When I got back from the restroom, Claire was surrounded by a few drunk guys.

"Hey, drop the innocent act. How much for a night, huh? Come on, show us a good time."

The fat one in the lead was wearing an ill-fitting Armani suit and a huge gold Rolex that, with his greasy bald head, screamed new money.

As he spoke, he reached for Claire with a hand soaked in booze.

Claire was terrified, trying to dodge him.

But that just seemed to excite them more.

"And she's a mute! Come on, boys! We'll make sure you have a real good time tonight!"

Seeing them about to tear at her clothes, I grabbed a whiskey bottle from the table and smashed it over the fat one's head.

"Get lost!" I screamed.

Blood instantly streamed down the fat man's head. He stumbled back, caught by one of his cronies.

When he got his bearings, his eyes were wide with rage.

"You hit me? Get her! Get the goddamn bitch!"

His men charged me like a pack of wolves.

They outnumbered me.

It only took a few seconds for them to grab me and drag me in front of their boss.

"You cheap slut, you dared to hit my head! I'm gonna crack yours open, too!"

He raised the same broken bottle I'd used on him and brought it down hard on my head.

CRACK!

My head rang, and warm blood poured down my forehead.

The restaurant's other customers scattered, and the soft music died.

The fat man dropped the bottle and loosened his tie, walking toward Claire with a disgusting smirk.

"Don't... don't touch her..."

The memory of my parents' death flashed in my mind, and I couldn't even feel the pain anymore.

I tried with all my might to get up and protect Claire, but one of his men kicked me back to the ground.

"This one's not bad either. You guys play with her first. I'll take the mute!"

Claire's eyes went wide. She tried to run to me, but the fat man shoved her to the floor.

Just as he was about to pounce, Claire closed her eyes in despair.

But at that exact moment, a single, muffled gunshot echoed through the room.

BANG!

Everyone froze.

We all looked toward the source of the sound.

Vincent Santoro was walking, step by step, toward Claire.

His face was blank, but his deep eyes were churning with a hellish rage.

He reached Claire, gently reached out, and stroked her hair.

"Sorry I'm late."

Claire grabbed his arm, about to say something, when a swarm of Santoro family soldiers in black suits stormed the restaurant, surrounding the fat man and his crew.

"Take Miss Murphy downstairs to rest."

After Claire was gone, the fat man was shaking like a cornered rat, kneeling and bowing his head to Vincent over and over.

But Vincent didn't even look at him. He stepped right over his back and walked toward me.

Just when I thought he'd see me, covered in blood, and help me up…

The cold barrel of the gun, still smelling of smoke, was pressed against my forehead.

"When did you find out about Claire."

So. He thought I'd set this all up.

He thought I'd hired that fat pig to attack Claire.

"Vincent, I was trying to save her..."

BANG!

The bullet slammed into the wall right next to my ear.

A sharp ringing filled my head as fear crashed over me, and I screamed.

"I don't like your answer."

He turned his head to the fat man.

"Now, you answer me."

The fat man was dripping with cold sweat. His eyes darted around before he shakily pointed at me.

"Don Santoro! It... it was her! She told us to rough up Miss Murphy! Said if we had a little fun with her, she'd get us a piece of your action, let us in on the score!"

"What are you talking about?!"

I stared at the man in disbelief.

The next second, Vincent's hand clamped onto my chin, his grip like steel.

"Isabella Romano. Tonight, you're going to learn what happens when you overstep."

"He gestured to the heavyset man and his crew, his voice devoid of any warmth. "She's yours. Do whatever you want with her."

The heavyset man touched his bleeding forehead, a vicious smirk spreading across his face.

"Don, the bitch cracked my head with that bottle. Mind if I return the favor? Pour this down her throat?"

Vincent's gaze fell on me, as cold as if he were inspecting an object.

"You may."

Those two words were a death sentence. My blood ran cold.

"No..." my voice trembled as I stared at him in disbelief. "Vincent, you know I'm allergic to alcohol!"

He finally met my eyes, his own a void of emotion.

"I know."

His voice was terrifyingly calm.

"A rash, Isabella. Nothing more. Everyone pays the price for their actions. And believe me—I've already been merciful."

Just... a rash?

He didn't know. After the attack from his rival, after the miscarriage and the blood loss...

My body was broken.

The doctor had warned me. My allergic reactions had become life-threatening. The next one could send me into anaphylactic shock and kill me.

But he didn't know.

And he didn't care to know.

"Don't worry, Don. We'll make sure she learns her lesson!"

The fat man and his crew closed in.

They grabbed my jaw and forced my mouth open.

"You monster! Vincent Santoro, you're a fucking monster!"

The dark figure in the doorway paused for a fraction of a second, then vanished into the night without a backward glance.

At that moment, I wished the wound on my head had been fatal, so I wouldn't have to endure this hellish humiliation.

The burning whiskey was forced down my throat, making me choke and cough violently.

It spilled from the corners of my mouth, soaking my ruined dress and mixing with the blood on the floor.

A fire spread from my throat through my whole body.

My skin started to itch uncontrollably as horrifying red welts erupted across it.

But this time, it wasn't just a rash.

My throat… was closing.

I couldn't breathe.

"Ugh... help..." I clawed uselessly at my own throat, making a raw, inhuman wheezing sound.

The fat man's smirk froze.

"Fuck! She... wasn't she just supposed to get a rash? Why does she look like she's dying?!"

Another of his men pointed at my face and screamed, "Her lips are blue! That's anaphylactic shock! That shit is fatal!"

"The Don just said to teach her a lesson, not to kill her! Let's go! We can't get tangled up in this!"

They backed away in terror, as if I had the plague, and scrambled out of the restaurant.

Their panicked footsteps faded into the distance.

A single, cold tear slid from the corner of my eye.

The pain ripped through me. My mind flashed back to my wedding day.

Vincent, so handsome and tall in his black suit, gently taking my hand from my father's.

It was the closest I had ever been to happiness. I thought that, over time, love might grow, that we could become a real husband and wife.

I never knew it was all a delusion.

The wound on my head, which I got while fighting to protect Claire, was still bleeding.

But the agony from those injuries was drowned out by the feeling of suffocation.

"Mrs. Santoro, are you alright?!" The soldier Vincent had left on watch yelled into his radio.

"Get a medic here, now! She's not breathing!"

Before everything went black, I used the last of my strength to hit the speed dial on my phone.

"Uncle Tony, move the plan up. Wipe my existence."

"Make me a ghost. Make it so Vincent Santoro can never find me again."