My boyfriend, Dante, Don of Chicago’s Moretti family, sequestered himself for seven days in a Las Vegas presidential suite, all to protect Scarlett—the daughter of an allied Don.

When he returned on the eighth day, reeking of another woman's perfume, he knelt before me. His eyes were bloodshot as he pressed a gun to his own head.

"Isabella, I lost control. I broke my promise. I deserve to die."

He pulled the trigger without hesitation. The bullet whizzed past his temple, shattering the whiskey glass on the table beside him.

Watching the man I loved put a gun to his own head, a tremor ran through me. My heart shattered. But in the end, I forgave him.

Nine months later, at our wedding, a heavily pregnant Scarlett had a breakdown, threatening to jump from the nineteenth-floor balcony.

He knelt at my feet once more, gun in hand again.

"Isabella, let me go save her. Just this one last time."

"I swear, I'll cut all ties with her after this."

After a decade of devotion, he assumed I would forgive him—just as I had countless times before.

But I spoke calmly.

"Choose. Her, or me."

"Choose her, and we're done. For good."

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1

"Isabella, I know I was wrong. But that baby... it's the key to the truce between our families. This is on me."

"I can't just abandon her..."

Dante knelt, but his pleading did nothing to dull the sharpness in his eyes.

Those arrogant eyes were now bloodshot with worry for another woman.

I stood there in silence, my heart a barren, frozen wasteland.

"Isabella, you're not really going to let the Don pull the trigger, are you?"

"The Don nearly died in a gunfight for you. He's had eyes only for you for ten years. Isn't that enough?"

"I'd have thought the Falcone family's Principessa would know her place better. She shouldn't let the Don's favor go to her head."

Dante's Capo, Marco, sneered from the side.

A roar filled my head, my mind snagging on that one word: Principessa.

My eyes stung. A sharp pain lanced through my chest.

I stared down at Dante, my mind flashing back to the night ten years ago when my own family was wiped out in a feud.

Dante, then just a Soldato on his first mission, had held me tight, whispering the words like a prayer.

"Isabella, don't be afraid."

"I'll protect you, even if it costs me my life."

That night, a bullet tore through his left shoulder, but he never once showed a hint of regret.

Now, the memory of that firefight burned behind my eyes, but the man who had promised me a lifetime of protection was gone.

"Isabella, let me go!"

"I'm cashing this in. For your forgiveness. Just this once."

Dante pulled a ring from his pocket, one engraved with the family crest. I knew it all too well.

The tears I'd been holding back finally fell.

"Dante, are you sure? You want to trade this for a chance to save Scarlett?"

I snatched the ring with one hand and the gun from his grasp with the other. My own hand trembled as I pressed the barrel to his temple, my voice low and tight.

Three years ago, Dante had officially taken over the family from his father, becoming the Don.

That ring was the ultimate symbol of power for the Moretti family.

The day he put it on, he'd smiled and joked that if he ever truly angered me, he could use the Don's ring to trade for my forgiveness, just once.

I never imagined he would cash in that favor to save Scarlett.

I stared at him, my heart twisting in agony.

The next second, one of his men shouted in panic.

"Don, we have a situation!"

"It's Miss Scarlett—she went over the balcony!"

The kneeling Dante shot to his feet, his face a mask of furious panic.

"Isabella, it's just a ring! Do you have to be so damn dramatic?"

He ripped the gun from my hand, a cold, mocking sneer on his lips.

"Fine. You want a show? I'll give you one."

Bang!

He pulled the trigger, aiming at his own right arm. The bullet tore through muscle.

Blood gushed from the wound, spattering the white lily petals on the floor in a garish stain.

"Are you satisfied now?" he growled, glaring at me. "If you are, then wait here. I'll be back to finish our wedding."

With that, Dante tossed the gun aside and turned, leaving without a backward glance.

The wedding hall, filled with the scent of white lilies, felt utterly empty.

I stood there in silence, then pulled out my phone and dialed an encrypted number.

"Dr. Evans, this is Isabella Rossi. I need to schedule an abortion."

After hanging up, I stood in the silence for a few minutes before my legs buckled, and I collapsed.

I stumbled off the wedding platform, my palm coming down on a shard from a shattered champagne flute. The glass bit deep into my skin, and blood welled instantly.

An excruciating pain shot through me, but with it came an overwhelming sense of finality.

The man I had loved for ten years was rotten to the core.

And I didn't want him anymore.

Ignoring the throbbing in my hand, I called a car and went to a discreet clinic.

In the clinic's lobby, I had just wiped my phone of all pregnancy-related data and was heading for the front desk to check in when a hand grabbed my arm.

"Look, Don, it's Isabella!"

A Soldato in Dante's service gripped me tightly, his eyes full of mockery.

Dante, who had just burst in carrying Scarlett, saw me, and his eyes blazed with fury.

"Isabella, I told you I would come back to finish the wedding. Why did you follow me here?"

"Do you have so little faith in me?" His tone was harsh, his jaw tight with rage.

"Don, she has no respect!"

"Exactly! Miss Scarlett's about to pop. What's she even doing at a clinic if she's not showing?"

"I bet she did it on purpose, just to upset Miss Scarlett!"

As his men muttered, Dante's expression grew colder.

"You've gone too far this time, Isabella."

"She has BPD, and she's pregnant. Why do you have to be so damn difficult, especially now?!"

The word "difficult" struck me like a physical blow.

