My husband, Killian, the Don of Chicago, gave away the only vial of serum that could save him from his family's hereditary disease. He gave it to his old flame—the serum I had painstakingly found for him.

When I grabbed his wrist, demanding an answer, he seized my chin and said coldly, "Your body and soul belong to me. Without my permission, you don't even have the right to die."

In that moment, the last ember of love I held for him was extinguished.

I silently signed the annulment papers from my family's lawyer, went alone to the clinic to end the life of the eight-week-old Driscoll heir growing inside me, and then returned to Florence.

Six months later, my father's informant delivered a devastating report: Jade, the woman who had taken my serum, was never sick. She had flipped it on the black market for fifty million dollars and was living a life of nightly revelry on a private Caribbean island.

And my ex-husband, Killian? His condition had deteriorated to its final stage. The once-mighty lion was now a shell of a man, kept alive only by a cocktail of medications.

When we met again, he was emaciated and frail, confined to a wheelchair. He tumbled from his seat and crawled to the center of my art gallery, weeping like an abandoned dog as he repeatedly kissed the tips of my shoes.

"Joanna, I'm sorry, please forgive me... I won't survive this winter..."

He recounted the violent, blood-soaked stories of our past—the times we fought side-by-side—hoping to reignite a flame in my heart.

I lifted my now-cold espresso and met his gaze, my voice soft.

"Killian, let me tell you a story..."

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1

I gazed at the Chicago skyline, took a deep breath, and made a call on my father's encrypted line.

"Papa, your offer to bring me back to Florence? I'm taking it."

The other end of the line went silent for a few seconds before my father's excited voice crackled through.

"Thank the Virgin Mary! Principessa, you've finally come to your senses. Nothing is more important than family! I'll have the private jet on standby immediately. When are you leaving?"

"As soon as possible." My gaze drifted down to my slightly swollen belly, a sharp pain twisting in my chest. "And Papa, have the family's legal team get on this. I want my marriage to Killian annulled."

"Annul the marriage? Did that gutter rat lay a hand on you? I'll wring his neck myself!"

My father's fury made my eyes burn. For a moment, I didn't know where to begin.

After a brief silence, his voice returned, softened with a long-lost gentleness. "Alright, Papa understands. Don't you worry. I'll get the best lawyers on it. We'll take back everything that belongs to you."

"Thank you, Papa."

After hanging up, I felt the last shackle around my heart shatter.

The Ricci family's power in Chicago might not run as deep as the Driscolls', but in Europe, our influence was something Killian could only dream of.

For years, I’d hidden my fangs, willingly playing the docile shadow just to be Killian Driscoll's wife. The absurdity of it all was laughable now.

That night, Killian came home late.

He was cloaked in a scent I knew too well: cigars, top-shelf whiskey, and a woman's expensive perfume—a pungent, cloying mix that reeked of cheap lust.

Seeing me sitting quietly on the red velvet sofa before the fireplace, he seemed genuinely surprised.

"I expected a tantrum." He loosened his Armani tie, his voice dripping with condescension. "Enough with the drama. Jade is fine. Once this is all over, I'll have the best doctors in the world flown in for you."

I said nothing, just watched him.

The silence seemed to unnerve him, and his brow furrowed. "What's with that look? You've been quiet. Let's leave it at that."

I nodded, my voice a placid mask of obedience. "As you wish."

He clearly hadn't expected me to be so cooperative. He froze for a second, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his face.

He thought I had submitted. He thought I was still the same Joanna Ricci who would endlessly compromise for him.

He didn't know my heart was already a graveyard.

He had no idea I was carrying the eight-week-old heir to the Driscoll family. And he certainly didn't know I'd already decided this child would never be born to a father so heartless.

In the days that followed, Killian practically moved into Jade's luxurious penthouse.

Under the guise of being "gravely ill," Jade Reed had turned Chicago's most dangerous man into her personal twenty-four-seven nurse. One day, her wound ached. The next, she couldn't sleep. The day after, she demanded he stay to watch the sunrise with her.

