In the second year of our renewed alliance, I caught Rocco Marchetti with another woman for the third time.

He expected me to throw a fit, maybe even petition the Commission for a formal dissolution.

What he didn't expect was for me to do the opposite. No hysterics. No interrogation. Instead, I personally bought him a hundred condoms and a hundred sets of lingerie.

Afterward, Rocco came to me on his own. "She threw herself at me that time..."

"I know." I cut him off, all understanding. "I didn't see anything. Didn't hear anything. Don't worry about me."

My indifference made him frown.

He studied me for a long moment before letting out a cold laugh. "Serafina Valente, what game are you playing now? Playing hard to get?"

"I'm telling you, that trick doesn't work on me."

I looked at him, face blank, and said nothing.

Then his phone rang. Whatever he heard drained the color from his face. He stormed past me, shoulder clipping mine hard enough to knock me sideways. He didn't even notice.

I stumbled, barely catching my balance.

Once I was sure he was gone, I pulled out my phone and called the independent operative I'd retained outside Marchetti influence.

When the line connected, I made myself clear: "The photos need to be high-resolution. Ideally, I want video of the affair and clear shots of their faces. Ten million dollars will be wired to your account when it's done."

No hesitation on the other end. He agreed immediately.

I hung up and let out a slow breath.

I'd been with Rocco since high school. Ten years, from hallway crushes to a ceremony so grand the old families still talked about it. And in the end, he'd beaten me black and blue over his personal advisor, until I had no choice but to petition for a dissolution of the alliance.

All I'd wanted was to end that wreck of a marriage. I never noticed I'd been maneuvered into walking away with nothing. Not a single racket, not a square foot of territory, not one piece of the Valente legacy my parents had brought into the union.

Two years of scraping by later, Rocco came looking for me again, demanding I donate blood for his precious little advisor. I agreed to the renewed alliance without a second thought.

Not for love. Only to reclaim the territory and tribute rights that were rightfully mine.

——

I turned and headed upstairs to clear out the villa.

After I'd left, Rocco never set foot in this place again, so nearly everything I owned was still here. The security detail that had once guarded every door was long reassigned. The house sat in the outer ring of Marchetti territory like a forgotten outpost.

I threw every piece of couple's merchandise and clothing into the trash. When I looked up and saw the wedding portrait above the headboard, I froze.

Six years ago, Rocco had thrown me a ceremony so lavish it drew every Don on the Eastern Seaboard. The Marchetti estate had been draped in white silk and guarded by a hundred armed soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder along the garden path.

Under a thousand spotlights, he'd dropped to one knee, his gaze burning with sincerity, and made me a promise: "Sera, from the moment I first saw you in high school, I knew you were the only one for me. From this day forward, I will treasure you above all else. I will never betray you."

But beautiful things never last. Four years into the marriage, I walked in on him and Gianna Corsini in a compromising situation in the back room of the social club. I stormed in demanding answers, and she accused me of assaulting her.

Rocco slapped me across the face without a word. Ten years together, and that was the first time he'd ever raised a hand to me. Over another woman.

The shrill ring of my phone cut through the memory. I steadied myself and answered.

"Serafina, I underestimated you. I thought you genuinely didn't care, but it was all an act. You have fifteen minutes to get to the hospital and apologize to Gianna Corsini. Otherwise... you won't like the consequences."

He hung up before I could get a single word in.

Not half a sentence. He wouldn't hear it.

I assumed Rocco was just running his mouth. I was wrong. Fifteen minutes later, two of his soldiers dragged me to the hospital entrance and forced me to my knees.

I tried to stand. Two massive enforcers pinned me down.

My kneecaps cracked against the concrete. The pain was sharp enough to steal my breath.

"Rocco said he wanted to see me," I ground out. "What the hell is this?"

One of the soldiers sneered. "The Boss says you have zero manners. Seeing as you're the girl who got both her parents killed, and nobody ever taught you how to behave, he figured he'd teach you himself."

The words "got both her parents killed" hit me like a fist to the chest.

Of course. My parents died young. Both of them, gunned down in what the Families still called an unsolved hit. It was the deepest wound I carried, and he knew exactly where to press.

