Rocco didn't even spare me another glance. He strode from the room, fastening the cuffs of his shirt as he went.

At the door, he paused. "I have a strategy meeting with the Capos. I won't be back tonight."

"And for the victory gala in three days, wear a new, expensive dress."

"Throw out those cheap, well-behaved rags. Don't embarrass me."

The door slammed shut.

I sat rigidly on the disheveled, custom-made Italian bed, my fingertips trembling.

Slowly, I raised a hand to the bare skin on the nape of my neck.

The proud rose-and-thorn of the Thorne family had once bloomed there.

To get rid of it, I had endured three laser removal sessions. I could still smell the stench of my own burning flesh.

That year, Rocco was just a low-level enforcer in Little Italy who couldn't even afford a bulletproof vest.

We were crammed into a shitty apartment that stank of mold and sewage.

Outside the window, we could hear the shouts of our enemies hunting for him. Inside, we had a single, paint-chipped pistol.

He sat on the floor, covered in blood, in the dark and cramped room.

He never knew that the innocent girl in the white dress before him had all but disowned her family and abandoned her name for him.

"Rosalie, are you sure about this?"

His eyes then were like those of a cornered, lone wolf, his voice trembling.

"I'm a rat in the Southmi gutter. If you stay with me, you'll be living on a knife's edge for the rest of your life."

"I can't give you the life you want."

I was so stupid back then.

I thought this was romance. I thought betraying the world for one man was the greatest love of all.

I thought he loved me as much as I loved him. I thought one day, I would be his Donna.

So I knelt on the filthy floor and wrapped my arms around him, his body reeking of blood.

"Rocco, I don't care about that life."

"I only care about you."

He shuddered, and the scorching heat of his chest nearly set me on fire.

I fought alongside Rocco for territory on the streets of the South. I took a bullet for him, stitched his wounds.

In this city of gunpowder, our lives were tied together.

Rocco once swore an oath on that leaky roof.

He said that the moment he became Don, the very first thing he would do was give me the grandest wedding in all of America.

Now, he was indeed the emperor of the underworld.

But his first words to me were that I wasn't fit to stand beside him.

I wiped a tear from my eye and dug out the encrypted, long-forgotten phone from the back of the nightstand drawer.

I dragged a name from my blocked list.

In the next second, the other side called back.

When the call connected, there was no sound immediately from the other end, only a sharp intake of breath.

A joyous roar came through the phone, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Rosalie?! You finally turned on your phone?"

"Five years! My Principessa! You hid from me for five years for that piece of trash from the gutters!"

"Do you know how many times I wanted to bring my men, kick down the door, and kidnap you back? I..."

Julian Gravano. The heir to the Gravano family, my childhood friend.

He hadn't changed a bit. Or rather, he'd only gotten crazier.

"Julian," I cut him off, my voice calm. "I want to come home."

You were right, Rocco.

Obedient women don't survive in this world.

So I'm done pretending.

The real me will never be a trophy wife by your side.

Three days later, the Poseidon, the South's most luxurious seaside casino hotel, was a glittering spectacle of light and champagne.

This was Rocco's victory gala, an event to divide the spoils of war.

Tonight, the balance of power in Southmi's underworld would be redrawn.

I wasn't here to fight for everything, but I had to claim my share.

It was the price for five years of my youth.

I had changed into a deep-V silver sequin gown, slit to the top of my thigh.

Facing the full-length mirror, I gave myself a sharp, smoky eye and painted my lips the brightest shade of red.

The Rosalie who always kept her head down was dead.

In her place stood the Thorn Principessa of the Thorne family.

As I pushed open the two heavy, gilded doors of the banquet hall, Rocco was lounging in the high-backed chair at the head table, swirling a glass of champagne.

Vivian was pressed against his side, her tight red dress accentuating her exaggerated curves.

As I approached, a newly promoted Capo, eager to move up, raised his glass and bowed to Vivian with a fawning smile.

"To our future Donna! Please, drink as you wish!"

The triumph on Vivian's face was impossible to miss.

And Rocco, his back to the entrance, didn't stop it. He just let it happen.

My heart felt like it had been squeezed in a fist, a pain so sharp it made me want to vomit.

You're pathetic, Rosalie. Still feeling pain for this man, even now.

I took a deep breath, straightened my spine, and walked toward them, clinging to my last shred of dignity.

Vivian saw me first.

She looked me up and down, her eyes sweeping over my startling new look, a smirk playing on her red lips.

"Well, well, Rosalie? Finally decided to ditch the nun's habit?"

"Dressed like that... are you trying to copy me? How pathetic."

