After I demanded that Lorenzo's foster sister answer for driving a needle into my arm for half an hour, pretending it was medicine, my private photos surfaced across the city the next day, being passed around for six dollars each.

Clutching my bruised and swollen hand, I went to find Lorenzo, only to catch his voice drifting out from a rented room above a Family club, tangled with laughter and the clink of glasses.

"Hey, anyone want a pair of Adriana's little rabbits?"

"I do, I do! Lorenzo, you're too generous, letting the brothers feast their eyes like this!"

"By the way, Lorenzo, you're not worried that after passing Adriana's photos around the whole city, she'll break the betrothal or make a scene?"

Lorenzo chuckled, lazy and low, picking up a poker chip stamped with a photo of my collarbone.

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it onto the felt.

"Would she dare? The whole city has already seen her bare. Now she's probably desperate for me to marry her just to salvage what's left of her honor. How could she possibly walk away or make trouble?"

The room filled with crude, vulgar laughter. Somewhere a bottle was set down too hard.

"So, Lorenzo, are you actually going to marry her? If not, once you're finished with her, why not let us have a turn? And what did Adriana even do to earn all this?"

Lorenzo, who had been lounging with an air of indifference, sat up straighter. His voice turned cold with disdain.

"She threw a fit because Bianca poked her a few extra times during an injection. She knows Bianca is still an apprentice, still learning the apothecary's trade, and still she has the nerve to demand an apology and shame her in front of people. She needed to be put in her place. Otherwise she might start thinking she's someone who matters."

A photo of me, bare, exposed, landed on the table with a dull thud. My breath caught in my throat.

——

"Hey, Lorenzo, why price them at six dollars each? That's far too cheap. I'd pay a hundred for the whole set. Even a single rose off a street corner costs more than that."

Lorenzo curled his lip.

"I want every man in this territory to know that Adriana isn't worth a cheap rose off the street. She enjoys humiliating Bianca, doesn't she? Let's see how she likes it from the other side."

As if a thought had just struck him, he pulled out his phone and unlocked it.

A second later, fragmented, broken sounds spilled from the speaker.

"I've got videos and recordings too. Say 7.9 a clip. Who's interested?"

My heart plummeted. The tears had already begun to fall.

I knew exactly when those sounds had been recorded.

The laughter in the room grew shriller, each shout cutting deeper, each jeer a fresh blade against my skin. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of nauseating cheers.

I bit my lip hard, the taste of blood keeping me grounded.

Lorenzo Vitale was someone I had chased for a long time. To everyone who watched us, he was the perfect man: attentive, considerate, always putting me first. A rising soldier in his Family with the manners of a gentleman.

For four years, his hunger had always burned intensely.

He had all sorts of little preferences, too. He loved buying costumes for me to wear, obsessing over every detail.

I had always assumed it was because they excited him.

I never realized the real reason was that they made recording easier.

The laughter in the room grew sharper, each sound slicing through my skin like a blade. A chill crept up my spine.

Not long ago, when the weather turned cold without warning, I came down with a fever.

No matter how much medicine I took, the symptoms wouldn't fade. Lorenzo, ever the doting man, had insisted on driving me himself to the Family infirmary where his foster sister worked.

Until then, I had only ever heard Bianca Vitale's name in passing, mentioned by Lorenzo and his friends.

"Bianca, the girl Lorenzo took in, she's the jewel of his heart. Pure, gentle, and Lorenzo dotes on her like she's blood!"

That much was true. Bianca was the same age as me, twenty-four, yet the way she spoke made her seem three or four years younger, drawing out that instinct in men to shield her, to stand between her and the world.

But despite this being our first meeting, she made it clear where I stood with her.

When she came to treat me in the Family infirmary, needle in hand, I felt every deliberate misstep. Each misplaced prick sent a sharp sting through my skin, the pain sharpening with every touch.

Within moments, the back of my hand was bruised and swollen.

She looked at me with a faintly apologetic expression, yet not once did she utter a word of remorse. She tilted her head, and her smile widened just slightly, the way a girl smiles when she has done exactly what she meant to do.

In the end, it was an older woman of the house, one of the medic's hands, who could no longer stand to watch and found a reason to send Bianca away. Only then was the line set properly into my vein.

Even so, the unease in my chest refused to settle. I insisted she apologize. In our world, a wrong left unspoken becomes a debt, and I would not carry it in silence.

Bianca was unwilling, her lips pressing into a tight line. But under Lorenzo's quiet pressure, she finally relented, muttering three reluctant words.

"I'm sorry."

As soon as the words left her lips, her eyes brimmed with tears and she turned on her heels, fleeing without a second glance.

Lorenzo didn't go after her. Instead, he offered me a warm smile, his voice gentle as he reassured me it was nothing.

Yet, in the next breath, he shattered me.

He hung my most intimate photos across every screen he could reach, a public act of dishonor spread through the city, just to soothe Bianca's wounded pride.

Before this, he had held my hand so tenderly, whispering, "Once you meet Bianca, we'll bring our families to the table and speak of the betrothal."

But if he truly meant to make me his, why would he do this?

Had it all been a lie? Had every ti amo he whispered over the past four years been nothing more than empty words spoken to keep me still?

Then, a drunken conversation resurfaced in my mind, one of Lorenzo's men laughing out a truth I had been too blind to see:

"If Lorenzo didn't have to pass Bianca off as his sister, you really think it'd be your turn to be called our sister-in-law?"

A sharp pain spread through my chest, knocking the air from my lungs.

I didn't know how I made it out of that hotel. As soon as I stepped through the doors, I felt the sharp, judgmental stares, the amusement in them, the quiet verdict of men who already knew.

