All of New York knows me as the Cianci family's most infamous Donna.

Not for my grace, but for my madness and jealousy.

I once threw the Cianci family into chaos over my husband, the Don Lucian Cianci, and his precious "Principessa," Cassandra Valenti.

In the end, he locked me away on a remote Long Island estate—all for Cassandra.

After my release, I was a changed woman—as quiet and hollow as a ghost.

At a family dinner, one of Lucian's Capos mocked me for being "tamed."

"The Don really has his ways! No matter how rabid a dog is, a little confinement is all it takes to make them obedient."

"Besides, what's the big deal? A Don needs a Principessa under his wing, right?"

I kept my head down, my expression unreadable, as I sliced into the steak on my plate.

Lucian Cianci seemed pleased by my newfound compliance.

But he didn't understand the reason for my sudden docility.

Just this afternoon, the hospital had called with news. A match had finally been found for the rare P-type blood my mother so desperately needed.

And the only match... was Cassandra.

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1

When Lucian’s gaze swept over to me, I was methodically sawing at my steak, not a ripple of emotion on my face.

His brow twitched, almost imperceptibly.

The men at the table were already flushed with wine. I set down my cutlery, stood, and pushed back my chair.

"I need some air," I murmured, my voice low. "I'll be on the terrace."

On the terrace, the cold wind sliced at my face like a thousand tiny blades.

I glanced down and peeled back the gauze on my wrist. A new scar, gruesome and deep, stretched from my palm all the way to my wrist bone.

Lucian's voice came from behind me. "What happened to your hand?"

"An accident."

I snatched my hand back, quickly wrapping it with fresh gauze.

He probably didn’t expect such a calm response.

For a man who’d never had any patience with me, he was actually trying to explain himself.

"Rory, I know you're angry," he said, his tone devoid of warmth. "But Cassandra has a heart condition. It was your fault for pushing her down the stairs."

I nodded. "Yes. It was my fault."

His voice softened a fraction. "Now that you've admitted your mistake, learn your place. You are still the Donna of the Cianci family. Stop making a scene over every little thing."

I nodded again. "Okay."

His brow furrowed even deeper, as if he had more to say. From inside, one of his Soldatos called out, "Don! Are we cracking this bottle or not?"

He turned and strode back inside.

Three years of marriage. That’s all it took to become “Mad Dog Rory,” the scandal of New York’s high society. I was a girl from a Montana ranch, wildness in my bones, and we had clashed from the very beginning.

The first year, he left me burning with a fever on our anniversary to fly to a gala in Europe with Cassandra.

The second year, I lost our first child while he spent his nights on overseas calls with her.

The third year, Cassandra returned, and he poured a fortune into making her a Hollywood superstar.

I would become hysterical, and he would drag me back from the brink, time and time again.

A month ago, Cassandra had staged a fall down the stairs and blamed me. Lucian had me locked away on the Long Island estate without a second thought.

I was tortured there until I was barely human.

I had planned to disappear for good this time. But fate, it seemed, wasn't done with me yet.

This afternoon, the doctor called. My mother could be saved. The donor with the rare P-type blood was Cassandra.

So when Lucian came to fetch me, I got into his car without a word.

I had to endure. Endure until she gave the blood. After that, I would ask for nothing more.

The cold seeped through my dress. I turned and walked back into the banquet hall.

Lucian gestured, and one of his men pushed a gift box toward me.

"Happy birthday, Rory."

He’d barely finished speaking when the banquet hall doors were thrown open.

Cassandra stood framed in the doorway, draped in a whisper of a white slip dress. The fabric was scandalously sheer, the neckline plunging to an audacious depth.

"Oh, are we celebrating Rory's birthday?" Her voice was honey-laced poison. "May I share in the good fortune?"

A low, appreciative whistle cut through the room.

Lucian was on his feet in an instant, grabbing his suit jacket and striding over to wrap it around her.

"It's freezing out and you're dressed like that. You have a death wish?"

Someone beside him chuckled. "That's the bond of childhood sweethearts for you."

Cassandra flashed me a saccharine smile. "Happy birthday, Rory. I came in such a hurry, I didn't have time to prepare a gift."

I forced my lips into a twitch. "No need."

From the side, Lucian spoke. "Cassandra heard it was your birthday and rushed over. She said she's willing to let the last incident go."

I nodded numbly. "Thank you, Miss Valenti."

Before I could finish, the jet-black Doberman at her feet suddenly lunged at me.

It slammed into the gift table, sending an exquisite music box crashing to the floor, where it shattered.

The dog immediately buried its snout in the fragments, sniffing.

Cassandra cooed, "He wants to wish you a happy birthday, too."

She let out a small "Oh!" and rushed toward me as if in concern, her posture eerily identical to the moment before her "fall" last time.

Ice flooded my veins.

I couldn't let her get hurt. Not now. My mother's life was on the line.

The instant she moved toward me, I threw myself backward, my body instinctively reacting to avoid another one of her setups.

A sickening thud echoed as the back of my head slammed hard against the sharp corner of a metal ice bucket. Warm blood trickled down from my temple.

Cassandra let out a piercing scream.

"Rory! Why are you trying to hurt me again?!"

I fumbled for the edge of the table, trying to pull myself up. Lucian’s hand had just started to reach for me when Cassandra suddenly clutched her chest, her face turning ashen.

"Lucian... my heart... it hurts..."

Lucian’s hand, which had been reaching for me, instantly changed course. He swept Cassandra into his arms and stormed out without a backward glance, leaving a single, cold command in his wake: "Clean this up."

