The second the shots rang out, I saw Marco’s true instinct.

He didn’t move toward me.

He threw himself over Isabella, shielding her with his body, ready to take any bullet meant for her.

He didn’t hesitate.

He shoved me into the heavy oak bookshelf.

I slammed against the wood, and a rain of books crashed down on me.

The sharp corner of one sliced my arm open.

Blood bloomed across my white silk sleeve, a dark, ugly flower.

Pain shot through my body, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of my heart being ripped to shreds.

When the gunfire stopped, Marco didn't check on me.

He checked on Isabella, who was trembling in his arms.

“Baby, are you okay? Are you hurt?” His voice was a raw mix of panic and devotion.

“No… no,” Isabella sobbed. “Marco, I was so scared.”

“Don’t be. I’m here.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you.”

I’ll never let anyone hurt you.

That was the final blow. The last shred of hope I had for him died right there.

I lay on the floor, watching them cling to each other.

Blood was pooling from my arm, staining the Persian rug a dark, ugly red.

Marco hadn’t even glanced my way.

His entire world was Isabella.

“Marco…” I called out, my voice weak.

He finally noticed me.

A flicker of annoyance crossed his face.

“Just a minute, Samara. Isabella is in shock.”

She was in shock.

I was bleeding out.

I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by a despair so total it felt like drowning.

Twenty years.

My whole life, I thought one day, Marco would finally see me.

Now I knew.

In his heart, I would never, ever matter more than Isabella.

Not even when death was at the door.

The family’s bodyguards rushed into the study, securing the room.

“Boss, it was the Torrino family,” his second-in-command, Antonio, reported. “They’ve pulled back.”

Marco nodded, still holding Isabella.

“Double the security on the estate,” he ordered. “And put a detail on Isabella. Full time.”

Antonio’s eyes fell on me. “Boss, Miss Romano is hurt.”

Only then did Marco bother to look at me, his eyes empty of concern.

“Get the doctor to look at it,” he said, his tone like he was ordering someone to fix a broken chair.

Then he scooped Isabella up into his arms and carried her toward the guest suite upstairs.

“You need to rest,” he murmured to her, his voice so gentle it made me want to vomit.

I was left alone on the study floor, staring at the ornate ceiling.

The blood kept coming. The pain was making me dizzy.

But my mind had never been clearer.

This was Marco’s “love” for me.

When danger came, I wasn’t even worth a look.

Two hours later, I was in the Corvini family’s private clinic.

The wound wasn’t deep, but the blood loss made me look pale and frail.

As the doctor stitched me up, I waited for Marco.

I waited for three hours.

Nothing.

“Miss Romano,” a nurse finally came in. “Mr. Corvini asked me to tell you something. Miss Falcone was badly shaken. She needs him. He’ll check on you later.”

Later.

I was nearly killed, and he’d get around to me “later.”

I lay on the cot, staring at the white ceiling tiles.

Silent tears slid down my temples.

The door finally opened late that night.

It wasn’t Marco. It was his mother, Letizia Corvini.

An elegant, cold woman who cared about one thing and one thing only: family power.

“Samara, child.” She sat by my bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Alive,” I rasped.

Letizia’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows knitted together. “Don’t be dramatic. You are the future Mrs. Corvini.”

“Am I?” A dry, bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Your son seems to have a different candidate in mind.”

A complex look passed over Letizia’s face.

“Marco is young. Easily distracted by a pretty face,” she said. “But the blood pact is signed. You are the lady of the Corvini house now.”

I looked at her, and I thought of the name I’d written on that pact.

“Letizia, if I told you a secret, would you help me?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What kind of secret?”

“The bride’s name on the blood pact… it’s not Samara Romano.”

The color drained from her face. “What are you saying?”

“It’s Isabella Falcone,” I said, looking right into her eyes. “I changed it before I signed.”

Letizia sucked in a sharp breath.

She understood the implications instantly.

My family, the Romanos, held the keys to high society and legitimate business. The ports, the permits, the friendships of politicians.

But the Falcones… they were the Corvinis’ equals in the shadows. A true powerhouse.

An alliance with them wasn’t just a takeover.

It was a merger of titans. A super-empire powerful enough to rule all of Chicago.

For a woman like Letizia, that temptation was far greater than picking apart the bones of the Romano family, whose Don was freshly in the ground.

“You… why would you do such a thing?” Letizia’s voice was trembling.

But the glint in her eye wasn’t anger. It was ambition.

“Because I want to be free,” I said plainly. “And you want more power.”

Letizia was silent for a long time.

I could practically see the gears turning in her head, calculating the profits of this new development.

“Child,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Perhaps this was fate. You’ve done the Corvini family a great service. I’ll help you disappear.”

Seeing that triumphant look in her eyes, I had to laugh.

Then I remembered Isabella’s ruthless brother, the true heir to the Falcone fortune.

He had the family assets locked down tight.

In my past life, Isabella spent twenty years as nothing but a trophy.

The only reason she craved Marco was for his wallet—he was her ticket to endless shopping sprees.

And Letizia thought this marriage would get her a piece of the Falcone business? A fantasy.

But none of it was my problem anymore.

The next day, under Letizia’s arrangements, I left the clinic.

She provided a private jet and a bag full of cash.

“Where will you go?” she asked.

“Los Angeles,” I answered. “I’m going to open an art gallery.”

Letizia nodded. “Good. Art is a clean business.”

Before I left, I went back to the Romano estate one last time.

Marco wasn’t there. He’d taken Isabella to some high-society event.

I went into his bedroom and placed a copy of the blood pact on his bedside table.

Next to it, I put the one-way ticket to Sicily.

On top of the pact, I left a note.

Short and sharp, just like the knife he’d stuck in my back.

Marco,

You got the bride you always wanted. Now live with her.

As for me, I’m free. — E.