My son's illness flattened me. The world had me on my knees.

But I wasn't giving up. I worked. I scraped. Every single dollar I could get my hands on.

For money, I'd go beg classmates at a reunion. For money, I'd serve drinks in a basement bar.

I didn't need my dignity. I needed enough to keep my son alive.

After that night at the reunion, I didn't see Lorenzo again.

I thought that was it. Last time.

Then a few days later, Sofia came looking for me.

She walked into the basement bar with a couple of friends and asked for me by name.

One of them looked me up and down like she was checking the meat counter.

"You're Liana? The Don's first love?"

She covered her mouth and laughed. Shook her head, disgusted.

"Why are you slumming it in a place like this? What's a bottle cost?"

I clenched my fist, pasted on the work smile, and quoted her the price and the tip.

"Jesus. That tip is highway robbery."

She walked a circle around me, looking me up and down. "You're half-dressed, you're caked in makeup, and you charge that much in tips?"

She paused. Smirked. "You sure it's just drinks you're selling?"

I let out a hard little laugh and turned to leave.

"Hey."

She yanked me back. Pulled out a stack of bills. Threw them up in the air right in my face.

Money rained down on the table.

I made myself stop.

"That's the deposit," she said. She pointed at the 750ml bottle of Hennessy XO on the table. "Finish it. I'll give you fifty thousand more."

That whole bottle would put me in the hospital getting my stomach pumped.

Sofia grabbed her friend's arm, scolding. "Stop. We said we were just coming to look."

She turned to me with that little smile. "Liana, I'm sorry. I was just curious. I really don't look like you, so all those rumors about Lorenzo using me as some kind of replacement, they're nothing."

I shrugged at her friend. "You can go ahead and get that fifty thousand ready."

Then I grabbed the bottle and started chugging.

The whole room went quiet, like they couldn't believe I was actually doing it for the money.

When I was more than halfway through, Sofia gently pulled the bottle out of my hand. She was frowning.

"Liana. Lorenzo told me you only care about money, but you're going to wreck yourself."

"This is exactly why he left you, you know. You're obsessed with it."

I was fighting the dizziness. "Shut up. You're in the way of my paycheck."

Sofia hugged the bottle to her chest, shaking her head. "I can't. If this gets out, Lorenzo's going to think I drove you to it."

"Fifty thousand isn't even one of my bags. But I can't sit here and watch you do this to yourself."

"I'm not paying. You need to stop—"

I snatched the bottle back and started drinking again.

When I finally finished, her friend laughed.

"We were just messing with you. You're seriously this desperate for the money?"

Something snapped in my head.

I smashed the bottle on the table. Glass flew. A piece sliced Sofia's arm, leaving a thin red line.

I pointed the broken bottle at them.

"You're not walking out of here without paying me my fifty thousand."

Sofia went white. She started crying.

The door blew open.

Lorenzo was standing in the doorway, backlit. I couldn't see his face.

My heart skipped.

I'd spent years making sure he never found out I was serving drinks in a place like this.

I wanted him to remember me the way I used to be. Sweet. Clean.

The world wouldn't let me have that.

My stomach turned over.

Alcohol and bile came up at the same time and I threw up all over the floor.

I was a mess.

I forced the nausea down and made myself look indifferent while Lorenzo pulled Sofia into his arms and wiped her tears for her.

He tilted his head and looked at me like I was something on the bottom of his shoe.

"Liana. You’re nothing but a greedy bitch who cares more about money than your life."

"You want the money? Fine."

He smiled, teeth showing.

"Cut yourself for it."

I looked at him. I felt nothing.

The one who used to almost cry when I got a splinter, all that softness was gone.

He'd given it all to Sofia.

Sofia, who was now smirking at me from inside his arms.

I knew what he was doing. He was making her feel better.

Fine. I just wanted the money.

I lifted my chin. Took the broken bottle. Drove it straight into my left shoulder.

Blood came out at the same time my voice did.

"Good enough? Fifty thousand."

Lorenzo froze.

Then he was on me in one stride. His hand came up to slap me.

