Watching Danica's tears fall, Valerio's hand at his side clenched suddenly, veins standing out along his forearm.

Serina knew—he was feeling pity for her.

Sure enough, the next moment, Valerio cast a deep, lingering glance at Danica before forcing himself to look away.

He wrapped his arm around Serina's shoulder, the pressure so intense it felt as if he were crushing her bones.

"Serina," his voice low and hoarse, "Danica saved my life. No matter how you feel about her, you can't treat her like this."

Serina's eyes froze with icy disdain. "You believe whatever she says?"

Unaware of her fury, Valerio continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Baby, you went too far this time. Next time, don't do this again."

She opened her mouth to retort—but a dull pain shot through her knees.

A bodyguard pressed her down forcefully, kicking her already injured leg with stiff leather shoes.

"Baby," Valerio said, holding her chin, "you've broken the rules. Normally, you'd lose a finger for this—but I can't bring myself to do it. So I'll let you endure a few lashes instead."

It was only then that Serina realized the truth: this wasn't about belief or trust. Valerio couldn't stand seeing his little mistress feel wronged, so he used her as a scapegoat.

The whip sliced through the air with a shrill crack. Serina arched her back in pain, biting her lip to stifle a scream.

Her clothes shredded, revealing the twisted, angry wounds beneath.

Through gritted teeth, she watched the man in front of her comforting Danica with tender words.

Danica, in his embrace, tilted her chin up, eyes full of provocation.

In a haze, Serina recalled her first year in Sicily—before she had agreed to Valerio's pursuit.

At a family gathering, one of his trusted men tried to approach her, sliding a hand to her waist. She had struck him in anger.

Valerio saw and simply smiled, helping her handle the situation despite the pressure from the family elders.

"My woman, whatever she does is right," he said.

The mafia admired violence. Back then, he praised her courage. Now, for Danica's side of the story alone, he publicly whipped her.

Time passed in a blur until Danica's voice rang out in a shrill cry:

"Oh! So much blood!" She pointed at Serina's battered back. "Val, stop punishing her! She didn't mean it!"

Valerio held her closer. "I knew Danica had a kind heart."

With a wave of his hand, the whipping finally stopped.

Watching them flirt and laugh, Serina felt darkness creeping into her vision.

Clenching her teeth, she struggled to her feet, limping out the door.

The man who had once promised never to let her suffer didn't spare her a single glance.

That night, she lay on her bed, awkwardly applying ointment to her back.

Valerio suddenly entered, snatching the ointment from her hands and tending to her wounds. His expression of concern seemed genuine this time.

The cooling ointment eased the pain, but seeing his hypocritical face, Serina felt only cold emptiness.

He brushed her tears away with his fingertips, soothing her. "I know you've been wronged. I planned to make you kneel and apologize to Danica—but we'll skip that this time."

"Apologize on my knees to her?" Serina's eyes were red, her voice incredulous. "Valerio, have you lost your mind?"

"That's the rule," he said, pressing her struggling body down. "I've been lenient enough. Don't make it difficult for me."

Serina didn't want to hear any more. Tears streamed down her face as she pointed toward the door, her voice hoarse. "Get out. I don't want to see you."

Sighing, Valerio spoke in resignation, "Serina, calm down. Don't leave the house these days."

He turned to leave. Four bodyguards took their place at the door, effectively placing her under house arrest.

In the middle of the night, a bag of freshly harvested shells was thrown in front of her.

"The boss said Miss Anderson was frightened and sleepless, so you must craft a pearl bracelet to make amends."

The salty, fishy smell hit her nose. Serina lowered her gaze and let out a bitter laugh.

These shells had been privately cultivated by Valerio for her, nurtured by the sea for three years to produce the roundest, most beautiful pearls.

And now, he expected her to hand them over to another woman as compensation.

Without gloves or tools, Serina pried open the shells with her bare hands.

The hard shells cut her fingers, leaving streaks of blood—but she barely felt it, continuing her self-inflicted punishment.

