On his deathbed, my father, the Don of the Rossi family, placed my life and future in the hands of my husband, Hans Otto.

"Bella, he will protect you in my stead."

Hans knelt before my father, sobbing uncontrollably. He swore to love and be loyal to me for the rest of his life.

But not long after, my morning sickness grew so severe I could barely stand, vomiting constantly and requiring round-the-clock medical care.

He stood before my bed, his face expressionless.

"Bella, I've sent the family's private doctor to take care of Sienna."

"Her husband died, leaving her all alone with a child. It's a pitiful state of affairs. You should try to be more understanding."

That night, I commanded the family's Consigliere.

"Empty it."

"Everything in that penthouse that came from the Rossi family—shred it."

I left him a note:

"This apartment belongs to the Rossi family. Since she's so pitiful, you two can get out and sleep on the streets together."

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1

I was just three months pregnant.

The violent morning sickness was debilitating; I hadn't slept for more than ten minutes at a time in days.

Hans, my husband, sat stiffly by my bedside.

His brow was furrowed, his expression troubled.

"Bella, I've sent Dr. Anderson's team to take care of Sienna."

I pushed myself up against the silk sheets, my stomach churning violently again.

Dr. Anderson's team, legendary in the medical world, was the private medical staff my father had retained for me before he passed away.

And Sienna was the "old friend" Hans often mentioned, whose "husband" had died, leaving her to raise their two-year-old son alone.

I stared at him, my throat tight. "You sent them to take care of Sienna?"

"Yes." Hans motioned for a servant to bring a glass of water as he steadied my shoulders. "It's too hard for Sienna to raise a child all by herself. The boy had a high fever yesterday, and then she fell ill, too. There's no one around to even lend her a hand."

He sighed. "It's so pitiful."

I looked at him, feeling as though everything before me was an absurd farce.

"She's pitiful, but what about me? Hans, look at the state I'm in. Am I not pitiful?"

My voice trembled with weakness.

A flash of impatience crossed Hans's face, but he quickly replaced it with a facade of tenderness.

He gently stroked my back. "How can you compare yourself to her? You have me, the entire Rossi family, and countless servants. But her? She has nothing."

"Don't worry, I've already instructed the kitchen to prepare nourishing meals for you. Just bear with it for a little while. Once Sienna is better, I'll have Dr. Anderson come back."

With that, he picked up his suit jacket from the sofa, preparing to leave.

"Where are you going?" I called out to him.

"Sienna hasn't eaten yet. I'm taking some food over to her, and I'll check on the boy while I'm there," he answered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

My heart sank into an icy abyss.

So that was it. In his heart, I—his pregnant wife—mattered less than some nobody with a sob story.

My father's final words, the blood oath Hans had sworn, now felt like a resounding slap in the face.

I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, they were completely calm.

"Fine," I said, my voice flat.

Hans seemed very pleased with my "sensible" response. He leaned down and pressed a perfunctory kiss on my forehead.

"I knew my Bella was the most magnanimous. You get some rest. I'll be back soon."

His hasty retreat held an air of undisguised glee.

I picked up my encrypted phone and dialed a number.

"Marco, it's me."

"Round up your men. Get to Hans's penthouse. Now."

Half an hour later.

A dozen heavy-duty black trucks were parked outside Hans's apartment building.

The massive industrial shredder being unloaded from the trucks let out a terrifying roar.

My men swarmed out, tossing the apartment's expensive furniture, custom-made suits, and his collection of prized cigars into the machine, one by one.

Hans's call came through immediately, his tone filled with fury.

"Bella, are you crazy? Why did you send Marco and his men to my apartment?"

Holding my phone, I walked out onto the second-floor terrace of the estate, watching as my men shredded a priceless oil painting.

"I'm moving you out, can't you tell?" I said in a lighthearted tone.

"Throwing another one of your spoiled principessa fits, are we?" his voice suddenly rose, thick with accusation.

"Didn't I tell you? Sienna is just sick and needs someone to look after her. Why can't you tolerate one pitiful woman? You're always like this—bossy, unreasonable, never considering anyone else's situation!"

I scoffed. "Hans, you've got it wrong. I don't have a problem with her. I have a problem with you."

As I spoke, I calmly gave another order to Marco. "The silver sports car in his garage, and everything in the study my father gave him—destroy it all. Yes, that painting he prizes so much? Slash it to ribbons. Leave nothing."

On the other end of the line, Hans was panicking.

