"Have Zeke strip me?" Jella doubled over laughing like I'd just told the best joke ever. "You're nuts. You'll say anything. Strip me? Please. Last time someone spilled coffee on me, my brother broke her arms and legs."

I froze.

The Zeke I remembered was all charm and manners.

Now he was snapping bones for her?

Yeah. I'd seriously underestimated whatever twisted thing they had going on.

Sleeping with his stepsister and risking total disgrace? That wasn't just messy—it was unhinged.

I took a slow breath, trying to keep my cool.

Back when Zeke was still trying to impress me, he had my initials stitched into the hem of the dress. The staff had to know.

I handed a business card to one of the staff. "I'm the owner of that dress. Ask her to take it off."

Jella cracked up. "Seriously? Zeke brought me here himself. Every detail was customized for me."

The clerk gave a tight nod and slid my card right back. "Miss, please don't stir up trouble. That gown belongs to Ms. Santoro."

I blinked. "You didn't even check the name. And you're that confident?"

The staff's smile dropped. "I personally handled her order. The dress fits her perfectly—it's clearly not yours. Keep this up and I'll have to call security."

The customers jumped in, loud and smug.

"Faking a claim to a wedding dress? How desperate can you get?"

"Ms. Santoro's so patient. I'd have called the cops by now."

"Messing with the Santoro family? Please. One word from them and her whole bloodline disappears."

Jella looked like she was about to sprout wings from all the attention.

She put on this fake-sweet smile. "People who cross me usually land in prison, but lucky you—I'm in a good mood. Just head to the entrance, yell 'I'm a whore, I'm sorry' three times, and I'll let it go. Sound fair?"

In twenty-seven years, no one had ever tried to humiliate me like this.

"You want me to say what?"

"You deaf? 'I'm a whore! I'm a whore!' Not hard to understand."

I laughed, cold and sharp. "Good to know you're the whore."

Jella blinked, then her face twisted when it hit her—she'd been played.

Fuming, she grabbed a cup of steaming tea and launched it at me. "Damn you! You dare mess with me?!"

I ducked, but some still splashed, searing a line across my cheek.

That was it.

I snatched a shard off the floor and dragged it across her face.

Blood came quick.

Gasps hit like fireworks. Hands slapped mouths.

Yeah, guess Jella Santoro wasn't used to being touched—let alone scratched.

"She's Zeke Santoro's sister! This psycho's dead meat!"

"That man's obsessed with her—she's his whole damn life!"

"Not even the Pope could get her outta this."

"Sister?" I scoffed. "Since when do sisters sleep with their brothers?"

I turned to the staff, voice like ice. "Listen up. I'm Natalia Accardi. That name on the dress? Natalia. Accardi."

The clerk flinched hard. Someone muttered, "We should call the designer... figure out what's happening..."

"Screw that!" Jella shrieked, clutching her face, eyes wild and blazing. "Call security! This bitch is dead!"

I tilted my head. "Still yappin'? Want a matching scar?"

She jerked back, hands flying to her face. I smirked, eyes flicking to the staff. "Get the dress off her. I'll let this slide. Don't? Your store's done tomorrow."

They panicked—phones out, calling fast.

Then Jella screamed, way too loud—"Zeke! You're finally here!"

Of course she'd messaged Zeke while I was busy. Coward move.

Fine. Let him come. Better to end it now than track him down later.

I looked him over—cold, steady.

Years had done their thing. He wasn't the hoodie-wearing kid chasing me around anymore.

Now? Six-foot-two, clean-cut, suit sharp enough to slice.

His face was sharper now—edges where there used to be softness. But those eyes? Same shape. Just colder. No hint of the way he used to look at me.

Jella bolted to him, dramatic as ever, jabbing a finger at the blood on her face. "Zeke, this psycho's claiming my dress. Said she'd strip me! I talked back and she hit me!"

I laughed, bone-dry, and turned to him. "Wow. Long time, Zeke. No 'hi' for your fiancée?"

"Wait, she's Zeke Santoro's fiancée?"

"No shot. Zeke's single, right? When did he get engaged?"

I didn't look their way. I waited.

Truth was hanging by a thread.

But then he frowned. "Miss, are you okay? Maybe still dreaming or something? I don't have a fiancée."

I froze.