Shame pressed down on me, thick and suffocating, wrapping around my trembling form like a second skin. My fingers shook as I dialed my parents' number, my last lifeline. On my right hand, the thin silver band turned fast beneath my thumb, faster than I could stop it.

Because of the Family's work, they moved every three years to safe territory beyond the reach of enemies, running operations no one dared speak of aloud, unreachable by anyone.

But today, of all days, their work had just closed.

The moment the call connected, their familiar voices broke through my fragile composure, shattering the dam I had desperately tried to hold.

I cried until my chest ached and my sobs turned silent. Then, with trembling fingers, I wiped my tears away.

"Mamma, Papà... I've made my decision. I want to come to you. I want to take my place in the Family's work. I want to do something that matters with my life."

Before, I had let Lorenzo's whims decide everything for me. A single soft complaint, a careless "I don't want you so far from me, cara. I'd be miserable without you," and I had set my own name aside without a second thought.

But now, I was done bleeding myself dry for a love that never existed.

I had told myself that as long as things between Lorenzo and me held steady, a life built at his side would be enough.

But I had been a fool.

He never loved me.

A man who truly loved me would never stand by and let me be disgraced, reduced to nothing more than a passing joke for other men to sneer over their drinks.

I had been blind and naïve.

But at least I still had a way out. The Falcone blood in my veins was a door no one could bolt against me.

I made my way back to the apartment in a numb haze. The moment I stepped inside, the cold emptiness hit me. Lorenzo hadn't come back.

The place read the harsh glare from the street and drew the curtains without being told. Shadows swallowed the room, deepening the exhaustion pressing down on me.

I sank onto the carpet, my body heavy with weariness.

I wanted to cry, but no tears came.

Then, a sharp ringtone shattered the silence.

I glanced at the screen. Lorenzo.

I answered.

"Where are you?"

I parted my lips, but my throat was so dry it burned.

"Home."

"Bianca's holding a Family affair tonight and she made a point of asking me to bring you. Are you free? Get yourself ready. I'll come for you."

Before I could refuse, Lorenzo ended the call.

He arrived fast. Even when he saw I hadn't changed, he only let out a soft sigh.

"I saw the pictures making the rounds. Don't let it get in your head. I believe you, all right?"

As he spoke, he pulled a dress from the wardrobe, one cut to cinch at the waist, made to flatter.

"Be good, put this on. It's an insult to keep the Family waiting."

As he reached out to strip away my coat, I suddenly lifted my hand and caught his wrist in a firm grip.

"What exactly do you believe?"

I thought of what I had overheard at the hotel. My voice came colder this time.

"Lorenzo, how are you planning to play this act with Adriana?"

Lorenzo didn't answer. Instead, his phone came alive with Bianca's voice.

"Of course, we'll have everyone, including her, questioning whether she really behaved like a woman without honor. And you, Lorenzo, you step in as the man who saves her when she's at her lowest. That way your betrothal stays untouched and I get what's owed to me. Lorenzo, is that all right with you?"

A long pause followed before Lorenzo answered, his tone indulgent.

"Okay."

Soon after, my private photos had spread across every channel, branded as the mark of a whore.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

"What is it that you believe?"

I yanked the dress from his hands and tossed it aside, exhaustion seeping into my bones.

"I'm not going. Go enjoy yourself."

Lorenzo frowned, a flicker of irritation crossing his face, and the laugh came a half-beat before there was anything to laugh at.

"Adriana! Stop being so difficult!"

"Bianca saw what they put out there. She arranged this whole affair so you could breathe. She also wants the chance to make things right with you, properly."

His fingers brushed over the bruises on the back of my hand.

"This is Bianca's kindness. Don't throw it back in her face."

In the end, I was dragged out the door.

Just before I stepped out of the car, I reached into my pocket for a mask, but Lorenzo stopped me.

His gaze was steady and gentle, like a savior reaching out to the abandoned.

"You don't need that. The innocent have nothing to hide. I believe you, so believe in yourself too, all right?"

Before I could react, he tossed the mask out the window and pulled me from the car.

The moment we walked into the club, the air shifted.

The music still throbbed, but the talk faltered. Every eye turned to me.

Drunken stares dragged over me, crawling like filth against my skin.

Low whispers slithered through the crowd, unfiltered, venomous.

"Look, look. That's her, isn't it? Plays it all cold and untouchable, but who knew what she was behind closed doors?"

"Yeah, that's her. I'd know that face anywhere. Dio, she really looks the part. A whore, plain as day."

Laughter broke around me, sharp and cruel.

My stomach twisted, bile rising in my throat. But I locked my spine and forced myself to stand tall.

Lorenzo's grip tightened as he steered me into a private room off the floor.

The moment we crossed the threshold, Lorenzo let go of my hand.

I dropped my gaze to the tips of my shoes, my heart hammering against my ribs. I searched the room for something familiar, anything to hold on to.

There was nothing.

The eyes in here were worse. Sticky, shameless, suffocating.

"I don't feel well. I want to leave."

I turned, desperate to get out, but a hand clamped around my wrist.

A rough thumb dragged slow and deliberate across my skin, sending a sickening wave of goosebumps over my whole body.

I looked up, straight into the leering face of one of Lorenzo's associates. The same one who had been loudest when they tore me apart at the hotel.

His gaze was brazen, without a trace of shame.

"Leaving so soon, sister-in-law? We finally get you in a room with us. How could you not stay and have a little fun?"

The meaning dripped off every word, thick and vile.

My stomach turned over hard. The air felt thinner. It was getting harder to breathe.