I turned a nobody from the streets into a Mafia, and I defied my papa—a man who loved me more than anything—to do it.

For five years, I cast aside the honor of being a Principessa, all for the dream of a life with him.

I thought the man I loved was on the verge of becoming the next Don of the Moretti family.

But then my papa collapsed during his prayers in the church, suffering a massive cardiac arrest in the one place he believed was most sacred, most safe.

Robin was by my side day and night, whispering encouragement. "Isabella, you have to be strong. It's the only way your papa can rest in peace."

I was planning our wedding, ready to marry the man I thought I could trust with my life, when I overheard him talking to his mistress, Ava.

"We finally got rid of the old bastard."

"Once I marry Isabella, half the Moretti empire will be ours.."

The five years I had willingly dedicated to him had been nothing more than an incubator for his twisted ambition.

I wiped my tears and became the Moretti family's princess once more. I swore I would make them pay in blood.

So, on the night before my wedding, I picked up my phone and dialed my brother's number.

"Brother," I said. "It's time to close the net."

The man I have deeply loved for five years, who I have sacrificed my self-respect and identity for, is now smugly showing off to his mistress how he killed my papa.。

"The old bastard is finally out of our way."

Robin's voice drifted through the glass doors of the terrace, a dagger of pure ice plunging straight into my heart.

I was standing in my papa's study. The air still held the lingering scent of his cigars and old books.

"Don't worry, Ava," Robin chuckled, his voice thick with a smugness he couldn't hide. "That stubborn old goat is finally gone. A massive heart attack. So poetic... and convenient."

My blood ran cold.

"Of course, she's devastated," he continued, the false sympathy in his voice making me sick to my stomach. "But once I marry Isabella, the entire Moretti family will be ours. Just be a little more patient, baby."

I turned silently and went back to my room. I didn't scream. I didn't shatter the crystal glass in my hand.

I just felt a deep, profound cold, as if every cell in my body had turned to ice.

But I am Isabella Moretti, the treasured Principessa of this family. And a woman of Moretti family never loses her composure.

For five years, I had willingly cast aside every honor that was mine by birthright, all to help Robin rise from the streets and become a Mafia, so he could one day be worthy of standing beside me.

I had even defied my papa, who loved me more than life itself.

Only now did I understand what a fool I had been for those five years.

My hand slid silently into my pocket and pulled out the encrypted phone only my brother, Marco, and I knew about. Without hesitation, I hit the speed dial.

The phone was answered on the first ring.

"Isabella?" Marco's voice was low and exhausted. He was drowning in the chaos of holding the family together.

"Brother," I said, my own voice so calm it felt alien. "I'll do it. I'll agree to go back to the family and cancel the wedding with Robin."

A long silence stretched from the other end of the line. He didn't ask why. He just said one word.

"Alright."

After hanging up, I immediately called my wedding planner.

"This is Isabella Moretti," I commanded. "The wedding is off. I want everything pulled. The hall, the cars, the security detail, the food, the flowers. Pull it all. Now."

"Wh-what? Miss Moretti, but…"

"Do as I say."

I have seven days to plot my revenge. The countdown starts now: Day One.

The terrace door slid open.

Robin walked in, a perfectly measured look of grief on his face as he wrapped me in his arms. He smelled of another woman's perfume, cheap and cloying.

"Bella, my love," he murmured, stroking my hair. His gentle voice was a fresh wave of nausea. "I know how much you're hurting. Don't be afraid. I'm here. I will always be with you."

I fought back the urge to tear him apart and buried my face in the expensive, tailored suit I had once bought for him.

I let my body tremble, and he mistook the rage for grief.

"Robin," I whispered, lifting my head to look at him with reddened eyes. My voice was broken and dependent. "Don't leave me. Please, don't ever leave me."

If he was this masterful an actor, then I would play my part until the very end.

A flicker of triumphant pity crossed his eyes. "I never will," he promised. "Never."

Late that night, I returned to the family estate, the estate our family had run for a century. I told my brother everything.

My phone buzzed. It was Robin.

"Bella, I got into a little trouble at the club. Got my arm sliced open." His voice was a mix of a whine and entitlement. "Can you come take care of me? Please? Like you used to."

Like I used to?

I suddenly remembered the first time he'd been hurt for me. We were being chased by a rival family, and he threw himself in front of me, taking a bullet meant to kill me. Even as he faded in and out of consciousness, he was whispering my name.

He survived, but the injury left his left hand with permanent nerve damage that required meticulous daily care.

But the naive Isabella who had provided that care was dead. She had died with her papa.

"I'm busy." It was the first time in five years I had ever refused him. In the past, I would have rushed to his side, frantic, ready to clean up any mess he made.

"...What?" He was stunned. "Bella, I'm hurt."

"If you're hurt, go to a hospital," I said. "I'm not a doctor."

I hung up.