He didn't recognize me?

After my dad expanded the Accardi Famiglia's reach, enemies popped up like weeds. For my safety, I was basically a ghost—rarely seen in public.

The engagement was fast-tracked. Zeke and I only talked on the phone. He hadn't seen me since... well, since before I changed.

But seriously? After everything we were as kids—he didn't recognize me?

Please.

I let out a bitter laugh, but before I could get a word in, a bunch of bodyguards rushed in and slammed me to the ground.

"Zeke! Are you insane?!"

He just stood there, watching me struggle, face blank. "You attacked my family on my turf. You got a death wish or something?"

Jella smirked. "Told you not to mess with me. Faking some sister-in-law crap? Zeke said he's staying with me forever. He'd never marry anyone else."

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

"That sibling bond runs deep. She's just his stepsister, right? Not even blood-related. Kinda sweet, actually."

"They should just date already. They're perfect."

"Meanwhile, that psycho chick—skinny, pale, pretending to be family. She's not even janitor material."

Each word hit like a slap.

I glared up at Zeke, my voice pure ice. "Last shot. Let me go. Or I'll stop pretending our families ever had ties and let my father erase yours."

My dad runs Arlencia's underworld. He's the Accardi Don—untouchable.

Zeke's dad used to be his Soldato. Took a bullet for him once. Got rich off the favor. Still kissed my dad's ring every time he saw him.

And now Zeke thinks he can pin me to the floor?

He's asking to die.

My rage flared. "Zeke, my dad slapped a tracker on me. I set it off, his men show up in three minutes. You wanna test that?"

Jella marched over, all smug. "A tracker? What is this, mafia fanfic?"

So I bit her. Hard.

"Ahh! You psycho—she bit me!"

Blood ran down her hand. She shrieked.

I spat. "Damn right, I did."

Tears welled up in her eyes. "You saw that, Zeke! She's insane! You show up and she still goes for me? She clearly doesn't respect you."

Zeke's face darkened. He wrapped her hand with a cloth, eyes locked on me. "Threaten me, fine. But hurt my girl right in front of me? Cute. Your family couldn't touch mine even if you begged."

Then he turned to her. "Do what you want. Strip her. Kill her. Doesn't matter. It's on me."

Jella lit up. "Isn't she dying to wear a wedding dress? Fine—strip her bare and let the whole street watch her get dressed for the show."

She kicked me.

Pain ripped through my ribs.

"See what happens when you mess with me?"

Around us, people sighed.

"Told her not to cross the Santoros. Look at her now."

"Yeah, Arlencia's their turf. Only the Accardis can touch them."

Jella snapped her fingers. "You two—strip her and throw her out!"

The guards lunged for my shirt.

I yelled, "Zeke, stop them! I'm Natalia Accardi! Victor Accardi's daughter! You really wanna go through with this? You'll regret it!"

"Stop," Zeke said.

Jella gasped. "Zeke?! Don't let her fool you—she's just some cra—"

"I'm not fooled," he said flat. "Her lie's almost as funny as calling me broke."

Zeke walked over, grabbed my chin. "Natalia Accardi? Cute. You know the name, but you don't even look the part. Next time, try dressing like you didn't crawl out of a bargain bin.

"I was gonna end this, but then you disrespected Ms. Accardi in public. If Don Victor heard that, my dad would be screwed."

He looked at his men. "Back off. I'll handle her. Record it—send it to Don Victor. Call it me doing him a favor."

Then he slammed me down. Hard.

"Apologize to Jella. Now."

"Don't touch me! You're gonna regret this!"

He pressed harder. My spine lit up in pain.

Jella rushed over, tearing at my clothes—face twisted with glee. Then she grabbed a shard of glass.

Before she could strike, a group of guards burst in. "Mr. Santoro! Dozens of men in black just showed up. Our guys tried to stop them—they got dropped in seconds! Should we pull back?!"

His men were losing it. Zeke didn't flinch. "No. I'm finishing this first."

He nodded at Jella. "I've got her. Do what you want."

Jella grinned.

My vision blurred. She raised the shard—

The windows exploded.

Men in black flooded the room like a storm.

Their leader—a middle-aged man—stepped forward and kicked Zeke clean across the floor.

"Forgive us, signorina. We're late. Please... punish us."