My boyfriend, Dante Moretti—the Don of the Moretti family—was about to be exposed for an assassination.

When I learned I could take the fall for him, I didn't hesitate.

I did two years for him. Two years I'll never get back.

The sentence was brutal.

The moment I was granted parole, I rushed back to his estate.

Just before I pushed open the door, I heard him laughing with his men.

"Don Moretti, you're a genius. A revenge plot of this magnitude is a masterpiece."

He grunted in satisfaction.

"If I didn't need to shut her up, I'd have let her rot in there for a few more years, just for the hell of it."

"It's her fault Isabella took a bullet in that crossfire—her fault she had to hide out in Sicily to recover. But Isabella's coming back next month. And when she does, I'll make sure Alessia disappears for good."

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1

Through the crack in the door, I saw Dante on a high-backed leather chair that might as well have been a throne, the very picture of a man untouched by scandal. His men were still howling with laughter, flush with victory.

"Remember when you torched her gallery, making everyone think she was laundering money? She didn't dare leave her house for a whole month."

"And that time before her father's funeral? You swapped out her dress and made our little Principessa a laughingstock in front of all the families. Then we had her dragged into an alley to get her hand broken."

"That's ninety-three, counting this one."

"Just seven more, and you'll have a neat hundred acts of devotion for Isabella. She'll weep when she finds out."

A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. What I believed was a love to die for was nothing but a cold, meticulously plotted revenge.

I tried to turn away, but two years in prison had hollowed me out. My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the floor. The wound over my family tattoo ripped open, a searing pain shooting through me as blood bloomed across my prison uniform.

The lawyers had warned me not to plead guilty; my health was too fragile. But I’d done it anyway, to shield Dante from the fallout.

This was the most secluded study in the estate—a fortress of privacy. The moment I fell, they saw me.

Dante's expression curdled. "Alessia? You're out? What are you doing here?"

Before I could answer, he nudged the Capo beside him. "Get her on her feet. See to that wound. Now."

His men scrambled to haul me into a chair. Dante caressed my face, his touch a venomous imitation of tenderness.

He retrieved a dagger from the mantelpiece.

"The doctors are busy. Let me give you a proper welcome home myself, shall I? The doctors can patch you up later."

He sounded as gentle as ever. If I hadn't heard the truth, I might have mistaken the glint in his eyes for guilt. Now I knew better. It was all a performance.

It hit me then—not one visit in two years, but the second my parole was announced, he sent for me. It was all for his precious Isabella Ricci.

And I, like a fool, thought my loyalty had finally moved him. I knew he had loved her once, but I gave him my all anyway.

A fresh wave of pain seared through me. I squeezed my eyes shut, my jaw tight against the fire spreading across my shoulder.

Dante ripped open my sleeve, pressing the red-hot dagger directly onto my tattoo.

The smell of my own burning flesh filled the air as an agony unlike any other tore through me. I screamed, shoving him away with all my strength. He stumbled back, slamming into the desk with a grunt before kicking me out of the chair.

I curled up on the floor, clutching my shoulder, gulping for air. Just then, the family's private doctors burst in. One of them froze, his eyes wide at my blistering skin.

"Christ, what did you do to her? This isn't just a burn—it's a brand!"

"What? Impossible!" Dante’s face was a mask of perfect shock as he stared at the dagger in his hand. "I was just heating it in the fire to sterilize it."

"When Alessia started bleeding, I panicked. I didn't check the temperature…"

"Baby, I am so sorry! It's my fault—I've hurt you again!"

He pounded his chest, the very picture of a heartbroken man. But I saw the lie in his eyes. If he felt a shred of remorse, he wouldn't have kicked me.

I said nothing, letting the doctors lift me onto a stretcher. As they wheeled me out, a fresh roar of laughter erupted from Dante's study.

"Dante, you're a goddamn genius! You knew she'd come crawling back, so you had the brand ready. He ruined that bitch's family tattoo. That's gonna scar for life!"

"Did you see her? Crawling on the floor like a pathetic dog. I almost pissed myself laughing."

I clenched my fists. I already knew the truth, but hearing it spoken aloud was a fresh blade twisting in my gut.

