Took a bullet?

My heart stopped.

"When?" I rushed toward Vincent. "You're hurt?"

My hands went to his shirt, trying to check for a wound.

Vincent flinched, trying to push me away, but the movement was stiff. He'd clearly pulled something.

"Three days ago," Vincent said, turning his head away. His voice was cold. "There was a situation at the docks."

"The Russians were crazier than we thought," Ava said, clinging to Vincent's side, her voice laced with a practiced fear. "They just started shooting. Vincent, to protect me…"

She traced a finger over his chest.

"The bullet almost hit my heart. But Vincent jumped in front of me, shielded me with his own body. He's my hero."

I looked at Vincent, waiting for him to deny it, to explain.

He said nothing. Like taking a bullet for her was the most natural thing in the world.

A sharp pain shot through my chest.

I remembered Mexico, three years ago. A dangerous deal.

The other party was a notorious cartel, but they controlled the black market for art in Central America.

Before I left, I went to Vincent to ask for backup.

"It's too dangerous," I'd said. "I need more men."

"This is your test, Isabella," Vincent had said, looking troubled. "The family can't make an exception for you. If you can't handle this, how can you be the Donna?"

"But Vincent…"

"Rules are rules," he cut me off. "You can walk away from the deal, but you can't ask the family to bend the rules."

I took a bullet during that negotiation to close the deal.

When I woke up, Vincent was by my bedside, looking exhausted. The nurses said he'd been there for days.

I thought he was worried. I thought he loved me.

I thought he only stayed away because the family made him.

So I forgave him.

What was this, then?

"Remember Mexico?" I demanded, my voice shaking with rage. "You left me to bleed in Mexico and called it a test. But you take a bullet for her, and that's just business?"

Vincent's face darkened. "It's different."

"How is it different?!" I finally screamed. "Because she's your so-called 'savior'?"

"What else?" Vincent's reply was ice. "Isabella, I owe Ava my life. Thirteen years ago, at your family's estate, if she hadn't pulled me out of that pool, I'd be dead. I'll spend my entire life repaying that debt. I appreciate what you do for the family, but it doesn't compare to saving my life."

My world shattered.

Hilarious.

It was just so damn hilarious.

Thirteen years ago, on a summer afternoon, the girl who jumped into the pool, who dragged his drowning ass to the side, who cried while giving him CPR… that was me.

Ava just stood there, screaming her head off.

Afterward, she was the one who ran to everyone, crying about how brave she'd been, how she'd saved Vincent.

I was so traumatized I came down with a fever and was out for three days, missing my chance to set the record straight.

So that was it. The root of this ten-year joke.

All his favoritism, all his protection, it was all for a stolen moment of heroism.

"The person who saved you that day, Vincent," I said, my voice dangerously quiet. "It wasn't her."

"It was me."

Vincent's eyes turned cold and disappointed, like he was looking at a lunatic. "Isabella, I know you're jealous. But you don't get to rewrite history and slander a hero."

"I'm not!" I said desperately. "That day, she was wearing a red dress, and I was in…"

"Enough!" Vincent snapped, his eyes full of disgust. "I don't want to hear you spin any more lies to hurt Ava. When did you become this kind of woman, so willing to do anything to win?"

The disgust in his eyes hurt more than any weapon.

Just then, Ava, who'd been "trembling" in Vincent's arms, looked up at me, her eyes wet with tears.

"Isabella, sister, please, stop…" she said weakly, her voice was weak, already starting to break. “I know you hate me, but you can’t deny the truth… I saved Vincent’s life. All our lives, I’ve let you have everything—the clothes, the awards, the jewelry. But not him. I’m not giving up Vincent.”

As she spoke, she pulled away from Vincent and walked toward me, reaching for my hand like she was about to beg.

“If you think this is my fault, then hit me! Go on!”

The second she was close, something in her eyes changed. They went cold. Vicious.

Where Vincent couldn’t see, her fingers dug into my arm.

Pain shot through me. I tried to pull away, but she suddenly threw herself backward, slamming her body hard against the sharp corner of the desk.

"Ahhh—!"

A bloodcurdling scream echoed through the study.

It happened so fast I couldn't even react.

Ava was already on the floor, clutching her arm, blood quickly soaking through her sleeve.

I was frozen, my hand still in the position she had pulled it into.

Vincent's eyes widened. He lunged forward and shoved me back, hard.

"Isabella!" he roared, his voice loud enough to shake the room. "Are you crazy?! What the hell are you doing?!"

He gently scooped Ava up, his eyes going from panicked to murderous as he looked at her bleeding arm.

He looked up, his gaze locked on me.

"I can't believe you. You're so twisted you'd actually attack her."

I looked at the "trembling" woman in his arms, the one with a triumphant glint in her eyes. I looked at the undisguised hatred and disappointment on his face. And I started to laugh.

I laughed so hard the tears streamed down my face.

So, ten years of love, ten years of work, and in his eyes, I was just a "twisted" woman being "jealous."

"You are a blind, pathetic fool, Vincent Corleone." I laughed, the sound wet and broken. The calm in my own voice was terrifying.

Vincent's voice trembled with rage. He held Ava tighter. "Apologize to Ava. Now!"

Apologize?

I looked around the lavish study. The paintings on the wall were ones I'd acquired for him. The papers on his desk were the result of my all-nighters.