I knelt in the blazing sun for six full hours before Rocco finally granted me permission to enter the hospital room.

He noticed my cracked, bloodless lips. Not a flicker of pity crossed his eyes.

"Have you learned your lesson?" he asked, voice like ice.

My lips moved twice. I thought of the unsigned dissolution papers sitting in my locked drawer and forced the words out. "I've learned my lesson."

Rocco scoffed. "Good. Now go apologize to Gianna."

Every muscle in my body locked. My fingers curled into fists. My thumb pressed against the inside of my left ring finger, where my wedding band used to sit, and I held it there.

"Apologize for what?" I couldn't stop myself. "What exactly did I do wrong?"

Rocco's eyes went wide. "You hired a driver to run Gianna down, and you're going to stand there and play dumb? The driver already gave you up. What's left to argue?"

Attempted murder. That was a charge I could never accept. A stain like that would destroy any future I had left. In this world, an accusation like that didn't go to a courtroom. It went to a sit-down. And the sentence would be final.

Before I could open my mouth, Gianna let out a pitiful whimper. "Don Marchetti, please don't put yourself through this. After all, no one ever admits to the crimes they've committed."

"Stubborn, are we?" Rocco's lips curled. "I have plenty of ways to deal with stubborn."

He ordered the soldiers to haul me to the precinct where the Family's bought cops ran their shifts, and right in front of me, he told them to give me "special treatment."

That night, I was shoved into a cramped, pitch-black room. Several heavyset women filed in after me.

They didn't say a word. Fists knotted in my hair, nails raked across my skin, hands tore my clothes to shreds. The moment I tried to fight back, a storm of blows rained down.

After three hours of beating, I heard a voice ask: "Are you ready to confess?"

"I didn't do any of—"

My voice came out thin, barely there.

The charges were fabricated. Every last one. But Rocco never bothered to investigate. He took Gianna's word as gospel, no questions asked. He really did love her that much.

A bitter laugh echoed somewhere inside my chest.

What followed was six hours of beatings. By the end, my vision went black and I lost consciousness entirely.

When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital bed. Not a real hospital. The Family's private clinic on the east side of the compound, where the dottore patched up men who couldn't go to emergency rooms and wives who weren't supposed to have bruises.

Rocco sat beside me, his gaze flat and cold. "Stop going after Gianna. Unless you want more of the same."

I said nothing.

During the two years he'd schemed to strip me of everything in the dissolution, I'd swallowed every kind of suffering there was. This time, I was going to carve out a future of my own.

Rocco looked at my bruised, swollen face. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes. Then a phone rang, and his attention snapped away.

I glanced over without turning my head. The caller was Gianna.

The moment he picked up, his brow softened. His voice turned gentle.

All things that used to be mine.

Back then, he'd been the notorious troublemaker running with the Marchetti crew before he was even made, and I was just a girl who'd gotten lost near the old warehouse district and stumbled onto him beating someone bloody behind the loading dock.

That one encounter was all it took. He latched onto me after that, impossibly tender and attentive with me while staying vicious toward everyone else. It didn't matter if they were women. He never spared them a second glance.

When he proposed at the Marchetti estate in that grand, over-the-top spectacle with half the families in attendance, practically everyone said Rocco Marchetti was head over heels for me.

We became Marchetti territory's golden couple. The gossip columns and society pages tripped over themselves to cover our story: a Valente daughter and a Marchetti heir, two bloodlines joined like something out of the old country. The whispers at every family dinner called us a fairy tale come to life.

Too bad fairy tales always end at the ceremony. And what came after, for Rocco and me, was everything those stories never bothered to tell.

"Something came up at the social club. I need to handle it."

Rocco stood and headed for the door. Just before it closed, I heard him murmur into the phone, "Whatever my girl wants, I'll get it for her."

I pulled my gaze back, picked up the phone on the nightstand, entered the passcode, and switched to the second operating system. A burner line hidden inside a legitimate device. The one precaution I'd taken that no one in the Marchetti crew knew about.

