I found his accusation absurd. "She shamelessly stole our garage, and now she's framing me and slinging mud?"

"Vito Moretti, don't push me."

It took me only a second to completely rule out the possibility that my crew was involved.

They might have grown up on the streets, but they lived by the underworld's code. They would never do something as low as sending a woman razor blades.

When Vito heard me insult Isabella, the violence in his eyes flared, and a vein throbbed at his temple.

He clenched his fists, reminding himself that Liliana was his wife, an untamable wild rose. As heir to the family, it was his duty to teach her to submit.

"I'm not going to argue with you about this."

"Apologize to Bella. Now. You will kneel before her and beg for her forgiveness. You will beg her not to leave. You will make her feel safe enough to take over that damn garage."

My pupils dilated. My breath seemed to stop, my chest forgetting to rise and fall.

Me, apologize to Isabella? Beg her to take my life's work?

A thick, metallic taste rose in my throat. I clenched my jaw, forcing the words through my teeth. "In. Your. Fucking. Dreams."

He grabbed my shoulders, his grip so tight I thought he would crush my shoulder blades. "You're going."

"Liliana, Bella's father gave his life for mine. That makes him your benefactor. Drop the spoiled Principessa act. We do not repay kindness with betrayal."

I stared at his cold face, my voice as still as a stagnant pool. "Vito, we're divorced."

"Whatever you want to do to repay your debt, if you want to give your life for her, that's your business. Just stop disgusting me."

"Still talking back?" Vito sneered, looking at me as if I were a misbehaving pet. "You were willing to bet your life for me. You love me that much. You couldn't possibly bear to divorce me."

I struggled, trying to reach for the divorce agreement on the cabinet, but he thought I was trying to escape.

He gripped me tighter, his tone laced with threat.

"Aren't you using your family's connections to find a way out for those useless friends of yours? Let me tell you, if you don't go, I'll make sure they're blacklisted from every garage in North America."

Thinking of the brothers who had been through hell and back with me, I admit, I wavered.

"I said," I hissed, "I'm not going."

Vito laughed, a sound of pure fury that didn't reach his eyes. "Fine. I look forward to seeing if you're still this stubborn in three days."

"Take my wife to the cellar," he said, his voice void of all emotion. "Lock her in. Let her cool off."

I was seized by two guards, my arms twisted behind my back, and dragged without any chance of resistance to the bone-chilling cellar deep within the estate.

The heavy iron door slammed shut. In the pitch-black silence, I finally broke down and cried.

I feared nothing in this world except the dark. My claustrophobia was so severe I couldn't sleep without a night light.

When we first got married, Vito discovered this fatal weakness of mine. I thought a man like him, forged in blood and chaos, would mock my weakness.

But he had held me tight, kissing my hair and swearing, "As long as you're here, I'll come home every night."

"With me here, you have nothing to fear."

And now, he was the one who had personally pushed me into this endless abyss of darkness.

Three days later, the iron door of the cellar groaned open.

I was hauled out like a rag doll and thrown at Isabella's feet.

Standing beside Isabella, Vito took in my wretched state. His brow furrowed, his heart clenching as if squeezed by an invisible hand.

"I only sent you down there to reflect for three days. How did you end up like this?"

Isabella guiltily averted her gaze, then clung to Vito's arm and whined, "Liliana is just putting on an act to avoid apologizing. She's really selling it, isn't she?"

The flicker of pity in Vito's eyes vanished, replaced by a cold resolve. "Liliana. Apologize."

I lay on the cold marble floor, a dry, rasping sound in my throat. I dug my fingers into the cracks between the tiles, holding on with my last ounce of strength, refusing to bow my head.

"Vito, why don't you wait outside? She might be too embarrassed to admit she's wrong in front of you."

Vito was silent for a moment, then nodded. Before leaving, he shot me a complicated look and closed the heavy oak door.

The moment we were alone, the innocent mask on Isabella's face fell away, revealing her true, ugly self.

She pulled a lighter from her purse and lit a thin cigar.

She walked over to me, grabbed my chin with the hand holding the cigar, and sneered viciously. "You bitch. A low-class wild child like you really thinks you can compete with me for Vito?"

"What's so great about you, anyway? Last night he was calling your name in his sleep... I'll make sure he loses all feeling for you, once and for all."

