Ava Vitiello POV

Three months later, the humiliation still coated my tongue like ash.

It was inescapable. It lingered in the pitying glances of the doormen; it echoed in the sudden, suffocating silence that descended upon restaurants the moment I crossed the threshold.

The Jilted Princess.

I adjusted the strap of my black dress, smoothing the silk against my skin. I was at a charity auction for inner-city youth—a thinly veiled front for the Family’s money laundering operations. Attendance wasn't optional; it was a summons.

I stood near the bar, nursing a sparkling water, and surveyed the room with practiced indifference.

Then, the atmosphere shifted.

It wasn't a sound, but a change in air pressure—a ripple of unease that tore through the crowd like a warning shot.

I turned toward the entrance.

Liam walked in.

He looked haggard. His suit was off-the-rack and ill-fitting, hanging loosely on a frame where the stress of the last ninety days was etched deep into the corners of his eyes.

But he wasn't alone.

Sarah was clinging to his arm, encased in a red dress that was too tight, too short, and far too bright for the solemnity of the occasion. And holding Liam's other hand was the child. Chloe.

He had brought them here. To a Vitiello event.

The disrespect was breathtaking in its audacity.

The room went quiet. Hundreds of eyes darted between him and me like spectators at a gladiator match.

He saw me. A flicker of hesitation crossed his face before he squared his shoulders, forcing a bravado he clearly didn't feel. He walked toward me.

Sarah whispered something in his ear, casting a look at me that was a volatile cocktail of fear and triumph. She thought she had won. She thought because she had the ring and the man, she was the victor.

She didn't understand that she had won nothing but a walking corpse.

"Ava," Liam said when he reached me.

I didn't answer. I just looked at him, letting the silence stretch until it became a weapon.

"You should leave," he said, his voice pitched low. "You're making Sarah uncomfortable."

I laughed. It was a dry, sharp sound that lacked any humor.

"I'm making her uncomfortable?" I asked, arching a brow. "This is my event, Liam. My family paid for the very air you're breathing right now, and for the champagne you're about to drink."

Sarah stepped forward, clutching her counterfeit Chanel bag like a shield against my gaze.

"We have a right to be here," she said, her voice shrill and brittle. "Liam is a Made Man."

Not for long, I thought.

Leo, my cousin and a Capo in the family, materialized beside me like a shadow taking form.

He didn't look at Liam. He looked straight at Sarah.

"Who let the help in?" Leo asked, his tone bored.

Liam's face flushed a deep, humiliated red.

"Watch your mouth, Leo," Liam snapped. "She's my wife."

"Civil ceremony," Leo scoffed, dismissing the bond with a wave of his hand. "Doesn't count in the eyes of the Church. Doesn't count to us. You brought a whore and a bastard to a sit-down, Rossi. You're losing your mind."

The little girl, Chloe, looked up at me. Her eyes were wide, reflecting the tension she couldn't possibly comprehend.

"Bad lady," she whispered.

I froze.

Sarah smirked, pulling the child closer against her hip.

"That's right, sweetie," Sarah cooed, her voice dripping with poison. "That's the bad lady who tried to take Daddy away."

The rage hit me with the force of a physical blow, dancing across my vision in black spots.

She was poisoning the child. She was using an innocent girl as a weapon in a war she didn't understand.

I looked at Sarah. I really looked at her.

I saw the costume jewelry. I saw the desperation clawing behind her eyes. She was a civilian. She was a gold digger who had snagged a mobster, thinking she had hit the jackpot. She didn't know the jackpot was rigged with explosives.

I took a step forward.

Leo put a hand on his holster, ready.

"No, Leo," I said softly.

I looked at Liam.

"Get them out of my sight," I said, my voice deadly calm. "Or I have Leo escort them out through the kitchen."

Liam glared at me.

"You're just bitter, Ava. You only care about the name. You don't know what real family is."

He turned and pulled Sarah away.

I watched them walk into the crowd. I watched people turn their backs on them, isolating them in a sea of black ties and silk.

I took a sip of my water.

Leo leaned in close to me.

"Do you want me to handle it?" he asked.

"No," I said.

I set my glass down on the bar. The crystal clicked sharply against the marble countertop.

"I'm done playing the victim, Leo."

I pulled out my phone. I opened the file I had on Sarah—the escort history, the blackmail attempts on her previous boyfriends.

"He wants to play happy family?" I said, my thumb hovering over the screen. "Let's see how happy they are when the lights go out."

I texted the family accountant.

Call the loans on Rossi's construction business. Tonight.

I looked at Leo, a cold smile finally touching my lips.

"Burn it down," I said.

Ava Vitiello POV

The penthouse smelled like him.

It was a rich blend of cedar and expensive cologne, a scent that used to make my knees weak. Now, it just made me sick to my stomach.

I was there to pack. I was exorcising him from my life, one box at a time.

Maya, the wife of one of my father's soldiers and my only real friend, was helping me. We were shoving his clothes into garbage bags without mercy.

The elevator chimed.

I stiffened.

Liam walked in. He stopped dead the moment he saw us.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

He looked around the living room with growing confusion. The photos were gone from the walls. The shelves were empty.

"I'm taking back what's mine," I said.

I folded a silk shirt—one I had bought him in Milan—and dropped it into the trash bag.