There was only one number in the contacts. I stared at it for a long time before I finally made myself dial.

He picked up almost instantly. A warm, rich voice came through the speaker: "Serafina. You finally decided to call me."

My heart stuttered. Heat flooded my ears. I turned the words over in my head, then forced them out through clenched teeth: "Could you... could you take me away? You mentioned a position within your family before. I can do the work."

He didn't hesitate. "Of course. I've been holding that spot for you. When do you want to come?"

I pressed my lips together. "One week. Once I've settled things here, I'll be there."

His voice was steady, sincere. "All right. I'll come get you myself."

After the call ended, I finally let myself exhale.

Three days in the clinic. Rocco didn't visit once. Meanwhile, the society pages and tabloids ran wall-to-wall coverage of him and Gianna.

SHOCKING! Marchetti Don Buys Every Lot at Black-Market Auction Just to Make His Advisor Smile!

BREAKING! Marchetti Heir Takes Personal Advisor Dress Shopping for a Ceremony Gown — Big Day Approaching!

On my very first day in the clinic, I'd received a message request from Gianna.

Over the next three days she sent me Rocco's full itinerary, message after message. I forwarded every single one to my independent operative and told them to move fast.

Ding.

Another taunt.

Gianna had sent a photo, smug as ever. It was the Valente Family Mausoleum.

When I made out the names carved into the stone, my pupils contracted to pinpoints.

Gianna called. My fingers were shaking as I answered.

She let out two soft laughs, her tone laced with venom. "What do you think about me bulldozing this place and putting up a nice parking structure?"

My mind went blank for a split second. I ground my molars together. "What the hell do you want, Gianna?"

Rocco had secured that sacred ground for my parents. He'd stood beside me in the rain that day and whispered, "From now on, I'm your only family. Wherever you are, that's home."

Promises from another lifetime. Punchlines now.

Gianna's voice kept coming, relentless: "You saw me in bed with him, and you still had the nerve to crawl back. Shameless."

"I was this close to becoming his wife before the families. I'm the one who should be Donna Marchetti!"

"You ruined my life, you worthless little tramp. So don't expect me to make yours easy."

She hung up without waiting for a reply.

I sat frozen for a beat, then scrambled to check myself out. The nurse at the front desk told me my account had been zeroed out. Every line of credit tied to the Marchetti name, closed.

I stared. I hadn't expected Rocco to go that far.

I twisted the diamond ring off my finger and slid it across the counter. "Put this toward the bill."

I was leaving soon anyway. None of these things mattered anymore.

By the time I reached the mausoleum, it was nothing but level ground. The stone walls, the iron gate with the Valente crest, the consecrated earth where my parents rested. All of it scraped down to bare dirt. A cement mixer idled at the far edge, its drum still turning.

Gianna was already there. Her eyes swept over me, dripping with contempt and spite. "Oh, silly me. I forgot to dig out your parents' ashes first."

"Then again, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I'm sure they're rotting in the lowest circle of hell by now."

"So really, ashes or no ashes, what's the difference?"

I was shaking from head to toe.

A calculating gleam crossed Gianna's eyes, and her lips curled into a cruel smile. "Tell you what. Get on your knees right now and knock your head on the ground a hundred times. Maybe, just maybe, I'll be generous enough to leave your parents' urn in one piece. If you refuse..."

I glared at her, cutting her off. "In your dreams."

Gianna scoffed.

Then, without warning, she seized my wrist and yanked me forward. The next second she toppled backward, stiff as a board. Behind her, the cement mixer was already pouring concrete over the flattened ground.

Gianna's face went white. "Don Marchetti, save me—"

Before I could process what had happened, a shadow streaked past the corner of my vision. Rocco hauled Gianna out.

He didn't give me a chance to speak. His face was stone. He drove his foot into my stomach and sent me skidding three yards across the dirt.

His voice was low, thick with fury. "Serafina. I gave you a chance."

"Take her to the basement. She comes out when she apologizes. Not before."

Soldiers dragged me to a car. As they pulled me away, I watched Rocco guide Gianna into his armored sedan with exquisite care, one hand hovering at the small of her back.