I locked my jaw and stared straight at him. Didn't move.

His palm stopped an inch from my face.

He was grinding his teeth. His body was shaking.

"Liana. For money. You'd really do that to yourself?"

Then his hand came down softly. Cupped my face.

I shoved it off. The pain in my shoulder was screaming.

"You said it yourself. I only care about money. Fifty thousand. Not a dollar less."

"Pay up and get out. Keep your fiancée in line. Don't come back. Next time it's more than fifty."

Lorenzo kicked the table over. Bottles smashed everywhere.

The floor was sharp with broken glass, like everything we used to be.

His face was twisted. "Yeah, I know you love money. I know it better than anyone."

He opened his mouth unconsciously, gasping heavily for breath.

He was remembering.

He was remembering when he ripped his heart out for me, and I traded it in for a million bucks.

I looked at him and smiled weakly.

My stomach was on fire. My head was floating off my shoulders.

"Fifty..."

I didn't finish. My knees gave and I was on the floor before I knew I was falling.

Then I was off the floor again. He'd scooped me up.

Lorenzo had me in his arms. He kicked the door open and walked straight out, like some cowboy.

People in the club turned to stare. I tried to push him off, told him to put me down.

He leaned down and bit my mouth. Hard.

It wasn't a kiss. It was a ferocious bite as if he wanted to devour me whole, yet also a painful kiss born of overwhelming longing.

"Don't move. You'll do what I tell you. We're going to the hospital."

He carried me out to the Cullinan and put me in the passenger seat.

He reached over to buckle me in and his hand brushed the cut on my shoulder. I gasped.

"Oh, now it hurts? Where was the tough act two seconds ago?"

His voice was furious. His hands were gentle.

I bit down and kept quiet.

He frowned and dug a painkiller out of the console.

"Take this. It'll get you through."

Seeing I didn’t respond, he clicked his tongue, pried my mouth open with his fingers, and pushed it in.

Then he drove.

I sank into the seat and stared at the dashboard ornament.

Two little cartoon people, smiling, holding hands, heads bobbing left and right.

I gave it to him a long time ago.

He said he was the boy and I was the girl, and we'd be just like them — always holding hands.

We'd be just like that, smiling at nothing, watching the world go by.

I felt the tears come.

Seven years. He never threw it away. He kept it where he had to look at it every day.

Life's a glass of something bitter. We all have things underneath the surface.

I turned away from him and wiped my face fast.

I took a breath and forced a smile.

"Lorenzo, why are you doing this? I let you go a long time ago."

"I can't believe you waited this long to get married. I've been married for years. My son's almost seven."

"Don't tell me you were holding out for me. Don't be stupid."

The brakes screamed.

The car jolted to a stop. The way we did seven years ago.

He unbuckled and turned, leaning over me. Pinned me between him and the door.

His hand came up around my throat. Slow pressure. He was speaking through his teeth.

"Liana. I don't believe you."

"You’d better not push me. I have a gun on me. Don't make me keep that promise about killing you."

His hand held my throat just tight enough. Left me just enough air to breathe.

I stared back at him. Got the words out.

"I will. Prove it."

He let go. Smiled, ugly.

"Fine. Get yourself patched up first. I'll wait for the proof."

He floored it. The Cullinan tore down the road.

After the hospital bandaged me up, I took him to the children's ward.

I stood outside the glass, pointed in at a small boy playing with toys.

"That's my son. Damian."

Damian looked like me. But he had Lorenzo's softness. Lorenzo's stubbornness.

He was my last ray of light in this world.

And he was dying. Almost seven years old, and so small it broke my heart.

Lorenzo stared at him. The light in his eyes went out inch by inch.

He slammed his fist into the wall. Pressed his forehead against it. Didn't move for a long time.

I think a tear fell. I think it hit the floor and bloomed and disappeared.

When he finally lifted his head, his voice was empty.

"Alright. I'll remember this. You'll pay it back, with interest."

Then he stumbled away.

He didn't ask about Damian's last name. I didn't tell him.

Damian's last name was Moretti.

Lorenzo Moretti's Moretti.