Eight years after my breakup with Lorenzo Cassano, we met again in a private tattoo studio in Chicago. He was with his wife, Bianca Marchetti, accompanying her for a scar cover-up consultation.

I wore a mask and goggles, sketching a design for her, while she proudly flaunted her conquest to her friends.

"A man like him is a prize you have to fight for," Bianca said. "To get him, I turned him against his childhood sweetheart, forged evidence of her colluding with our enemies, and drove them apart until they hated each other. That woman was even pregnant at the time, so I… hinted to my men to teach her a 'lesson' when they exiled her!"

After they left, I took off my mask, my hand drifting to my lower abdomen. Beneath my clothes lay an ugly scar.

A few days later, Lorenzo found the ring that symbolized our love, the one Bianca had hidden away. He came with a signed divorce agreement and knelt before me.

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1

I never thought I would see Lorenzo again, let alone under circumstances like these.

He was escorting his wife, Bianca, to my studio for a scar cover-up consultation. With their striking looks and the possessive way he hovered over her, my staff were buzzing, certain they were witnessing a match made in mafia heaven.

During the design consultation, one of Bianca's friends couldn't resist asking, "How did you two get together?"

Bianca arched an eyebrow, a smug smile playing on her lips. "Let's just say it took some maneuvering. He had a childhood sweetheart—a political hostage from a rival family. They were nauseatingly in love, the kind who would die for each other. But when I set my sights on a man, he becomes mine."

"That woman was a fool. I pretended to bond with her over art, worming my way into her confidence while gathering 'evidence' of her betrayal. She's probably rotting in a ditch somewhere by now."

Her tone was breezy, as if sharing an amusing anecdote. "At one point, my husband even tried to reconcile with her, but I put a stop to that with some forged letters. Those letters are still locked away in my safe. They're my trophies."

The air in the room grew thick with a sudden, awkward tension. Sensing the shift, Bianca laughed it off. "Why so serious, everyone? I was just kidding. The real world isn't some dramatic novel full of conspiracies and plots."

Everyone exchanged uneasy glances, then let out a collective, relieved sigh at her explanation.

I kept my expression professionally blank, but the hand holding my stylus trembled almost imperceptibly.

The consultation ended, and it was time for me to clock out. As I was changing, I overheard my assistants gushing.

"Those two are a perfect match. He's so intense and striking, and she's gorgeous. Absolutely perfect!"

"Yeah, the future Madre of the Cassano family? Why would she need to steal a man? She had to be joking."

I took off my mask, my hand instinctively resting on my lower abdomen. Beneath my clothes lay a hideous scar—a wound that would never truly heal. I stared blankly at my design table. I was the only one who knew Bianca hadn't been joking at all.

But I had spent eight years building a new life in Chicago, walling off the past. It didn't matter if it was all a misunderstanding.

The next second, Lorenzo was back, having forgotten a pair of cufflinks. He saw me without my mask, and shock, recognition, and something unreadable warred on his face. "Flora Petrova. Long time no see."

He looked the same, but the old softness in his eyes was gone, replaced by a cold, hard edge.

"How have you been?"

After a long silence, I heard my own voice, brittle and dry. "Better than ever."

He flinched as if I'd slapped him, hurt flashing in his eyes.

My history with Lorenzo was complicated. I was the youngest daughter of the Rossi family, which made me a bargaining chip. At twelve, I was sent to the rival Cassano family as part of a truce—their nominal adopted daughter, but in reality, a hostage. For years, a fragile peace held. Lorenzo, the heir, was suffocatingly protective, a feeling that warped into a twisted possessiveness. Once we came of age, it was inevitable we became secret lovers.

"Flora? It really is you. I thought the name was just a coincidence." Bianca's voice sliced through my thoughts. She raked her eyes over me, dripping with disdain. "Weren't you exiled? How does a family outcast become a tattoo artist? Still using your body to make a living, I see."

My voice was sharp. "My resume is on the studio's official website. You can look it up yourself."

She sneered. "Ah, so you're playing the mysterious artist now? You're resourceful, I'll give you that."

My assistants shifted uncomfortably. I grabbed my bag from the table, my face a cold mask. "During your consultation, you were telling the truth, weren't you?"

The color drained from Bianca's face.

The realization hit the room like a physical blow: she hadn't been joking. Their gazes shifted, now a cocktail of disgust and fear.

I had to get out of there. I snatched my bag and stalked out the door.

Sitting in my car, my carefully constructed composure shattered. I slumped over the steering wheel, utterly exhausted, my eyes burning.

Lorenzo and I were fine. Then Bianca came along.

Whenever he could slip away from family business, Lorenzo would join me in my art studio. A woman claiming to admire my talent began visiting frequently. That woman was Bianca.

Trying to be welcoming, Lorenzo started inviting her to our private gatherings. She would always flash a brilliant smile and praise him. "The perfect heir. Flora is so lucky to have you."

