The Principessa's Art of War

On our tenth wedding anniversary, I received a call from the family's private jeweler.

He was confused. My husband, Trevor Thorne, had used the Marchesi family signet to trade for an off-market pink diamond bracelet for a "Miss Russo."

I called Trevor.

"Did you recently let someone use the family signet?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end, then he chuckled. "Oh, I lent it to Gianna a few days ago. A little something to grease the wheels with an important politician."

Gianna was a soldato in his crew. And I had sent her to Miami last week.

More importantly, the Russo family are our potential rivals.

I didn't ask any more questions and hung up.

I headed straight for the location my informant had given me.

A discreet private club. The woman, Cassia Russo, was nestled in Trevor's arms.

Trevor had warned me time and time again that the Russos were all untrustworthy vipers.

It seemed he quite enjoyed dancing with snakes.

————————

1

When the woman went to the terrace to take a call, I followed.

I approached the railing beside her and lit a cigarette. In the reflection on the glass, our eyes met. I saw the defiance in hers.

It was her.

We sized each other up in the glass reflection. I saw the triumph in her eyes, the unconscious straightening of her spine.

Just as she was about to turn, I stopped her with a smile. "That's quite a unique bracelet on your wrist."

She froze, her hand drifting to her wrist, then replied, pride coloring her tone, "Is it? A suitor gave it to me."

I sneered inwardly. A simple test and she walked right into it. The nerve, to touch something that belonged to the Marchesi family.

I glanced at her bracelet and asked nonchalantly, "Don't be nervous. I just think it's very special. Did you just get it? Can you tell me where it's from?"

Her expression tightened. She looked down and muttered, "He really likes me, so he gave me the best. I didn't pay much attention to where it came from."

She paused, then looked me up and down. "As the Principessa of the Marchesi family, your life must be so boring. You don't even have a single piece of decent jewelry."

Excellent.

Pretending to be innocent while simultaneously belittling me and flaunting the affection she'd received. Still trying to provoke me at a time like this.

A pathetic attempt. It barely registered.

I strode forward and, to her horror, grabbed her arm, my grip like iron.

"How long have you been wearing it?"

She stumbled back a step in fear.

"About three years, I think."

Her answer landed like a stone in my gut.

Three years ago was a critical time for the family, a period of transition. My father had handed over the southern district's business to me. I was constantly traveling between our various territories.

My life was a constant cycle of putting out fires or racing to the next one.

But as long as we were in the same city, my husband, Trevor Thorne, would meticulously arrange everything, leaving me torn between gratitude and a pang of guilt.

I once asked him if he resented me for putting the family business first.

He had smiled and replied, "You just focus on expanding our territory. I'll always be your biggest supporter."

I knew that maintaining a family alliance through marriage wasn't easy. And I was the one who always carried the weight of that guilt.

However, in that moment, I finally understood that all my guilt had been a fool's errand. He had never sacrificed a single thing for me.

The memory of my first real suspicion surfaced, sharp and bitter. I had composed myself, pressing my temples to mask the murder in my eyes. I had torn open his shirt.

I had let out a cold laugh, feigning surprise. "An interesting choice of tattoo. Is that the Marchesi family falcon? Then why is there a snake under it?"

I was all too familiar with this tattoo. It was the exclusive emblem designed for us when we married, a falcon totem symbolizing our union.