Silas sounded grieved by my decision, but he didn't try to talk me out of it.

"Alessia, my child, are you certain? Once judgment is passed, there is no turning back. It means war."

I nodded, then remembered he couldn't see me. "Yes," I said through gritted teeth. "I'm sure. Begin the investigation."

When I married Julian, every elder in the family was against it. He was a street bastard with nothing but his fists and his ambition; I was the sole heiress of the Ricci family, Chicago's Principessa.

No one thought it was a match.

It wasn't until my father, the Don, made him swear an oath of allegiance in his own blood that he was permitted to marry me.

I’d laughed at my father for being so old-fashioned, boasting that Julian and I would become a new legend. Who knew this would be the end?

I was the one who chose Julian. In college, the so-called scions of prominent families were a dime a dozen, and I swatted them away like flies.

Julian never approached me, never offered cheap flattery for my status.

I later learned it was because Scarlett was in Chicago then. All his attention, all his protection, was for the woman singing in some grimy bar.

It wasn't until Scarlett ran off with some Miami drug lord that Julian finally turned his attention to me. Or maybe he hadn't given up on her, just gotten tired of waiting. He chose me as a shortcut to power, and I, the fool, thought it was love.

The night we first slept together, I proposed the marriage alliance to my father. Julian was speechless.

He once asked me, "Alessia, aren't you afraid I have someone else in my heart?"

I replied that I was confident I could be his wife, his one and only.

Looking back, my naivety was laughable. Our relationship was a transaction from the start.

Three years ago, she'd cry on the phone, and he'd ditch a summit with the Five Families in New York to fly to her in Atlantic City, all because she "missed him."

Two years ago, a bomb was planted in my car. While I was hovering between life and death in the emergency room, Julian was gone. It turned out Scarlett had returned to Chicago, and they'd spent the entire night together.

Last year, at the family's annual profit-sharing meeting, he vanished midway through. Later, he was spotted taking Scarlett to watch the sunrise over Lake Michigan.

I opened the encrypted file Silas had sent.

It showed an astonishing accumulation of international flight miles over the past few years.

Irrefutable proof of his devotion, all right.

The intelligence report also confirmed the truth of my miscarriage.

That St. Christopher medal I'd received for "luck"? It was never a gift. It was Scarlett's—she had worn it for years. That wasn't a blessing; it was a taunt.

Julian knew I was pregnant. But when the gunshots rang out, when the danger was real, he never even looked back at me. He shielded Scarlett with his own body.

I was finally awake. From the very beginning, this marriage was a monumental lie.

It took lying in a pool of my own blood, terrified and unable to reach him, for me to finally understand: he never gave a damn about me.

This mistake had to end.

You love her, Julian. Fine. I'm going to make sure you get everything you deserve.

Julian was gone not long after he arrived.

I showered, washing away his lingering scent, and lay down on the cold bed. The doctor had ordered bed rest.

Just as I was drifting off, he called.

Over the phone, I could hear the distinctive roar of his vintage sports car—the one I'd bought him.

"Sorry, Alessia. Things are a bit tricky, so I won't be back tonight. Don't wait up for me, get some sleep."

"I know I've been neglecting you. I'll make it up to you, I swear. We're husband and wife, sworn to the family," he added.

He hung up before I could respond.

I was wide awake.

Julian had used the same excuses countless times—trouble with a territory, a problem with the cops, a provocation from a rival.

A bitter laugh escaped me.

"Husband and wife," I muttered to the dead screen. "You have no right to use those words. I've paid the price for that title enough."

Oaths only matter when they're made. After that, there's only betrayal.

The next morning, I woke to an empty bed and felt a wave of relief. He hadn't come home. Just as I expected.

I was about to get something to eat when a Capo called.

"Alessia, your husband's got some nerve! The bastard has the gall to skip the meeting about the docks!"

"It's fine," I said with a thin smile, and hung up.

The family was just his personal piggy bank. As long as the money flowed, he couldn't care less about his responsibilities.

I was about to call Julian when a new intelligence file from Silas appeared.

It was an intercepted text: "He took a bullet for me. I always knew I was the one you loved most."

In the attached photo, under the dim, suggestive lighting of a speakeasy, Julian's eyes held a glow I had never seen directed at me.

I called him.

"What is it?" His voice was hoarse from a night of indulgence.

Just as I was about to speak, I heard a woman's seductive moan from his end of the line.

"Julian, don't..."

Blood rushed to my head, my stomach churning with a wave of nausea. I thought I was going to be sick.

The words died in my throat. I ended the call and slowly sank into a chair at the dining table, my body still trembling.

Julian and I had been married for years, and I could count the times we'd been intimate on one hand.

He'd always claimed his years on the street had left him cold, that he had no appetite for sex.

It turned out he just didn't want me. With Scarlett, he was a different man entirely.

After a long while, I calmed myself and began to frantically sift through all the materials Silas had sent.

I saved and cataloged every photo, every video of him with her.

I transferred all the evidence—of him spending lavishly on her, taking a bullet for her, buying a mansion for her—into Silas's archive.

So you love her that much. Fine. I'll make sure she becomes the next Mrs. Cain, then.