Killian orbited her like a besotted fool.

His rare visits home were fleeting—just long enough to grab a few fresh Tom Ford suits before he vanished again.

And Jade, like a new queen settling onto her throne, grew bolder in her provocations.

She sent me intimate photos of them together. In one, he gently lit a Cuban cigar for her, his eyes holding a tenderness I had never known.

She sent me a screenshot of a post from Killian's private social media feed.

The post was visible to every high-ranking member of the mafia—except me.

[My woman is a natural. Carries herself like a true Mamma.]

The accompanying photo, however, showed his hand, wearing the Ricci family signet ring I had given him, tightly clasping Jade's slender fingers.

She even called me in the dead of night, the line filled with her sickening moans and Killian's rough, impatient grunts.

"Joanna, I'm so sorry to call this late, I'm just... a little scared. Could you ask the Don to stay with me a little longer?"

I listened to her performance without a ripple of emotion.

I silently saved every call recording and screenshot to an encrypted file.

Then, I went alone to the private clinic my father had arranged and scheduled the abortion.

Lying on the cold operating table, I felt the sharp, invasive sting of the instruments.

I didn't shed a single tear. I just stared at the glaring surgical light overhead, a single thought echoing in my mind: This is what you owe yourself, Joanna. From now on, you live for you.

After the procedure, I dragged my weakened body back to the mansion I could no longer call home.

I began to methodically pack my things.

All the items connected to him, things I once treasured, now seemed like remnants of a colossal joke. I packed them away, one by one, ready for disposal.

A week after Jade's supposed surgery, Killian called, his voice thick with exhaustion.

"Joanna, are you free today? Could you go to the hospital? Take Jade some gifts on behalf of the family."

Holding the phone, the sheer audacity of his request left me speechless.

"There's a turf war brewing that I have to handle. I can't get away. Jade's all alone at the hospital, and I'm worried about her."

He wanted me to visit the woman who stole my serum and shattered my life?

Killian, I thought, the sheer audacity...

I paused for a beat.

Then I replied softly, "Okay."

He seemed to let out a breath of relief, thanking me profusely and rambling on with reminders about "what Jade likes" and how "she's still very weak" before hastily hanging up.

I put down the phone, met my own pale reflection in the mirror, and let a cold smile touch my lips.

Of course, I would go. How could I miss the front-row seat to such a spectacular disaster?

Carrying the Iranian caviar and Dom Pérignon I'd prepared, I strode into Jade's VIP hospital suite.

She was propped against the headboard, scrolling through a diamond-encrusted iPhone. When she saw me, surprise flashed across her face, quickly morphing into the triumphant smirk of a victor.

"Well, well. If it isn't Joanna. To what do I owe the pleasure, Florence's little Principessa?"

"Killian sent me," I said flatly, placing the expensive gifts on the bedside table.

Her smirk widened. "He really has you on a leash, doesn't he?"

She looked me up and down, her eyes filled with a petty, condescending glee.

"You see, Joanna? I told you. I'm the one he truly cares about. He was willing to give up your life-saving serum for me."

I didn't speak. I just pulled up a chair and sat down.

My placid reaction seemed to disappoint her, so she decided to twist the knife.

"Oh, right. There's something else I almost forgot to tell you."

She leaned in close, her voice a triumphant, venom-laced whisper. "The truth is, there was never anything wrong with my blood. I just wanted to see who mattered more to Killian... his wife... or his first love."

"And as you can see, he chose me. Without a moment's hesitation."

Jade laughed, her body shaking as she savored the collapse she expected to see on my face.

I just looked at her calmly and nodded. "Yes. I know."

Jade's laughter choked in her throat. She stared at me, her face a mask of disbelief. "That's it? That's all you have to say?"

"What else?" I asked coolly. "Should I cry? Get on my knees and beg you to give Killian back?"

"You—" The word caught in her throat, her perfectly made-up face flushing crimson.

I stood up, looking down at her. "Jade, I've given you everything you wanted. I just hope... you can hold onto it."

With that, I walked out of the hospital room without a backward glance.