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!"

"Your birthday's in seven days, isn't it? I know it is. And that's exactly the day I'll take Bianca as my own before the Family. I love her. I'm not acting. I want her at my side. She won't carry the name the bloodlines recognize, but she's the only woman I'll ever call wife in my heart. You can keep the Moretti name, and live out the rest of your life on nothing but that."

"And another thing. That day, when Bianca put her foot on your belly, I saw all of it. I let her do it. That seed you're carrying, even if it's born, won't get one ounce of a father's love from me."

"Adriana Falcone. This is exactly what you and your father deserve."

Then he shoved me aside, started the car, and drove off into the dark beyond the estate gates.

I had barely staggered up off the gravel

when Lorenzo's call came through again.

His voice on the other end had settled considerably,

cold and mocking, the way it always was, the voice of a Don who'd already decided a thing and saw no need to raise it.

"Adriana Falcone, you'll arrange the ceremony yourself, seven days from now. Aren't you the gracious wife of this house? Don't you have no feelings of your own? Then go do it properly."

"You'd better put your heart into it. If Bianca isn't satisfied, I have plenty of ways to keep your father's name dragged through every gutter in the territory, day after day, with no one left to defend it."

Then he hummed a little tune and hung up.

I knew Lorenzo was capable of it. In this world a Don's whisper could bleed a man's reputation dry before sunrise.

I pushed open the door and looked at the enormous wedding portrait of us hanging in the great room,

a bitter smile pulling at my mouth.

In the photo there wasn't a trace of warmth on Lorenzo's face.

He stood rigid, a great distance between us,

and it had taken everything in me just to rest my head on his shoulder.

The space of a single hand,

and in eight years I still hadn't managed to close it.

When he took his portraits with Bianca,

Lorenzo must have been overjoyed.

I forced myself up and took down every wedding portrait in the house,

tore them to pieces in the yard, and burned them to ash, the smoke curling up past the iron fence where his men kept their silent watch.

Then I packed up my clothes and had them shipped back to the Falcone estate,

had the Family's consigliere draw up the papers to sever the union, and left them on the desk in Lorenzo's study.

Once all of it was done, I began arranging his ceremony.

For a full week,

Lorenzo never came back.

The hotel was booked, one of the Family's own legitimate fronts, the gown chosen, the order of the night set,

and every day I sent it all to Lorenzo like a soldier reporting to the man who held her life in his hand.

Still no reply.

But no furious call came in either,

so I knew Lorenzo was satisfied. Or rather, Bianca was satisfied.

Fine. All I wanted now was to walk out clean, without a war.

...

Seven days later, Lorenzo knelt on one knee before Bianca, the whole room of made men gone quiet around them.

But before he could slide the ring onto her finger,

the doors of the banquet hall were thrown open from outside,

and the Moretti matriarch, gray at the temples, pointed a shaking hand at Bianca and screamed until her voice broke.

"I will not let her through the Moretti door. The only daughter-in-law of this Family is Adriana!"

Lorenzo was angry now too.

He seized Bianca's hand and turned on his mother, demanding,

"Why? By what right? Mamma, I'll take Bianca tonight even if it kills me!"

Mavis pressed a trembling palm flat against her chest, shaking all over,

and looked at her son's furious face, weeping as she spoke.

"My boy, you ask me why? Because she and her father are the ones who put your father in the ground! Because it was me, on my knees, who begged Adriana into this house! My boy, you can't go on being this blind!"