Not every shell contained a pearl. She pried open ninety-nine shells before gathering enough to make a single bracelet.

By dawn, she dragged her exhausted body to hand the bracelet to the waiting bodyguard.

"Tell Salvatore and his little mistress—don't come bother me again."

After a long night of work, Serina was just about to rest when Valerio pushed the door open, whisking her off to the casino.

She sat at the table, her eyes cold and detached, watching the couple entwined nearby.

Seeing them flirt with each other once again, she felt nothing—not a flicker of anger, not a pang of jealousy—just icy emptiness.

The man nicknamed "Fox" swayed over with a glass in hand, his gaze roaming her body.

"Madam, did you make the boss angry?" he said with a wicked grin, suddenly lunging forward, pressing her down beneath him.

Laughter erupted around them, meaningless and mocking. Valerio frowned, ready to intervene—but Danica wrapped an arm around his neck.

"Val, don't worry about her. Let's continue," she purred, her voice sultry, and just like that, Valerio's attention shifted away.

A bone-chilling cold washed over Serina as she caught sight of Danica's proud smirk.

Emboldened by the boss's indulgence, Fox became even more brazen, shamelessly reaching for her chest.

The mafia revered family honor above all; no one had the right to violate the boss's wife or her dignity.

In the past, someone had dared to grope her thigh while drunk. The next day, Valerio had that man drown in cement.

And now, for a few words from Danica, Valerio allowed his subordinate to tear at her clothes?

The sound of the camera shutter stabbed at her heart like knives, each snap twisting her blood into ice.

No matter how she struggled or shouted, Valerio didn't spare her a glance.

One hand clutched the gun hidden at her waist, the other pressed firmly over her chest. Her eyes met Fox's, hard and ruthless.

If he dared another step, she wouldn't hesitate to take them both down.

Her heart pounded violently in her chest. Serina gritted her teeth, about to draw her gun and reveal her identity, when a sharp voice cut through the chaos:

"Fox!"

Startled, he immediately retreated.

Valerio, a dark mark of a kiss still on his neck, glared at her with shadowed eyes.

Serina's grip on her gun slowly relaxed, and she gasped for air, hastily adjusting her clothes.

She struggled to her feet, staring at the smug Danica beside her. Her voice trembled with cold fury, "Is that enough?"

Without waiting for an answer, she turned on her heel and walked away.

Watching her resolute back, Valerio felt a pang deep in his chest, a sour, inexplicable ache.

He wanted to chase her, but a glance at Danica clinging to him made him stop.

"Val, is Sister angry with me?" Danica sniffled, nestling into his embrace.

Valerio's Adam's apple bobbed, unusually slow to respond. After a moment, he said hoarsely, "It's not your fault. She made a mistake and deserved punishment."

That very night, Fox was assassinated at the docks. His body remained there overnight and was only discovered the next day.

Valerio was completely unaware of this. He was busy dressing Serina in a stunning deep-red gown.

"Happy birthday, my love," he said.

Only then did she remember—it was her birthday. She followed him into the banquet hall in a daze.

Valerio had spared no expense: the walls were inlaid with mother-of-pearl and gilded reliefs, and every detail screamed opulence.

Officials and politicians cast envious glances at her.

"The Mafia Lord Salvatore is truly devoted to his wife," someone murmured.

But to Serina, the words rang hollow, dripping with bitter irony.

Halfway through the banquet, a sudden gunshot shattered the lavish atmosphere.

The banquet hall erupted into chaos. Serina stumbled through the confusion, forcing her way toward the exit. Through her blurred vision, she caught sight of Valerio rushing out. Her heart leapt, clinging to him like a final lifeline.

But his path wasn’t toward her—it veered in the opposite direction.

Following his gaze, she wasn’t surprised to see Danica, shielded on all sides by bodyguards.

In the midst of danger, no one protected her—even though she was the one who bore the title of Valerio’s wife.

Her heart plummeted again.

"Bang!"

Another gunshot rang out, striking the chandelier above.

The massive crystal fixture crashed down, hitting her back with a crushing force, pinning her to the floor.