My fingers dug into my own flesh, my lips trembling too much to form a reply.

Ten years ago, maybe I had been difficult. A spoiled girl from a family of artists.

But in the decade since, to avoid being a burden to Dante, I had learned to walk on eggshells. I had swallowed every injustice, every slight, and never said a word.

When he was shot, I was the one who sat by his hospital bed for days on end.

I had remade myself from a sheltered young woman into an accessory, a woman who existed only for him.

My entire world revolved around Dante.

And he had the audacity to call me difficult?

My body trembled with suppressed rage. "Dante," I bit out, my voice dangerously low, "I'm here for an abortion—"

Before I could finish, Scarlett let out a pained moan from his arms.

"Dante, put me down! Just let me die!"

"The baby and I are just a burden, aren't we? If we died, you'd be free!"

She thrashed in his arms, crying hysterically, until her face went pale and she conveniently fainted.

"Move!"

"Isabella, I'm beyond disappointed in you!"

Dante barked, shouldering me aside as he rushed toward the operating room with Scarlett in his arms.

I slammed back against the cold wall, a sharp pain shooting through my lower abdomen.

A warm trickle ran down my inner thigh, but I was too numb to register what it was.

As my consciousness blurred, I remembered my eighteenth birthday. Dante, back from a three-month family mission with a fresh scar across his throat, insisted on singing "Happy Birthday" to me. His voice was a rasp, every note off-key, but the rough sound was a strange comfort that settled deep in my heart.

From that day forward, my only birthday wish, every year, was for Dante to come home safe.

The thought was laughable now.

With a trembling hand, I gritted my teeth and pushed myself upright. I took out my phone and posted a job for a Fixer in New York.

A few minutes later, a notification: job accepted.

My body went limp. I sagged against the wall, about to slide to the floor, when a hand slapped me, hard, across the face.

"Isabella, Scarlett said you poisoned her. Was it you?!"

"Don, Isabella has gone too far!"

"Scarlett's pregnancy is already high-risk, and she tries to poison her and the baby, threatening the truce between our families!"

"I knew she was too jealous to let this go."

"Vicious bitch."

The surrounding Soldati watched me with mocking sneers, their eyes dripping with contempt.

Clutching my stinging cheek, my head still ringing, I felt Dante's hand clamp down on my arm.

"Isabella Rossi, you will apologize to Scarlett."

"Your actions disgust me."

"Scarlett and that child are innocent. How could you?"

He roared, his grip tightening with every word.

The pain made my vision swim. As I struggled, my head slammed against the wall. A warm liquid trickled from my temple. I reached up, and my hand came away slick with blood.

Dante's expression faltered. Panic flashed in his eyes, his fingers loosened for a second, and he opened his mouth to speak.

But a nurse ran toward us, shouting, "It's Miss Falcone! She has a scalpel! She's trying to kill herself!"

The flicker of guilt in Dante's eyes vanished.

His face hardened. He tightened his grip and dragged me into the emergency room.

"Dante, you know I'm an orphan. All I ever wanted was a child of my own."

"What did I do wrong? Was it a mistake to let you protect me...?"

"I'll carve this poisoned child out of my own body right now!"

Inside the ER, Scarlett was putting on a show, holding a scalpel near her swollen belly. Her face was a mask of tear-streaked, pitiful sorrow.

The corners of Dante's eyes reddened with undisguised heartache. He coaxed her in a low voice.

"Scarlett, put down the scalpel. Please."

"If this child is gone... we can always have another."

Hearing Dante promise her a child, I let out a broken laugh. The sound tore from my throat as fresh tears streamed down my face.

Ten years ago, after I'd lost everyone, Dante held me and promised he would be my family.

Three years ago, he promised we would have a child of our own.

Now, those promises were nothing but suffocating irony.

"Dante, I want Isabella to pay for what she did to our child!"

"If they're cutting me open, they're damn well cutting her open, too!"

Scarlett's eyes glittered with a crazed light. The scalpel was now pressed firmly against her own throat.

"Scarlett, put it down!"

"I promise you!"

A roar filled my ears. I stared up at Dante, my mind reeling in disbelief.

The man who had protected me for ten years, who feared I'd nick a finger chopping vegetables, had just agreed to have me cut open.

"Dante, you can't. I'm pregnant..."

My fingers trembled as I clutched his sleeve.

The words were barely out of my mouth before they were swallowed by Scarlett's shriek.

"Ah! My stomach, it hurts!"

Dante dropped my arm and rushed to Scarlett's side.

"Let's go! To the family clinic, now! Get the surgery done!"

In the Moretti family's discreet clinic, I was tied to an operating table. I fought against the restraints, but one of Dante's men grabbed a filthy rag and shoved it into my mouth.

"Quiet, Isabella! Miss Scarlett is right next door. Don't you dare disturb her!"

A nauseating smell filled my senses, and my stomach heaved.

Through the thin curtain separating us, I could hear Dante's soft, gentle voice.

"Scarlett, don't be afraid. I'll be right here with you..."

The words were hauntingly familiar. Hearing them again, directed at her, I felt only a dull, throbbing ache as tears slid from the corners of my eyes.

Just then, a doctor spoke with urgency.

"Don, headquarters is under attack. The other surgeons are dealing with the casualties. We only have one anesthesiologist left, and just enough anesthetic for one C-section..."

"Then give it to Scarlett!"