The Principessa's Final Lesson

After returning from a year of studying art in Florence, I discovered my fiancé, Marco—the rising star of the New York underworld—was already with his new flame, Ava.

Before I could even demand an explanation, the club's new queen bee was in my face, taunting me.

"So what if I took your place? If I want something, I take it. That includes your title as Marco's fiancée."

Furious, I stormed off to confront Marco, but he only defended her.

"The club can't run without her. If you're going to make a scene, I have no problem finding a new fiancée."

I just laughed and made a call.

"Papa, cut him off. Pull all our support. I want him erased from this city."

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1

Ava, admiring her blood-red nails, blocked my path in the club's hallway, her chin tilted at an impossible angle.

My rage flared, and I slapped her hard across her pale face.

"You'd better hope you don't choke on those words. Do you have any idea how Marco's empire was built?!"

The force of my slap nearly sent her toppling off her four-inch stilettos. After staggering to regain her balance, she shrieked and lunged at me.

"You bitch! You hit me? Just wait, I'll have Marco throw you out on the street right now!"

"You don't have to. I'm going to find him myself!"

I shoved Ava aside and stormed towards the top-floor office.

"That's enough, Isabella! You've been gone a year. Did you have to come back and immediately start shit with Ava?"

Marco strode out, blocking my path.

After a year apart, his face showed no trace of longing for me—only raw concern for Ava.

Ava scrambled over and threw herself into Marco's arms, then shot me a deliberately provocative look.

"She hit me the second she got back! She's just pissed you replaced her with me. You're the boss. What are you going to do about it?"

I crossed my arms, my gaze locking with Marco's cold, indifferent eyes.

"What, did a year away give you amnesia? This is my territory. I'm your fiancée. So, what are you going to do about me?"

Color drained from Marco's face, a muscle twitching in his jaw. After a long silence, he gritted his teeth.

"The club can't run without her. If you're going to make a scene, I have no problem finding a new fiancée."

His words struck me like a shard of ice to the heart.

We had been in love for six years, ever since college. I had never once looked down on him for being a poor kid from the Brooklyn streets.

Worried he’d feel insecure, I hid my identity as the Principessa of the Moretti family, playing the part of an ordinary girlfriend for six long years.

After graduation, when he wanted to make a name for himself, I secretly had Papa send his men, posing as investors, to give him ten million dollars in start-up capital.

His first major score was handed to him on a silver platter—a deal I secretly arranged through Papa's connections.

Just like that, his empire rose, and to this day, he still believes he did it all himself.

Yet, he shut me out of the club's core business, claiming he didn't want me to "work too hard," that I should just be his supportive partner on the sidelines.

Only after I begged him repeatedly did he let me in, giving me the title of the club's "lady," but it was a hollow title with no real power.

And what was my reward? The moment the business stabilized, he shipped me off to Florence for a year to "study art."

Just a month after I left, rumors reached me that he was getting cozy with a newly hired stripper named Ava.

But I couldn't bring myself to believe that the devoted man I knew would ever betray me.

It wasn't until I returned from Italy that Marco and Ava delivered a one-two punch right to my face.

Only then did the devastating reality sink in.