I watched him vanish through the door, the blood from my forehead dripping into my eye, stinging it crimson.

I should be used to this by now.

But the dull ache in my chest was as heavy and blunt as ever.

When I woke up, a doctor was standing over me. "The gash on your forehead is deep. It's going to leave a scar."

I stared blankly at the ceiling.

A scar. I'd stopped caring about scars a long time ago.

I gently placed a hand on my lower abdomen. Not long ago, a life had briefly blossomed there.

From outside the door, I heard Cassandra's voice, a victor's coy complaint.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding and glanced at the security monitor. As long as she was okay.

"You know how I feel... I go abroad for a few years, and I come back to find you married."

Lucian's voice was a low rumble. "Cassandra, I am married to Rory."

"So what? Can you spend a lifetime with her?" Cassandra purred, moving closer. "Does she know the difference between a Bordeaux and a Burgundy? Can she sit beside you at the Met? Lucian, the woman doesn't even know how to properly accessorize."

"Lucian, she doesn't belong in your world."

Lucian was silent for a long, heavy moment—long enough for my heart to freeze over, shard by painful shard.

He let out a soft sigh. "...Even if you're right."

His words were cut short.

Cassandra stood on her toes and kissed him. He didn't push her away.

The kiss deepened, and on the monitor, the air itself seemed to crackle with heat.

I switched off the screen, my face devoid of all expression.

Just as I did, I heard the door open behind me, followed by Lucian’s sharp intake of breath. "Rory!"

I didn't turn back.

He wouldn't follow. I knew he wouldn't.

Over the years, he'd abandoned me for Cassandra time and time again. I was numb to it. Or I was supposed to be.

Memories flooded back.

I remembered that first year in New York. A girl from Montana, here to study design, a complete misfit. A wild deer lost in a concrete jungle.

Until one day, I was cornered in an alley by a rival family's Soldato. It was Lucian who pulled me out of there. That day, that man was seared into my heart.

But I knew he had a Principessa for a fiancée—Cassandra. I never dared to dream.

Later, my parents came to visit and were in a car accident. My father, a journalist chasing a dark conspiracy, died at the scene. My mother woke up to a terminal diagnosis.

And Lucian… he silently handled everything. The best hospitals, the top specialists—he arranged it all. My love for him spiraled, growing more frantic by the day.

The night of my graduation party, he drank himself into a stupor. That was the night I learned Cassandra had flown abroad.

He looked at me, his eyes bloodshot. "Rory, marry me."

I nodded.

In that moment, I thought I had grasped salvation. Only now did I see how wrong I was.

I dragged myself to the ICU next door. Three years of marriage, three years my mother has been wasting away in this bed.

Holding her frail hand, I whispered, "Just ten more days. After the surgery, we'll go back to Montana."

A doctor approached. "The donor's information is confidential. You cannot contact them directly."

"I understand," I said, my head bowed. "I won't."

I smoothed my mother's white hair. "When you're better, I'll take you to our own ranch. There are horses, prairies... you'll love it."

My mother's fingers twitched, her lips moved. "What about... Lucian..."

I smiled, but tears streamed down my face.

"Mom," I whispered. "I've made my choice. I'm done with him."

For years, whenever I was on the verge of shattering, I would come to her room and talk.

On her lucid days, she would stroke my hair. "My daughter," she'd say, "my wild Montana mustang. You can't be penned up like this. If you can't take it, just come home."

But I always shook my head.

I always thought if I just waited, just endured a little longer, Lucian would eventually carve out a small place for me in his heart.

Until Cassandra came back.

He was in a family meeting when he took a call and bolted, all because someone at a party had made a pass at her. When I followed, I saw him truly furious for the first time, completely out of control.

Then, a few days ago, Cassandra fell, crying that I had pushed her. Lucian didn't even bother to hear my side before throwing me into that godforsaken estate.

The memory of those days and nights made my body tremble.

Now, I didn't care about any of it.

Except for my mother.

When I returned to the Cianci residence, I was surprised to find Lucian in the kitchen.

He was awkwardly microwaving takeout pasta. Seeing me, he thrust the plate at me, his expression guarded.

"You're too thin."

I took a bite in silence.

He suddenly began to explain. "Cassandra's heart was acting up. That's why I took her to the hospital."

I nodded. "Mm, I understand."

His hand shot out, gripping my wrist. "Understand? Rory, is that all you know how to say now?"

He stared at me, his eyes narrowed. "You've been on edge ever since you came back. First, you push her, then you shield her. What the hell is your game, Rory?"

"I'm warning you, her health is fragile. Don't try anything."

My face was impassive. "Lucian, I'm not playing a game. I've simply accepted reality."

He was about to say more when the doorbell rang.

Cassandra stood on the doorstep in a designer suit, a brilliant smile on her face. "Lucian, there's a yacht party. Are you coming with me?"

"Cassandra, you're not a child anymore," Lucian frowned. "I can make the introductions, but you have to make your own way. I can't hold your hand through everything."

Cassandra didn't bristle. Her gaze slid past him and landed on me. "Rory, you should treat yourself to a facial. I can see the stress lines around your eyes from here."

Her voice was sickly sweet. "A woman can't keep a man just by throwing tantrums. You have to take care of yourself."

My heart felt like a barren, windswept wasteland.

Not long after she left, Lucian's phone began to buzz furiously on the counter.

He answered, and Cassandra's drunken, tearful voice crackled through the speaker.

"Lucian, I'm on 'The Siren'... That producer, he... you have to come, quickly..."