Two cars of very different worth drove off in opposite directions.

Just like the distance between Rocco and me. Growing wider with every passing second.

The entire time I was locked in that basement, I refused to apologize.

The sealed space made it hard to breathe. All I could do was curl into myself as tightly as possible, searching for some small scrap of comfort. The concrete floor leached the warmth from my bones. Somewhere above me, the compound continued its business. I could hear the faint percussion of footsteps, the distant closing of a heavy door. Down here, the air tasted like damp stone and something chemical, something old.

Then a pair of leather shoes appeared in front of me. Rocco stood over me, looking down. "Ready to admit you were wrong?"

I thought of the graves, leveled to nothing, and the stubbornness in me held. "I wasn't wrong. Rocco, you know that plot of land—"

He cut me off before I could finish. "I know."

"Gianna wanted it. So I gave it to her."

I stared up at him, eyes wide. "You gave it to her?"

In that moment, I felt like I was looking at a stranger. Not the Don of the Marchetti Family. Not the man whose ring I wore. A stranger with a familiar face and nothing behind the eyes I recognized.

Rocco shrugged it off. "Gianna is beautiful and kind. If she hadn't carried me out of those mountains, I probably wouldn't be alive today."

"Serafina, all you have to do is admit you were wrong, and I'll let you out."

The mountains? Gianna saved him?

Three years ago, when Rocco was stranded in the mountains after the ambush at the summit lodge, I was the one who hauled him out. Step by step, his weight on my back, through the snow. The assassins had scattered, but exposure would have killed him just as dead. He survived. I ended up in the hospital for two weeks. When I finally woke up, the first thing I learned was that he'd been cheating on me. That was what ended our marriage.

But how had the person who saved him become Gianna?

I opened my mouth. "Rocco, maybe you should look into—"

"Don Marchetti, please don't be hard on her. It's all my fault. I lost my footing and fell on my own. She absolutely did not push me…"

Gianna clicked over in her heels and positioned herself at Rocco's side, instantly pulling every ounce of his attention. Her voice carried that practiced tremor, the one calibrated to make a powerful man feel needed.

The moment I met her eyes, full of calculation and triumph, I understood. Gianna had stolen credit for what I'd done. She tucked a strand of hair behind her right ear, slowly, deliberately, and the lie she'd built settled into place like it had always been there.

Rocco wrapped his arm around Gianna's slim waist, his voice tender. "What are you doing out of bed? The doctor said you need rest."

Gianna leaned into him, her voice a syrupy whine. "I missed you. And it looks like she still hasn't realized what she did wrong. Maybe you should toss something in there with her. I hear people confess to anything when they're scared enough."

Rocco gave her an approving glance, then turned to the soldiers standing guard by the basement door. "You two. Go put my pets in there."

The word pets sent ice through my veins.

Rocco had a particular hobby. He kept centipedes, spiders, and snakes in glass terrariums in the lower level of the compound. Cold-blooded creatures, all of them. The enforcers called it his collection. Nobody joked about it twice.

The first time I'd seen them, I'd asked him, "They won't bite me, will they?"

Back then, Rocco had looked me in the eye and promised, with every appearance of sincerity: "Don't worry. As long as I'm here, I will never let them hurt you. I won't let anyone hurt you."

I never imagined this day would come so soon.

When the centipedes and spiders were released into the basement, my scalp went numb. They moved as if drawn to me, locking onto my position with terrible precision, swarming up my body in a crawling, writhing mass.

Tiny, sharp stabs of pain, over and over, until I could barely think.

Rocco's expression wavered. For one second his hand tightened on the doorframe, knuckles going white against the wood. Then the second passed.

Gianna pressed her fingertips to her temple, her voice going faint. "Oh no, Don Marchetti, I think I'm feeling a little unwell…"

Without a word, Rocco scooped her into his arms and walked away.

I lifted my head just in time to catch Gianna peering back over his shoulder. Our eyes met. She mouthed the words silently: You deserve this, you worthless tramp.

I clenched my jaw and slammed my hands down on the insects, crushing every one I could reach.

Only one thought kept me alive: I am not dying here.