The year my love for Andrews Moretti nearly shattered our world, he took three bullets for me. One grazed his brow, one shattered his knee, and one lodged deep in his lower back. Everyone said he loved me more than life itself.

Then a dancer named Scarlett appeared on my doorstep, a pregnancy test in her hand.

"You're Yolia Falcone, right?"

She slapped me across the face with a stack of photos of them in bed.

"Andrews's been done with you for a while now. If you have any sense, you'll get lost."

In the photos, the way Andrews looked at her was achingly tender.

I watched the snow fall thicker outside the window and slowly raised my hand. The dancer's screams were swallowed by the wind, her threats twisting into nothing.

"Andrews won't let you get away with this!"

And now, I watched coolly as Andrews sat across from me, having surrounded my home to make me pay.

"Sign it."

"You disgust me."

————————

1

"Yolia!"

Andrews sat across from me.

Behind him stood his most trusted enforcers, all handpicked over the last two years. Dozens of them had sealed off my sprawling estate, turning it into a fortress. This wasn't a negotiation; it was a siege.

I watched Andrews as he tapped the table, his knuckles white as he fought to contain his rage.

"She's still in the ICU."

He raised his eyes, the light catching the high arch of his brow and throwing the old scar there into stark relief.

"She's innocent," Andrews's voice was a low, dangerous rumble. "She's only twenty! Twenty! You almost destroyed her. Do you have any idea what the doctors told me?"

The doctor’s words echoed in my mind: *She might never be a mother again.*

Even on the verge of death, that woman had used her last ounce of strength to scream at me.

"Andrews won't let you get away with this!"

"So," I met Andrews's furious gaze, passing the hot tea to Luca at my side. "You've brought your army to my doorstep to get justice for *her*?"

"What's the plan, Andrews?" I let out a dry laugh, the absurdity of it all washing over me. "You want a pound of my flesh? Or are you going to carve out my womb as compensation?"

I smiled, pulling the cashmere blanket higher around me.

Luca immediately understood and silently turned up the thermostat.

I looked straight at Andrews.

"What is she to you, to be worth all this? Have you forgotten who I am, Andrews? I was the one who bled with you to build this empire. Not her. Are you really ready to declare war on me... for *her*? Or are you going to kill me right here, right now?"

My voice was steady, betraying nothing.

Luca, sensing the shift in the air, drew a pistol from his jacket, the dark muzzle aimed squarely at Andrews's head. Andrews's men tensed, but Andrews himself just laughed, a bitter, broken sound.

"Bella, we're past the days of killing each other in the streets. I don't want to blow this up." Andrews shoved the divorce papers aside. "A divorce would cripple both our families. I won't agree. But you will apologize to her. In person. Don't force my hand."

Andrews rose from the sofa, strode to Luca, and grabbed his wrist, pressing the muzzle of the gun firmly against his own forehead.

"Shoot me?"

"You think you have the nerve?"

Andrews suddenly twisted Luca's wrist, and a sharp crack of bone echoed through the room. But in the same instant, one of his men let out a choked grunt. A combat knife from my table was now buried in his shoulder. I met Andrews’s incredulous gaze and smiled.

"Andrews, my men don't touch you out of respect for *me*," I said, striding toward him. "But that doesn't mean"—I took his hand, slowly prying it from Luca's wrist—"you get to touch what's mine."

It was over.

Whatever we had, it was gone.

As the doctor set Luca's bone, he was still seething.

"Miss, you went through hell and back for that son of a bitch Andrews. You're not just going to let him walk all over you like this, are you?"

I didn't answer.

I glanced at the new friend request on my phone.

The profile picture was a punch to the gut.

It was a photo of that dancer kissing Andrews. I accepted. A voice message came through instantly.

"Yolia, I told you Andrews wouldn't let you get away with it. Breaking your man's wrist was just a small lesson for you."

"Andrews says he wants you to come and apologize to me in person."

"I'll be waiting."

"Doesn't everyone say Andrews loves you more than life itself? I'd love to see that up close." Scarlett sent a few more photos. "Which one of these beds do you think would look best in our room?"

"Andrews said the most dangerous place is the safest. The moment I'm out of the hospital tomorrow, I'm moving into the Moretti main residence. With you."

"That room? The one no one's allowed in? It's going to be mine."

Listening to Scarlett's triumphant voice, I looked up at the giant wedding portrait of Andrews and me that dominated the main hall. The irony was suffocating. I toyed with a dagger, then flicked my wrist. It flew through the air and embedded itself in the eye of the smiling Andrews in the painting.

"Filth."

As I walked out of the hall, I saw Andrews directing his men as they unloaded a brand-new, custom-made king-sized bed from a truck. He ordered them to carry it inside. Our paths crossed. For a split second, his mask of composure cracked. I simply leaned against the doorframe, listening as the woman’s cheerful voice called out from behind him.

"Andrews, why aren't you coming in?"

Then, Scarlett turned her head and our eyes met.

"Well, if it isn't Yolia," she hooked her arm through Andrews's, a possessive, familiar gesture, and shot me a provocative look. "Here to welcome me?"

"Figured out how you're going to apologize yet?"