"This is my apartment," Liam said, his voice hardening as he walked further into the room.

"No," I said. "The Family pays the lease. The Family pays for the utilities. The Family pays for the air you breathe, Liam. And I am the Family."

Maya stepped forward, blocking his path.

"You need to leave, Liam," she said.

He ignored her. He walked right up to me.

He grabbed my wrist.

His grip was familiar. It was the grip of a man who thought he still owned me.

"Stop it, Ava," he hissed. "You're being childish."

I looked at his hand on my arm.

Three months ago, that touch would have melted me. Now, it felt like a shackle.

"I have a child, Ava," he said, his voice cracking. "You don't understand blood. You don't understand what a man will do for his own flesh and blood."

I looked up at him.

"I understand blood, Liam," I said coldly. "My blood is royal. Yours is common."

I ripped my arm away.

The sound of my palm hitting his cheek echoed through the empty apartment.

It was a slap that would have gotten anyone else killed. You don't touch a Made Man.

But he wasn't a man to me anymore.

He stumbled back, holding his cheek. He looked at me with utter shock.

"You coward," I whispered.

I stepped into his space.

"You didn't choose her because of blood," I said. "You chose her because she was easy. You chose her because she doesn't challenge you. You chose her because with me, you always felt like the soldier you are."

His eyes narrowed. He raised a hand.

"Do it," I challenged him. "Hit me."

I stared him down.

"Hit the Don's daughter, Liam. See what happens."

He lowered his hand. He was shaking.

"You're a monster," he said.

"No," I said. "I'm a Vitiello. You made me this way."

I pointed to the door.

"Get out."

He didn't move.

"I said get out!" I screamed.

He flinched. He turned and walked to the door.

He paused with his hand on the handle.

"I loved you, Ava," he said softly.

I picked up a vase—a wedding gift from his mother—and hurled it at the door.

It shattered inches from his head.

He scrambled out, slamming the door behind him.

I stood in the silence, breathing hard.

Maya walked over and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

I looked at the shattered glass on the floor.

"I promised him I would burn his legitimate businesses to the ground," I said.

I looked at Maya. My eyes were dry.

"He is no longer protected, Maya. Tell the boys. It's open season."

Ava Vitiello POV

The restaurant was a cavern of shadows, illuminated only by the flicker of candlelight and the distant, electric glow of the city skyline.

It was the kind of establishment where deals were struck in hushed tones and enemies were buried under polite smiles.

I was there for a critical meeting with the Commission regarding the waterfront construction projects. My father occupied the head of the table like a king on a throne. I sat at his right hand.

Liam arrived twenty minutes late.

And he wasn't alone.

He had Sarah with him.

My father’s jaw tightened visibly. Bringing a civilian mistress to a Commission dinner was an insult. Bringing the woman who had single-handedly detonated our wedding was a death wish.

Liam looked desperate, his eyes darting around the room. He needed this contract. I had already strangled his other income streams, leaving him gasping for air.

They took their seats at the far end of the table.

I watched them.

Sarah was wearing a dress cut dangerously low. And there, marred against the pale skin of her neck, was a bruise. A hickey.

It was trashy. It was a mark of possession, displayed like a tawdry trophy.

I felt a surge of cold disgust rising in my throat.

I excused myself quietly and made my way to the restroom.

I was washing my hands when the door opened. Sarah walked in.

She saw me in the mirror. She smiled. It was a cruel, sharp thing.

"Still following him around?" she asked.

I dried my hands on a paper towel, taking my time.

"You have something on your neck," I said.

She touched the hickey. She smirked.

"He can't keep his hands off me," she said. "He says I have a fire you never had."

I turned to face her fully.

She leaned against the sink, crossing her arms defensively.

"Face it, Ava. He never loved you. You were just a ticket to the top. But he chose love. He chose me."

I looked at her. I saw the trembling insecurity beneath the bravado.

"I know about the escort service in Chicago, Sarah," I said, my voice deadly quiet.

Her face went pale.

"I know about the NDA you signed with the senator," I continued. "I know you violated it."

She uncrossed her arms. Her hands were trembling.

"You're lying," she whispered.

I took a step closer.

"I have the file, Sarah. I have the photos. I have the client list."

She backed up until she hit the wall.

"Stay away from us," she hissed.

The door swung open. Liam burst in.

He looked between us. He saw Sarah's pale face.

"What did you do to her?" he shouted.

Sarah immediately burst into tears. She threw herself into his arms.

"She threatened me, Liam! She said she's going to hurt Chloe!"

It was a lie. A pathetic, desperate lie.

Liam looked at me with pure hatred.

"You stay away from my family, Ava," he spat. "Or I swear to God—"

"Or what?" I asked.

I walked past them to the door. I put my hand on the handle.

"By the way, Liam," I said.

I looked back at him.

"The Board met this morning. We pulled the funding for your tech startup."

He froze.

"What?" he breathed.

"The Vitiello family is no longer investing in high-risk ventures," I said. "Especially ones run by incompetent managers."

His face crumbled. That startup was his baby. It was his ticket to legitimacy. Without our money, it was dead in the water.

"You can't do that," he said.

"I just did."

I opened the door.

"Enjoy your dinner," I said. "I hear the calamari is excellent."

I walked out, leaving him standing in the bathroom with a crying woman and a dead career.