After the doctors patched me up and left, I grabbed a burner phone and booked a safe house outside the city. Then I texted a familiar number.

"Uncle Nico, I'm ready. Get me out."

After two weeks in the safe house, my body was finally starting to mend. Dante had called once, right after I arrived. Then, silence.

As the day of my meeting with Uncle Nico drew near, I forced myself back to the estate one last time to retrieve the ledger my father had left me.

I opened the door to a full-blown party. Dante and his men froze, their faces a tableau of a surprise party gone terribly wrong. Dante’s expression was a twisted mask of uncertainty as he stepped forward, frowning.

"Alessia, why haven't you answered my calls?"

My gaze drifted past him—to Isabella Ricci. Long hair, white dress, the spitting image of a perfect soulmate. When she saw me looking, Dante rubbed his nose like a guilty child.

"Isabella got back early," he mumbled. "I just wrapped up some family business and wanted to keep things quiet. It's just a small welcome party. You're not going to make a scene over this, are you?"

My hands tightened on the fabric of my dress. For five years, Isabella had been the ghost haunting our relationship. Just hearing her name used to be enough to make me spiral. Not anymore.

I gave a curt nod. "Congratulations on your return."

"Don't let me interrupt. I'm just here to grab something."

My composure clearly unsettled him, his brow furrowing. He used to drop her name just to watch me unravel. My calm was not part of his script.

I turned to go, but Isabella’s frail, saccharine voice stopped me. "Alessia, I forgave you for what happened long ago. Why must you be so cold? Please, stay and celebrate with us."

Naturally, Dante couldn't bear to see her upset.

He seized my arm, dragging me into the center of the room.

"Isabella said she forgives you. Stop looking like you're at a funeral and keep her company."

I had barely found my balance before his men swarmed me.

"Alessia, show some goddamn grace. Have a drink!"

I almost laughed.

They knew how weak I was after prison, yet they were forcing liquor on me. The whole charade was pathetic. The old me might have mistaken it for concern.

I pushed the glass away. "The doctor said I can't drink."

"Oh, come on. A little shot won't kill you!"

They weren't listening. They pinned my arms and poured the hard liquor down my throat. It burned, sending me into a fit of violent coughing. I tried to pull away, but someone shoved me hard from behind. My face smashed into the champagne tower.

Glass shattered, slicing my skin as the impact knocked the wind out of me. A wave of sharp, jeering laughter washed over me.

I finally pushed myself up, my face stinging and wet. I blinked, trying to clear my vision, and froze. Shards of glass studded my face.

Isabella was doubled over, gasping with laughter. One of the men looked at me, his face devoid of remorse.

"Sorry, Alessia. The tower was a bit wobbly, so I had them stick something inside for support. Who knew you'd bury your face in it like a pig?"

"Yeah, a pig rooting for truffles," someone muttered, and a fresh wave of laughter broke out.

I wiped the blood from my cheek, my rage a cold, hard knot in my chest. I turned to leave, but Isabella wasn't finished. She grabbed a fistful of my hair, a triumphant gleam in her eyes, and waved to the others.

"Alessia's still pouting! Let's give her a little wash so she doesn't go crying to Dante."

They grinned, taking it as a cue, and surged toward me. Panic clawed up my throat, stealing my breath.

The memory of being locked in a trunk as a child, of almost suffocating because I wouldn't stop crying, slammed into me. I've had a crippling fear of enclosed spaces ever since.

No matter how hard I fought, Isabella and her cronies dragged me to the estate's fountain. They twisted my arms behind my back and shoved my head underwater.

The icy shock stole my breath. I screamed, but only bubbles came out. They held me down, their laughter a distorted sound from above the surface.

"Scrub her clean! A filthy bitch like her has no place here!"

My vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges. Just as I was about to black out, Dante's voice ripped through the chaos.

"Enough! All of you, back the hell off!"

They released me as if they’d been burned. I crumpled to the ground, coughing up water, my body wracked with tremors.

Dante knelt beside me, brushing the wet hair from my face. "I'm sorry, baby. You must have been terrified."

I slapped his hand away, my voice a raw rasp. "I'm fine."

Ignoring his wounded look, I staggered to my feet and headed for the study.