I stared at her arrogant face, at the fleeting look of indulgence in Andrews's eyes, and a sharp, dense pain bloomed in my chest. Before I could speak, Andrews cut in, his voice impossibly gentle when he said her name.

"The doctor said Scarlett needs to rest. You have a nutritionist here anyway, so it's just one more plate at the table. Bella, this is the last chance I'm giving you. Don't waste it."

I truly couldn't understand.

Andrews. What made him so damn sure? That I would just swallow this? That I'd toss aside my pride, my dignity, all for him? Listening to his self-righteous tone, I laughed. As I did, Luca had his men take down the wedding portrait with its gouged-out eye. He asked me, "Miss, where should this go?"

Seeing Andrews's face instantly darken, I pointed to the nearby fireplace.

"Burn it."

Luca nodded and sent a man to get the tools.

But Andrews stopped him, stalking toward me. "What is this tantrum?"

"Yolia," his voice turned cold, "I told you, you were the one in the wrong. By helping Scarlett recover, I'm helping you atone. Don't be ungrateful."

"That's right, Yolia."

Scarlett trailed after him.

"Andrews told me everything. He said you were attacked because of your own past—that you brought it on yourself. A priest told him you need to atone to be blessed with a child. You're throwing his good intentions back in his face, just making one scene after another. You're the one pushing him away."

Scarlett's words were poison darts, stabbing into my heart, prying open a wound I thought had scarred over. I looked at her smug face, then at Andrews, who moved to stop her a second too late. I grabbed a fistful of Scarlett's hair and laughed.

"Who gave you the right to speak to me?"

Before Scarlett could even whimper, I dragged her by the hair and slammed her head against a heavy marble pillar. A dull thud echoed through the hall. Scarlett screamed, and Andrews lunged forward, grabbing my hand as I raised it again.

"Enough!"

Andrews stared at me, his eyes blazing.

"Scarlett doesn't know the rules, she speaks without thinking! But she's not wrong. How long are you going to keep this up?"

I stared at Andrews in disbelief.

He was the one who had walked into an enemy trap trying to seize new territory. I was the one who had charged into their stronghold alone to save him, only to be cornered and humiliated by his rivals. Afterward, he knelt before me, smashing the butt of his gun against his own head, sobbing as he swore an oath.

"Yolia!"

His face was a swollen, bloody mess, snot and tears streaking through the grime. His voice was choked with sobs.

"I, Andrews Moretti, swear on my life! If I ever wrong you, may I die a thousand deaths!"

"I, Andrews!"

"For all my days!"

"Will be Yolia's dog!"

His oath still rang in my ears. He had ordered a total blackout on the incident, forbidding anyone from ever speaking of what happened to me. He knew it was my deepest wound. We had never spoken of it again, but we had prayed together for the child we lost.

And now.

I looked at Andrews's face and let go of Scarlett. He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, his tone softening.

"Bella, your temper—"

I sliced my knife across his brow and smiled.

"Andrews, death by a thousand cuts for those who betray a true heart. This is the first."

The dagger tore through flesh. Warm blood splattered my face. I watched the scar on his brow, once a badge of honor from the bullet he took for me, disappear under a ruin of blood and flesh. A mocking smile played on my lips. But Scarlett seized the moment, shoving me hard.

I stumbled back. When I looked up, Scarlett was glaring at me with pure hatred.

"What gives you the right to hurt him!"

The next second.

I strode toward her, raised my hand, and slapped her so hard her head snapped to the side. "If you have any real fight in you, stop being a caged canary."

"Either do something that earns my respect," I grabbed her hair and kicked the back of her knee, forcing her to the ground. "Make Andrews divorce me so you can become the next Mrs. Moretti."

"Or," I bent down, leaning in close, and smiled, "you can wait for me to get bored and break you."

Scarlett's eyes were red, her body trembling, but her gaze held a stubborn fire.

"If you have the guts, kill me!"

"If you don't kill me, I will never leave Andrews!" Scarlett's tears caught the light of the setting sun. "I will be with him for the rest of my life!"

I suddenly froze.

I remembered being sixteen. My father was ambushed, his body falling into the sea as my mother fought to the death to get me to shore. The sunset that day was the same blood-red. It was Andrews on the beach, who carved a bloody path for me, all fearless, youthful bravado.

That Andrews, with the scar on his brow like a medal and a vicious slash across his back, had crashed into my heart, screaming.

"Bella!"

"Run!"

I was terrified, but I dove headfirst into that sea of blood, and together, we fought our way to today.

I was shoved away by Andrews. The wound on his brow was still bleeding, the blood trickling down his eyelashes like a crimson tear, dripping onto my heart.

"Bella," Andrews winced, closing one eye in pain, "you've disappointed me more than I can say."

"I'm not divorcing you, but it's not because I still love you."

Andrews pulled Scarlett tightly into his arms.

"It's because," Andrews said, "I owe your father, Don Falcone, a blood debt. Our families are bound by it. Don't push me, Bella. You will regret it."

Scarlett broke down in his arms, sobbing. "Andrews! I don't want to live here! I don't!"

"I'm so scared!" Scarlett cried, grabbing his collar hysterically. "I don't want to live with this lunatic! She'll kill me, she'll kill me!"