Everything in here was once proof of my love. Now it was just evidence of my stupidity.

I walked slowly toward the fireplace and picked up the shredded pieces of my audit report.

"Isabella, what do you think you're doing?" Vincent watched me, wary.

"Nothing." I stood before the fire, watching the flames dance, and dropped the scraps of paper in, one by one. "Just cleaning up some… trash."

The paper curled, blackened, and turned to ash in the fire.

That was my youth. My ten years of hard work.

And the last of my love for him.

When the last piece was gone, I turned around and met his unbelieving stare.

"Vincent Corleone. As of this moment, I, Isabella Rossi, officially break our engagement."

My voice wasn't loud, but it echoed in every corner of the room.

"You can save your precious title of Donna for the 'brave' hero in your arms. I wish you both… a long and happy life together."

Vincent was stunned. He'd clearly never imagined I would say that. In his world, I was the desperate psycho who would do anything to marry him. The girl who would always come running back.

He looked at me, his shock turning to a condescending sneer.

"Break the engagement?" He scoffed, like it was the funniest joke he'd ever heard. "Isabella, stop playing these games. It's childish."

He patted Ava's back soothingly, then spoke to me with the tone of a king granting a pardon. "I know you're upset today. I'll let it slide. Now go to your room. Without me, you are nothing," he said, his voice dropping to a low threat. "Without my family, the Rossi name is dirt. Go to your room. And when you’re ready to beg, you can come and apologize to Ava."

He was so sure I wouldn't leave him.

He thought he was my whole world.

He thought that after ten years, no matter what he did, all he had to do was snap his fingers and I'd come crawling back.

I turned and walked to the door, without looking back.

Behind me, I heard Vincent’s dismissive voice.

"Let's go, Ava. Let her cool off."

I went back to my apartment. The first thing I did was walk to my vanity.

A twelve-carat blue diamond ring sat there.

Vincent's engagement ring from ten years ago.

I picked it up and, without hesitating, threw it into the fireplace.

The flames licked at the platinum band, but the diamond just sat there, sparkling.

A perfect symbol for my love. Cold, hard, and dead.

"Miss, you're back."

My butler, Andre, came in. He took one look at my face and knew.

"Call a meeting of all the family elders," I said, turning to him. "Tonight, eight o'clock. Emergency."

"Yes, Miss. Also, Miss..." He hesitated. "Chicago called again. About the marriage proposal. It's the third time this year."

The mysterious family in Chicago.

For two years, they'd been asking for an alliance. I'd turned them all down, blinded by Vincent.

"Tell them I accept."

Andre's eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly regained his composure.

"Shall I arrange a meeting?"

"Not a meeting. A wedding. Arrange it for three days from now."

"Three days?" Andre almost lost his professional cool. "Miss, that's incredibly fast…"

"Three days." I downed the whiskey, feeling the burn. "And get Sotheby's on the line. I want the full payout from last night's auction liquidated. I want it in cash. All of it."

That night, the five family elders gathered in my conference room.

They were the old guard, men who had watched me grow up. They actually cared about me.

"Isabella, what's happened?"

Lester, the oldest, spoke first. He was my adoptive father's most trusted advisor and the biggest supporter of my marriage to Vincent.

"I'm breaking the engagement," I said, getting straight to the point. "The contract with Vincent Corleone is officially void."

The room was silent.

"Child, was there a problem?" another elder, Salvatore, asked gently. "If it's a small fight, we can mediate…"

"It's not a fight," I said, looking at their kind faces. "It's a betrayal."

I told them everything. The whole ten-year truth.

Vincent's sabotage, Ava's real identity, the stolen assets, today's confrontation. I left nothing out.

When I finished, the room was dead quiet.

"That bastard," Lester slammed his hand on the table. "The Rossi family has always honored the alliance with the Corleones, and he treats you like this!"

"It's too late for that now," I said, standing up. "What matters is the future. I've decided to marry the man from Chicago."

The elders looked at each other.

"Isabella," Salvatore said carefully, "we don't know much about that family. A sudden marriage could be a big risk."

"A bigger risk than Vincent?" I shot back.

No one had an answer.

"Give me three days to prepare the wedding," I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. "This is my decision."

For the next two days, I didn't stop.

I designed my own wedding dress. White silk and diamonds. 300 million dollars' worth of diamonds. The price of my freedom, glittering on a dress.

If Vincent wanted the money, he could try to rip it off my dress.

On the morning of the third day, a package arrived at my door.

Inside was a dead pigeon, its wings broken.

And a note.

"Isabella, I sent flowers to your mother's grave. I’ve made my decision. You’re still my Donna, but in this house, you and Ava are equals. And you won’t say a word against it. This is my final offer. Bring me the deed to the gallery, or there will be consequences. Remember, you will always be mine. —V.C."

I looked at the note and laughed.

Vincent Corleone, how delusional can you be?

You think the world revolves around you?

You think I can't live without you?

I tore the note to shreds and threw it in the trash.

Three hours later, I stood in front of St. Mary's Cathedral.

The diamond dress was a declaration of war, glittering in the sun.

Lester came to my side and offered his arm.

"Are you ready, my child?"

I took his arm, feeling its warmth and strength.

"I'm ready."