he hung up, fast, the way he always did.

Two bitter lines of tears slid from the corners of my eyes.

Lorenzo was right.

This was a sin of my own making.

Eight years ago I'd believed that if I were only given enough time, I could thaw his heart.

It took me until today to understand how naive that girl had been.

In eight years, the women in his bed had numbered in the hundreds, if not the thousands.

Once, at least, he'd had the decency to keep it from me, to hide it behind closed doors and the quiet code every man in this life lived by.

Now he wanted me to book the room myself.

And I knew if I didn't go, that video might not stop at my phone. By tomorrow it could land in the hands of every gossip and informer in the territory, every man who traded in the ruin of old blood.

The Falcone name carried a century of respect behind it, the oldest bloodline anyone in these streets would name.

I wouldn't have my father dragged into the storm again over my own private wreckage.

It had been like this for years now.

To make my life miserable, to make me suffer, Lorenzo seemed willing to burn everything down with it.

Somewhere along the way, love down to the bone had curdled into a hatred that ate him alive.

Even thinking about it left me hollow.

A thick smear of crimson welled up below, and I braced myself against the wall and stumbled off to clean myself up.

Then, swallowing the pain that knifed through me, I left the room.

Ten minutes later I sent Lorenzo the room number.

I scrolled idly back up through the messages. A thousand of them sent to him, and all I'd ever gotten back was the odd word, here and there.

I gave a tired, crooked smile at the rearview mirror and tossed the phone onto the seat. My fingers found the thin gold band on my hand and closed around it without my deciding to.

Half an hour later I stood outside his hotel suite with the lingerie he'd bought. The hotel was one of the Family's legitimate fronts, marble and hushed money, bodyguards posted at the far end of the corridor who looked through me as if I were furniture.

The first time he'd brought a piece like this home, I'd been nervous and shy, but I hadn't refused him.

That night, after I put it on, Lorenzo lost himself in me and cried out Bianca's name, over and over.

Afterward I lay staring at the line of his back and cried until morning.

From that day on, I never wore anything like it again.

He had too many ways to torment me. If I wouldn't wear it, he made other women wear it. And every day, as regular as a good-morning and good-night, he sent me the photos.

"Well, look who's here. A minute late. I'll forgive you today. Don't be late next time."

He opened the door from inside, loosely belted into a robe, the heavy signet ring turning in slow half-circles on his finger as he watched me with mockery all over his face.

Maybe she'd heard my voice. Bianca stepped up behind him and slid her arms around his waist, pulling the door wider so she could look at me. She laughed, a beat too quick, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her voice sweet and cloying.

"Aren't you thoughtful, big sister. Delivering it yourself?"

Maybe she'd pulled the door too wide.

Lorenzo's brow creased as he looked at me, and he yanked my coat open in one motion.

He pointed at the hospital gown underneath, his voice cold.

"You take one little fall this afternoon and now you've got this thing back on? Adriana Falcone, you really do commit to the act, don't you?"

His eyes raked over me as he spoke, slow and contemptuous, the way a made man sizes up a debt he means to collect.

I didn't want the loss of the baby stirring up anything more.

So I snatched the coat off the floor, wrapped it around myself, and turned to go.

But the second I turned,

a pair of hands clamped around me from behind and held tight.

Lorenzo stepped closer, looking at me, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You've come all this way, so don't run off. Aren't you the considerate one? You'll stay right here tonight and take good care of me. Bianca and I take the bedroom. You get the sofa."

The thought of what was coming

set my stomach churning, and it wouldn't stop.

I fought with everything I had to break free of his grip,

but every time I struggled,

a piercing pain shot through my lower belly,

and in the end he dragged me into the room by brute force, the way the Family handled anyone who forgot their place.

Past midnight,

the sounds of a man and a woman came right on cue from the bedroom.

I covered my ears and turned on the television.

Heaven always loves picking one person and tormenting them without mercy.

The screen was playing footage from that day, Lorenzo and Bianca pressed close and sweet together, the camera flashes of the territory's gossip hounds catching every touch.

I went to lift my hand and shut it off,

and only then did I realize my hands were shaking too badly to hold anything.

The sounds drifting from the room layered over the sweetness on the screen,

and I couldn't hold it back any longer. I gripped the sofa and started to retch.

All night that sound circled me like a curse.

My nails had long since torn my palms raw,

but I think I could no longer feel the pain.

That was how I made it to morning, when Lorenzo came out of the bedroom with his arm around Bianca.

He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead,

then looked at me, his voice as cold as ever.

"Home. You like playing the Don's wife, don't you? Today I'll let you play it to your heart's content."

When he'd finished, he stepped over and stroked Bianca's cheek a few times,

then hauled me out of the hotel.

Of course I knew Lorenzo wasn't being kind.

And sure enough, the moment we cleared the hotel doors,

the reporters swarmed me again.