Gradually, we became… friendly. Or so I thought. She would use the excuse of visiting me just so Lorenzo would have to pick her up. Seeing me, she'd pull me into an enthusiastic hug, then playfully scold him, "You weren't even going to come see her! I had to drag you here! You really need to keep a better eye on your girl!"

Lorenzo would just smile, ruffle her hair, and give an indulgent nod. A prickle of unease would crawl up my spine, but I could never name the source.

Soon, her praise for Lorenzo came with barbs aimed at me. "Flora, you're so lost in your own little world. You don't understand the rules of a family like ours. A girl needs to leverage her value. With your… background, you should be clinging to a man like Lorenzo."

My status as a hostage already left me insecure. Bianca's words chipped away at what little pride I had left, planting a seed of deep unease.

Lorenzo noticed my change in mood, but he just said I was being too sensitive.

Not long after, following a family dinner, I gave Lorenzo a sketch I'd designed for him—a family crest tattoo, a symbol of our love. After finishing my duties, I hurried to his study, eager to surprise him.

"Flora's design is nothing compared to your ideas," Lorenzo's voice drifted from behind the door. "Her taste is so… pedestrian. This sketch is childish. You were right—someone living on our family's charity, a glorified hostage, will never truly belong in our world."

I froze. My hand fell from the doorknob. I couldn't believe he'd use my status—my shame—as a joke for her.

Bianca's voice was a mix of feigned surprise and barely concealed glee. "You tore it up? I thought it was sweet."

He grunted a dismissive "Mm." The sound pierced my heart like a needle. "She just likes to play with these childish things. I don't like it. Forget it, let's go celebrate our new alliance."

His words were a blade, gutting me, leaving me humiliated and exposed.

I shrank back into the shadows of the hallway. Only after they were gone did I creep out and retrieve the torn pieces of my sketch from the wastebasket.

Just then, Lorenzo turned back, running right into me. A flash of guilt crossed his face. "Flora, I forgot a document."

I dodged his outstretched hand. "The alliance agreement in your hand looks fine. This piece of trash isn't necessary." My gaze fell on the contract with the Marchetti family he was holding.

He was stunned for a moment before his expression soured into the irritation of being caught. "What are you throwing a fit about? I told you I came back for a document! This alliance is far more important than your useless drawing! Bianca's family, her insight—what part of that isn't better than what you can offer?"

His words were another knife to the gut. I stared at him, disbelief choking me. "You really believe that?"

Lately, I’d heard the whispers—that I was jealous of Bianca, that I was picking fights with Lorenzo. No one ever stopped to consider that we were the lovers, and she was the intruder.

His tone was sharp with impatience. "Am I wrong? You're dripping with jealousy for Bianca, and you won't even admit it. Everyone sees it! She's more valuable to this family than you'll ever be. I'm still choosing you, shouldn't that be enough?"

Seeing my stunned silence, he snatched Bianca's coat from a nearby chair and stormed out.

That night, Lorenzo must have realized he’d gone too far, because he sent a gift to my room. "Flora, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. This is an antique paintbrush you've been wanting; I went to an auction specifically to get it for you."

My eyes landed on a second jewelry box, and my stomach plummeted. "What's this?" I asked.

"That's for Bianca. She liked it, too. It's a more valuable bracelet."

An apology gift for me, and a more valuable one for her. The thought was a bitter pill. A lump formed in my throat. "Lorenzo, don't you see how much you've changed?"

"Don't you think you've changed?" he shot back.

Tears welled, my voice cracking. "I've changed? Yes. Bianca's constant digs have made me insecure, sensitive, and tormented!"

"Don't you dare talk about her like that! She's not that kind of person!" He rushed to her defense so quickly it was like a physical blow, each word another needle in my heart.

After that, we fell into a cold war, one that dragged on longer than any before.

He and Bianca started appearing everywhere together, a perfect couple in everyone's eyes.

One day, Bianca asked to meet me at a bar frequented only by the family. When I arrived, she was in a heated argument with members of a rival family. I had no choice but to pull her away. On the road back, we were cut off by Cassano family enforcers.

Terror seized me, but I forced it down, my fingers fumbling to send a distress signal to Lorenzo.

Bianca grabbed my arm, her eyes wide. "Flora, go get help! I'll hold them off. There's one of our outposts just up the road—run!"

I couldn't think of a better plan, so I turned and ran. By the time I returned with the Underboss, Lorenzo was already there, cradling a terrified-looking Bianca.

"Are you okay?" I gasped, relieved.

Then Bianca spoke, and the world fell out from under me. "I just wanted to explain things to you, but you kept leading me toward the rival family's men. Were you trying to sell them information? Do you hate me that much? Is this because you're jealous I can bring an alliance to Lorenzo?"

The onslaught of accusations left me reeling. "What? No! That's not what happened!"

But Lorenzo's hand was already moving. He slapped me, hard, across the face.