The surrounding chatter seemed to pause, and all eyes turned to us.

I ignored her, my gaze fixed on Rocco.

"Rocco, I'm not dead yet, and you're already letting your men call someone else Donna?"

My voice wasn't loud, but it sliced through the jazz music.

Rocco's hand, holding the wine glass, paused.

He slowly turned around. The moment he saw me, a flash of pure astonishment crossed his cold eyes.

But it was quickly replaced by that familiar, entitled arrogance.

"Rosalie, don't be so petty. Vivian and I grew up together. The men are just trying to get on her good side."

"I spoiled her rotten. If I don't let her have her way, she'll throw a fit."

"It's just a title. You've always been generous. What's the harm in letting her have it?"

Donna. Such a sacred title, and he was telling me to let her have it.

I looked at the man before me and felt like the past five years had been an absurd joke.

The sharp pain in my chest miraculously vanished, leaving only a dead, gray calm.

I smiled.

"Fine," I said softly. "Since you asked, I'll let her have it."

Rocco's expression visibly relaxed, probably thinking I had gone back to being the meek woman who would swallow any humiliation.

He was wrong.

"Vivian, since I've given you the title of Donna, is there anything else you want?"

I turned to the gloating woman. "Our last meeting was so rushed, I didn't prepare a gift. Ask for anything today, and it's yours."

Vivian's eyes lit up as she pointed to the ruby ring on my finger.

"Perfect. Rosalie, I think that ring would go well with my dress. Since you're being so generous, give it to me."

Everyone's eyes focused on my hand.

The ring wasn't exceptionally valuable, but it was one-of-a-kind.

Three years ago, after fighting his way through a hail of bullets to secure control of the Southmi port, Rocco had sketched the design himself.

He said the ruby was his true heart—proof of his absolute loyalty to me, and a symbol of my future as his Donna.

He had given me many more expensive gifts over the years, but this was the only one I always wore.

Now, Vivian was publicly demanding this heart.

Rocco frowned and gave a low shout:

"Vivian, stop messing around. That ruby is out of style. If you want jewelry, I'll buy you something better."

In that reprimand, there wasn't much anger, only indulgence.

I looked at the smug entitlement on Vivian's face, then at the casual indifference in Rocco's eyes.

I'd had enough.

I smiled even more brilliantly. "If you like it so much, it's yours."

While Rocco watched in shock, I raised my hand without hesitation and pulled the ring from my finger.

The cold metal slid across my skin, sending a subtle shiver through me.

As if what I was removing wasn't a ring, but an organ connected to my flesh and blood.

"Rosalie! What are you doing?!" Rocco shot to his feet, his face ashen.

I frowned, my eyes full of tears I was fighting to hold back.

Didn't you say the ruby, your true heart, was out of style?

Now that I'm giving up everything, what are you getting so worked up about?

"Catch, Vivian. Here's the heart you wanted."

With a flick of my wrist.

The ring, laden with so many broken promises, was tossed like a piece of trash at Vivian's high-heeled feet.

The room fell silent. I didn't look at anyone.

"Rocco, let's just say we..."

"Don't say it!"

He lunged forward to stop me, but Vivian blocked his path.

A stiff smile remained on my face, but real tears streamed from my eyes.

"Let's say our debts are settled."

Without another glance at him, I turned and walked away.

Behind me, I heard Vivian's theatrical shriek.

"Rosalie, are you insane?! Rocco gave that to you! How could you just throw it on the ground! You're so ungrateful!"

"Well, if you don't want it, it's mine..."

Just as she bent down, her fingers reaching for the ring.

A gunshot exploded through the room.

Vivian screamed, yanking her hand back and cowering on the floor, trembling.

Rocco stood with his silver Beretta in one hand, the muzzle still smoking.

His eyes were terrifyingly dark, his voice a blade of ice.

"Anyone touches it, and I'll break their arm."

"I want to see who's brave enough to pick it up tonight."

The five years I'd spent tangled up with Rocco felt like a drunken haze from which I couldn't escape.

Returning to the empty villa, my heart felt like it had been hollowed out, each breath a sharp, tearing pain.

That was the first time I'd ever turned on him, acted like the Thorne heiress I was born to be.

But did I win? It didn't feel like it.

My phone vibrated violently in my palm, the screen flashing with the name of Rocco's shrewd Consigliere.

I declined the call. He called again.

The fifth time, I answered.

"Rosalie! Thank God you answered."

His voice was rushed, laced with an obvious attempt to placate me.

"Listen, Rocco already dealt with that Capo who didn't know his place. One leg, shattered. No one will ever dare use that title for anyone else again."