I hadn't been at the sit-down he'd staged for the cameras the day before.

These reporters had to be carrying a full belly of knives, all of them aimed at me.

Lorenzo had brought me here to be humiliated...

Sure enough, the instant the pack of them saw me,

they came at me like wolves starved through a whole winter spotting prey,

surging forward in a frenzy,

and in a heartbeat the lenses and microphones were jammed in my face.

"Signora Moretti, at the Moretti gathering yesterday, did you see the coverage of how affectionate the Don and Miss Russo were?"

"Signora Moretti, are you and the Don going through a marriage crisis?"

"Signora Moretti, Miss Russo explained that what she shares with the Don is only a brother-sister kind of bond. Do you believe that?"

"Signora Moretti, last night we photographed Miss Russo checking into this same hotel, and it looked like she went into the room with the Don. So why is it the two of you coming out together this morning?"

Every question started with Signora Moretti,

and every one of them turned that title into an insult.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught Lorenzo standing off to the side,

and the burn-the-boats hatred in his eyes sent a chill down my spine.

What kind of hatred was it,

that he'd sink himself into the mire just to drag me down with him?

A whole night without sleep, and my head pounded like it might split open.

I pulled together the last thread of strength, my thumb finding the thin gold band on my finger and closing around it, then shoved past the reporters in front of me, and stumbled away on unsteady feet.

When I reached the first intersection past the hotel,

Lorenzo pulled the car up beside me.

"Get in, unless you want those reporters tailing you all the way back to the estate."

I glanced back at the cameras still flashing behind me, the men with their lenses hungry for the next morning's scandal, then climbed in anyway.

It was only once I was seated that I noticed the blood smeared across my thighs. I tried to cover it, fumbling, but Lorenzo saw it anyway.

His brow creased, and he turned toward me.

"Is the baby all right?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but his phone rang first.

Bianca's voice came through, thick with the start of tears.

"Lorenzo, my Family's pushing me to come home for the alliance again. What am I supposed to do? My father's only giving me a week. Please, you have to think of something."

A young girl's heartbreak always pulls at people.

Sure enough, the second he heard it, Lorenzo slammed on the brakes and pulled to the curb. He sat in silence for a long moment, the engine ticking like a clock in an empty room, then spoke.

"A week is plenty. Wait for me to propose."

He murmured a few more comforting words and hung up.

The car dropped into a dead silence.

After a while, Lorenzo turned to look at me, something in his eyes I couldn't read.

"It's just playing along for the kid. Don't read into it."

When I didn't respond, he started the engine again and asked quietly,

"Where were we?"

I stared at the cars and people streaming past on the street, my mind gone blank.

I answered him mechanically.

"Nothing. I've forgotten too."

He nodded, and said nothing else the rest of the way.

And only then did it sink in.

My husband was about to propose to another woman.

And it just happened to fall on the day I walked out of the Moretti house.

How funny.

Half an hour later, the car turned through the iron gates and rolled into the courtyard, past the men who straightened the moment they recognized the car.

After I got out, Lorenzo kept staring at my seat for a long time. Maybe the smear of blood reminded him of the conversation we'd broken off. He took two quick steps and caught my hand.

"Adriana, you look pale. Yesterday, at the venue... are you all right?"

I pulled my coat a little tighter and didn't turn around.

"I'm fine."

I tried to twist free of his grip and head inside.

But the next second, Lorenzo was roaring.

"Adriana Falcone! Do you have any idea how insufferable you are? I'm your husband, and you treat me with this cold nothing every single day! If something's not good enough, say it! But this is exhausting! Do you feel anything at all?!"

The sudden eruption made me flinch. Across the yard, a guard's hand drifted toward his jacket, then stilled when no order came.

I turned and looked at him, his face flushed dark red, and for a moment I just froze.

I didn't understand where this came from. What right did he have to feel any of it.

But I knew that if I didn't give him an answer today, he wouldn't let it go.

So I looked at him and said softly, my fingers closing around the thin gold band on my hand,

"Lorenzo, you can do anything you want to me. But you shouldn't drag the Falcones into it. You threw me in front of those reporters today, and tomorrow my father will be the only name spoken in every Family's parlor. We both grew up in this world. You know what that means. He emptied his own coffers to pull your bloodline back from the grave—"

I thought I'd picked the most harmless thing I could say.

Lorenzo stared at me, stunned for a beat.

Then the fury swept over him all at once.

He glared at me with bloodshot eyes and shouted,

"Adriana Falcone, you call that a blood favor? That was preying on us when we lay bleeding out! That was paid for with my whole life and Bianca's! Shameless!"

"Eight years. Do you have any idea what Bianca has been through these eight years?! We loved each other, and the two of you, you and your father, you cruel, vile pair, you tore us apart! So I'll torment you to death!"