The next day, I went back to our penthouse apartment to pack my things. The door was unlocked.

Robin was lying weakly on the bed in the master bedroom, a single, pathetic layer of gauze wrapped around his arm. The moment he saw me, he put on the face of an abandoned puppy.

"Bella, you came. I knew you still cared about me the most."

He grabbed my hand and brought it to his lips.

"Trust me, Bella," he said, his eyes locking with mine in a blazing, false oath of loyalty. "From now on, I won't cause you any more trouble. I will protect you. I'll protect the family. I'll protect what's ours. I will never let anyone hurt you again."

I stared at him, at the ring on his hand that was stained with my papa's blood, and slowly, a smile touched my lips.

"I entrust my everything to you, Robin."

Ping.

My phone screen lit up.

For the first time in a long while, it was a message from Ava.

It was a photo. She was in a silk robe, nestled against a sleeping Robin. Her hand rested on his chest, a triumphant smirk on her face.

The background was our penthouse, the bedroom I had meticulously decorated for him.

Let me show you what a real woman looks like, Isabella.

Unlike the countless times before when I would have flown into a jealous rage, I simply took a screenshot and saved it, my expression blank.

By day six of the countdown, I had it: the damning evidence at the sit-down.

Robin walked out of the bathroom, his hair still damp. "What are you looking at?"

"The proposals from the wedding planner." I quickly switched screens. "He said we need to finalize the guest list."

He nodded, satisfied, and sat down beside me. "Of course. This is our big day. Every detail has to be perfect."

"Yes," I smiled. "Every single detail."

That afternoon, I left the apartment under the pretense of choosing a wedding dress. In reality, I drove straight to the secure room in the basement of the family estate.

Marco's Consigliere, Antonio, was already waiting for me. A thick folder lay on the table.

"Miss Moretti, the list is ready," Antonio said, pushing the file toward me. "Representatives from all the major families will be in attendance. Including the Falcones."

I opened the folder. Next to each name was a detailed profile—their relationship with Moretti family, their level of contact with Robin, and where they would likely stand during the sit-down.

"And security?"

"Arranged. Don Falcone's men will control the perimeter. Our men will handle the interior," Antonio said, pausing for a moment. "Once it begins, no one leaves."

"Good." I closed the folder. "How long?"

Four days.

Four days. Robin had seven more days to live his lie.

When I returned to the apartment, Robin was waiting for me in the living room.

Just like he used to, every night he knew I was coming home.

He was standing by the wall, frowning.

"Isabella, where's our photo?" he asked, pointing to the empty wall. The large portrait of us from our vacation in Italy was gone, leaving only a bare nail.

"I sent it out to be restored," I said lightly. "I want it to look brand new for the wedding."

In truth, I had torn that photo to shreds last night, along with every other picture of us, and thrown them into the incinerator.

Robin let out a breath of relief and wrapped his arms around me from behind. "You think of everything."

He kissed my ear, then pulled a small box from his pocket. "I bought you a little something."

Inside was a rhinestone-studded necklace, gaudy in its design. It was clearly something Ava would like.

"It's beautiful," I said, running a finger over the cheap stones. "Will you put it on for me?"

Robin eagerly took the necklace and moved behind me. As his fingers brushed against the back of my neck, I fought the urge to flinch.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror—a liar's gift wrapped around my throat, a false smile plastered on my face.

Robin then noticed the calendar on my desk, where I'd been marking off the days in red ink. Seven days, six, five…four.

"Are you counting down?" he asked, reaching to flip through it.

"Mhm, for our wedding," I nodded. "Big days deserve a proper countdown."

He had no idea I wasn't marking a wedding, but his doomsday.

Soon, Robin. It will all be over soon.

"Isabella, sometimes I feel like the luckiest man alive," Robin said, taking my hand. "To be able to marry you, to become part of the Moretti family."

"Is that so?" I stroked the back of his hand. "Do you think... my papa would be happy for us?"

Robin's hand tensed for a split second before he recovered.

"Of course. All old Don Moretti ever wanted was your happiness," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "He would know I'd take good care of you."

The hypocritical bastard.

Just then, Robin's phone rang.

"Sorry, some trouble at the casino," he said, standing up. "I have to go take a look."

More "trouble at the casino." I had clearly heard Ava's flirtatious voice on the other end of the line.

As he headed for the door, I pointed to a heavy wooden crate in the corner. "Could you help me move this to the basement? It's some of my papa's old things. I want to get rid of them."

"Of course, darling," he said, walking over without a second thought. He lifted the crate with ease. "Leave the heavy lifting to me. Out with the old, in with the new."

He walked toward the service elevator that led to the basement incinerator, never once asking what was inside.

If he had opened it, he would have found all the evidence needed to seal his fate.

But the fool did nothing.

The elevator doors slid shut, hiding his smug face from view.

He would never know he had just personally carried his own coffin to the furnace.