"Rocco picked up the ring himself. No one is allowed to touch it. He pulled his gun on Vivian when she tried to grab it, and warned the whole room."

"He cares about you, Rosalie. He really does."

Does he really care about me?

A bitter smile touched my lips. I didn't want to cry, but my eyes were stinging again.

If this was his way of caring, why did he have to wait until my dignity was trampled into the dirt before offering a shred of defense?

"Rosalie, you have to believe me. Vivian is just the Don's adoptive sister. There's nothing between them. You're the one he loves..."

"I don't want to hear it right now. I just want to be alone."

After hanging up, the suffocating emptiness washed over me again.

Just then, the screen lit up with a text from an unknown number: a surveillance video.

The setting was a VIP lounge behind the banquet hall.

Vivian was half-reclined on a sofa. It seemed she had sprained her ankle.

And the newly crowned Don, the King of the South, was kneeling on one knee before her, holding a pair of red high heels, carefully putting them on her feet.

His expression was so focused he didn't even notice the blatant camera recording him.

"It hurts... Rocco, you scared me to death when you fired that gun," Vivian's voice was syrupy sweet.

She playfully pushed his shoulder, flinching slightly as she moved her swollen ankle. "I tripped trying to get away from you."

Rocco kept his head down, his voice soft. "I lost control for a moment. It won't happen again. I'm sorry."

"This time... you were more obedient than Rosalie."

The video ended.

The phone slipped from my fingers, landing on the carpet with a muffled thud.

How absurd. Just moments ago, when his Consigliere was swearing his loyalty, a part of me had actually held onto hope.

And in the next second, he shattered every last one of my illusions, kneeling at another woman's feet.

What does it feel like to completely lose hope? It must be this. The feeling of blood turning to ice in your veins.

I stood and walked into the bedroom we had shared for five years.

I opened the safe, pulled open the drawers.

One by one, I took out the relics I had once treasured.

The first self-defense dagger Rocco gave me, from a time when he couldn't afford a gun.

The medal he'd pinned on my chest with red-rimmed eyes after I took a bullet for him.

And the blueprints we had sketched late into the night, our grand plans for a Southmi business empire.

I threw them all into the fireplace.

A blue flame shot up from the lighter, instantly igniting the papers.

The firelight flickered across my face, burning away the meek, pathetic, neutered version of myself I had become for love.

Burn it all to ash.

After it was done, I picked up the handbag I had already packed.

Inside was only a passport and a few fake IDs I had prepared long ago.

I turned and strode out of the villa.

The Southmi night air was still humid, but all I felt was a thrilling sense of freedom.

A black, armored Maybach was already waiting quietly by the roadside. Beside the open door, two men in bespoke suits stood ramrod straight.

Seeing me, they bowed a respectful ninety degrees and held the door.

"Principessa," one of them said. "Mr. Gravano's private jet is waiting on the tarmac."

I nodded and slipped into the back seat.

The moment the door closed, the world that revolved around Rocco was shut out completely.

The black car headed for the airport, for the North, for the loud and brazen life I was always meant to live.

Meanwhile, Rocco dropped Vivian off at her home, his mind in turmoil.

The woman was a handful even with a sprained ankle, but his thoughts were consumed by the look of absolute finality in Rosalie's eyes as she threw the ring down.

That ferocity was a goddamn thrill, but it also filled him with a strange sense of panic.

His Consigliere approached, looking troubled. "Don, about Rosalie, I can't get through to her. Maybe you should go back and smooth things over? This time, you really hurt her."

Rocco irritably stubbed out his cigar on the leather seat. "Smooth what over? You can't spoil women. The more you appease them, the more they act up."

"With her personality, she can't survive without me. She'll come around in a couple of days."

"It's not the first time you've seen this happen."

Every time, Rosalie would be over her anger within twenty-four hours and call him, cautiously trying to make peace.

He knew she couldn't leave him.

But even as he said it, he told the driver to turn around and head back to the villa.

He pushed open the door to a dead silence.

And the last wisp of smoke curling up from the ashes in the fireplace.

All of their shared memories, burned and warped beyond recognition.

A sledgehammer slammed into his chest. A suffocating, wild panic seized him by the throat.

Just then, his Consigliere's phone call came through, frantic.

"Rocco! Something big just happened! Urgent intel from the North!"

The usually calm Consigliere's voice was shaking. "The Thorne family just announced that their heiress, who's been missing for five years, the 'Thorn Principessa' Rosalie Thorne, has returned..."

"Rocco, I've seen the pictures. The woman in the photos... looks just like her."

"Rosalie... did she leave you?"