Bloodied and battered, she lifted her eyes to see Valerio in the distance, cradling the terrified Danica, not sparing her a single glance.

When Serina woke up, Valerio was still by her side, never leaving her for a single step.

Ignoring the concern etched on his face, she turned toward the window. The Sicilian sun was as blinding as ever, so bright it made her eyes sting with tears.

"Serina," Valerio said, lifting her hand and pressing a gentle kiss to it, "rest easy. I've dealt with all of them. From now on, I'll never let you fall into danger again."

Serina withdrew her hand, refusing to look at his deceitful face.

"Darling," he continued cautiously, "Danica was injured and needs a blood transfusion... you share a compatible blood type. Could you—"

Serina's eyes snapped open, blood-red and blazing. "You want me to give her blood?"

She spat out three words, icy and sharp, "In your dreams."

Valerio showed no anger at her rejection. As he rose to his feet, the movement revealed the gun tucked in his suit pocket, its dark muzzle pointed squarely at her.

A chill swept through Serina, unwilling to believe that the man who once vowed to love her for a lifetime would aim a gun at her.

“Are you... threatening me?” she asked, her voice trembling.

He smiled, voice soft, almost coaxing. "Of course not, darling. I just want you to help Danica. It's only a little blood—you won't die."

Her fingertips pricked into her palm, drawing tiny threads of blood.

Her body shook, her heart aching until it felt numb. "Lead the way," she said, her voice cracked.

"That's my good girl," Valerio said, stroking her hair as if soothing a child. "Once you recover, I'll take you to the yacht and we'll have your birthday celebration again."

Serina ignored him. Mechanically, she extended her arm, watching the doctor draw two bags of blood.

When it was done, her lips had lost all color. Pale and drained, she collapsed back onto the bed.

Outside, nurses whispered among themselves.

"What's the background of the woman the mafia lord brought in? A minor scratch and he goes to such lengths... and even lets his own wife donate blood for her?"

"Yeah, they say the mafia lord loves his wife dearly, but I'm not so sure."

Serina closed her eyes, expression blank as the words washed over her.

The next moment, she received a video from Danica.

The usually cold, dangerous man was leaning over, peeling an apple for her. The sunlight glinted off him like a halo—making him look incredibly gentle.

Scoffing, she ignored it, dialing a secure, unmonitored line instead.

"How's the identity cancellation coming along? Speed it up."

A voice replied promptly: "Boss, it'll be completed by tomorrow."

She hung up and exhaled slowly, a weight finally lifting from her chest. She could escape soon.

The next day, Valerio kept his promise and brought her aboard the yacht.

The luxurious vessel sailed through the Mediterranean, salt-kissed wind tangling in her hair.

To her dismay, Danica was also on the yacht.

Seeing her, Danica smiled again, but no matter how much she tried to hide it, her eyes sparkled with provocation.

"I didn't expect you to still stick by him," Danica said, smug as ever. "But fine. Since you're staying, I've got another shield to take the hit for me."

As if she didn't exist, Serina stared blankly ahead and didn't respond.

Seeing she didn't seem affected, Danica's annoyance flared. "What are you pretending for? You must be insanely jealous. You survived life-and-death situations with him for three years, and I took your place as soon as I came!"

Hearing her words, Serina gripped the railing tighter, her fists turned white with tension.

"Two years ago, he came to America for a deal. The venue suddenly caught fire, and he was trapped under a beam," Danica laughed, tilting her head, "I just happened to pass by, called him out of the ashes, and he actually believed I saved him. Ever since, he's been hopelessly in love with me."

Two years ago?

Serina's heart leapt.

Two years ago, Valerio had returned to America, and she hadn't heard from him for a long time.

Worried, she flew back immediately, only to learn about the fire at the transaction site. She rushed there, plunging into the flames to save him, and collapsed from exhaustion.

When she woke up again, she was back in Sicily.

She had thought the matter was behind her—but now, Danica took the credit for her, becoming the so-called savior in Valerio's eyes.