She brought the glowing tip of her cigar close to my cheek.

Her other hand slid across my face, her voice low but sending shivers down my spine. "Tell me," she whispered, her voice a venomous caress, "if I were to brand you right here, do you think Vito would feel even more pity for you?"

The moment she finished speaking, she hit send on her phone.

A few seconds later, the door was kicked open, and a group of menacing thugs stormed in.

When I regained consciousness, I found myself and Isabella bound with our hands behind our backs, suspended by iron chains at opposite ends of an abandoned warehouse.

The ringleader toyed with a remote, grinning savagely at Vito. "Heir to the Moretti family," he sneered. "Two women. You only get to save one."

Vito snorted, ignoring his question.

As the don of New York's underworld, he never walked into a fight unprepared.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, there's a bomb in the center of the room," the kidnapper added with a laugh, waiting for the show to begin.

Vito's movements faltered for a split second, but he remained calm.

He trusted his men implicitly. Baptized in blood and fire, there was nothing they couldn't handle.

Sure enough, the men Vito brought with him quickly subdued the kidnappers.

He looked up at the two of us, suspended in mid-air, and thought for a moment.

Then he nodded, almost imperceptibly, and his men moved to release Isabella's chains first.

Just then, the ringleader, pinned to the ground, began to "confess" in a trembling voice. "Mercy, Don Moretti! It was Miss Falcone who paid us. She said she wanted to create a diversion and blow up Miss Isabella..."

Hearing the clumsy accusation, I found it utterly absurd.

I had just been let out of the cellar. I barely had the strength to speak, let alone the time and energy to arrange all this.

But Vito believed it.

He held the terrified Isabella tightly in his arms and strode toward the exit.

As he passed me, he threw four cold words over his shoulder. "You. Never. Learn."

He didn't see the look Isabella gave the kidnappers.

Once Vito's convoy had disappeared into the night, the thugs calmly deactivated the countdown timer.

In reality, if Vito had just looked a little closer, he would have seen how obviously fake the bomb was.

But his eyes were only for Isabella. He never even glanced at the bomb.

I was thrown onto the concrete floor, followed by a rain of relentless fists.

My throat was too raw to scream. With nowhere to run, I could only curl up and protect my head as hatred grew inside me like a vine, feeding on mangled flesh and fresh blood.

It hurt. God, it hurt.

Why did I ever run away from my wedding to race that day? Why did I ever think the way he cornered me was charming?

Why, oh why, did I ever fall in love with him?

I regretted it. God, how I regretted it.

I couldn't make a sound. I thought I would die in this brutal assault.

I don't know how many blows I took, or how long it lasted. A sliver of gray light filtered in through the broken window on the warehouse roof.

The dawn fell on my face. That faint warmth was a cruel reminder that I was still breathing.

Buzz—

A vibration came from my coat pocket.

It was a text from the lawyer I had hired.

The divorce was final.

It was also the day of my flight out of New York.

Covered in injuries and running on fumes, I finally reached the boarding gate when Vito's call came through.

"What are you doing now?"

"Isabella has already forgiven you. Why aren't you at her studio's opening ceremony?"

It was strange. I had accepted the fact that he didn't love me a thousand times over, but hearing his entitled accusation still made me tremble with anger.

"I'm afraid if I show up, I won't be able to stop myself from driving my Mustang straight through her stolen sign. Do you want to risk that?"

He had the audacity to expect me to drag my bruised body to applaud the thief who stole my life's work? It was the most absurd joke in the world.

Vito was silent on the other end for a few long seconds. Then he sighed. "Then rest at home."

["Will passengers for flight... please proceed to the gate for boarding."]

"Where are you?"

Even over the roar of the crowd at Isabella's opening, he caught the cold, robotic announcement.

"Just getting some air." A sudden, inexplicable panic shot through Vito, the feeling that something was slipping completely out of his control.

He had a sudden, urgent need to see me. He irritably beckoned a subordinate. "Find out where my wife is. Now."

His order was cut off by a chorus of angry shouts.

"Thief!"

"Liar!"

"E-Customs belongs to Liliana Falcone!"

On the live broadcast, a large group of men in black mechanic's coveralls stormed Isabella's lavish ribbon-cutting ceremony.