"Bella! You dare! What the hell are you trying to do!" he roared hysterically.

I couldn't be bothered to waste another word on him and hung up.

I watched as the apartment that once symbolized our union was gutted, reduced to a hollow shell.

In less than an hour, it had become a glamorous, empty shell, with nothing left inside.

I took one last glance at the security feed, then picked up a pen and left him a message on a card.

After writing it, I turned and walked away without a backward glance.

I returned to the Rossi family estate.

I had just finished the soup brought by Luca, the butler, when a call came in from the family's Consigliere, Marco.

"Principessa, we just received a confidential report from the finance department. Hans secretly used five million dollars of the family's emergency cash reserves and transferred it to a private account. The recipient is Sienna."

The cold smile on my lips deepened. "So he thinks the Rossi family treasury is his personal piggy bank."

"Should we freeze the funds immediately and launch an internal investigation?"

"No need." I set down the soup bowl. "Let him have it. Also, notify all the Capos to gather evidence of his betrayal. Then, in my name as the acting Don, call an emergency family meeting."

I spoke each word deliberately, my voice quiet but filled with an authority that could not be questioned.

"Revoke all of Hans's positions and titles within the Rossi family, effective immediately. I want him blacklisted from every family establishment."

The order to depose Hans shot through every corner of the Rossi family like a bolt of lightning within five minutes.

At that moment, Hans was sitting smugly in Sienna's tiny apartment.

He was lounging with his legs crossed, basking in Sienna's adoring gaze.

"Hans, the five million came through. I really don't know how to thank you! You're so good to me. If Bella finds out, will she be even angrier?"

Hans scoffed, stroking her hair. "When is she not angry? Don't worry about her. Just take care of yourself and the child. If you need more money, just let me know."

After soothing his mistress, he habitually opened his phone to contact his subordinates.

But what popped up on the screen was a red warning: "Permission Denied."

The smile on Hans's face froze. He immediately switched to the family's internal communication system, only to find the same result: login failed.

A sense of foreboding gripped his heart.

Almost simultaneously, a call came in from Marco, his tone the detached chill of official business.

"Mr. Otto, regarding your removal from all family positions, someone will contact you shortly to handle the formalities."

"What removal? Who dares to depose me!" Hans shot up from the sofa, his voice distorted with rage. "Where's Bella? Have her come and tell me herself!"

Marco's voice remained utterly emotionless. "This is the decision of the acting Don, Mr. Otto. And a friendly reminder: misappropriating family funds is betrayal. According to the family code, that charge is enough to make you disappear from Chicago forever."

Hans slammed the phone onto the floor, where it shattered with a loud crack.

Just as he was seething with rage, his parents, carrying homemade pastries and red wine, rang the doorbell of the Rossi estate.

They had received a call from Hans and had come all the way from their hometown specifically to "mediate."

The moment they entered, his mother grabbed my hand. "Bella, you have such a temper. Hans told me it's all a misunderstanding. How could you destroy his apartment?"

His father chimed in from the side. "That's right. Hans just has a kind heart. You should be more generous and try to understand him."

I looked at them calmly, then handed them the tablet showing the bank transfer records Marco had just sent over.

"Take a look at this."

His mother took the tablet, puzzled.

When she saw the recipient's name, "Sienna," and the full amount of five million dollars, her face instantly turned deathly pale.

"Five... five million?!" Her voice trembled.

"That's the sum Hans secretly wired from the family treasury to his 'pitiful old friend' yesterday."

My nonchalant words landed like a bombshell.

Hans's father snatched the tablet, his lips trembling with anger. "That worthless son of ours! That worthless son! Where in God's name did he get that kind of money!"

"It's not his money," I corrected him coldly. "It's the Rossi family's money."

All the color drained from Mrs. Otto's face.

She grabbed my arm, her eyes filled with terror. "Bella, Bella, listen to me, Hans was just momentarily confused..."

Before she could finish, her phone shrieked. It was a call from her "momentarily confused" son.

With a trembling hand, Mrs. Otto answered the call and put it on speaker.

Hans's frantic roar immediately blared from the receiver. "Mom! Bella's gone crazy! She had me deposed from the family! You have to talk to her! Make her revoke the order!"

But her lips trembled, and she couldn't utter a single word.

It was Mr. Otto who snatched the phone and roared into it, "I'm asking you, what's this about five million dollars!"

On the other end of the line, there was a deathly silence, followed by the abrupt dial tone of Hans hanging up.