"You hit him?" Chiara handed me a glass of warm water.

"Yeah. He tried to put me on a monthly allowance." I curled up on the couch, fighting waves of stomach pain, and drank slowly.

A few minutes later, I ran to the bathroom and threw up.

Chiara patted my back. "Bad stomach and you still drink."

I caught my breath, wiped my mouth. My throat was on fire.

"Was it worth it?" she asked. "Loving him all these years?"

I looked up at my reflection in the mirror—wet lashes, dark hair plastered to my forehead, pale face.

Chiara's voice came from far away, muffled. "If you hadn't been so ruthless back then, he wouldn't be where he is today…"

I thought of Nico's fiancée again. She had a brightness I'd lost. I used to be like that. A long time ago. Then I fell too hard. By the time I crawled out of the pit, everything had changed.

When Chiara finished her work in Brooklyn, we walked hand in hand back to our rental.

My phone rang. It was Nico's friend.

"Valentina, if you're in trouble, I can find you a job in the family."

I stayed quiet, waiting.

"They're getting married next month. Mira's a good person. Her family is solid. You—"

"I won't bother him again. Don't worry."

He paused, then offered weakly, "We just want Nico to be happy."

"Okay."

All our old friends had taken Nico's side. Every single one.

Chiara's eyes were red. "They don't understand anything."

"It's fine."

I had to stay in town a while longer, so I found a job not far from home.

At the interview, the manager asked, "Do you have depression?"

"In the past. It's under control now. I have a doctor's note."

Other jobs had turned me down because of it. But that night, I got the offer.

I thought the birthday party would be the last time I ever saw Nico.

Three days later, he stormed in with his men. I was sitting in a corner, reconciling accounts.

He stopped when he saw me. "What are you doing here?"

"Working."

He stared for a second, then said to his deputy, "We need a bookkeeper at the casino. Put her there."

"No."

"Fine." Nico didn't even look up. "Either you take the job, or you get out of my territory."

I laughed bitterly. "So if I say no, you'll kick me out?"

He finally raised his head. "I'm giving you a choice. You don't really think I want something from you, do you?"

I thought of Chiara arguing over pennies for rent the night before. I forced a smile. "The Barzan don is a gentleman. And he's about to get married. I have nothing to fear."

Nico nodded slightly. "Thank you. When you start, stay outside my private suite. I don't want to see your face."

The weeks passed. We barely crossed paths.

A week later, some high rollers came to the casino. I was new, so I got pulled into drinking with them.

"Valentina, you can't say no."

"Don't worry, someone will get you home."

My boss smiled and pushed a glass toward me. With everyone egging me on, I downed the last drink of the night and passed out at the table.

The next morning, I woke up in a huge bed. Bright sunlight flooded the room. I sat up. The blanket slipped, revealing a soft bathrobe.

I froze, then got up and walked out.

In the living room, Nico sat with his legs crossed, cleaning a gun. He was also in a hotel robe.

He glanced up when he saw me. "You're awake. Breakfast is on the table. Eat, then sleep more."

A chill ran down my spine. My face went white. "Did we…?"

He put the gun on the coffee table. He pulled his collar open slightly, showing a hickey. "Not my doing. You were the one who came onto me last night. You said, 'I still love you.'"

I was stunned. I had no memory of any of it. "That's impossible."

Nico slid a contract across the table. My fingerprint was on it. It said I would be his mistress, and he'd pay me ten thousand a month.

"I never signed that…"

"Really?" He chuckled. "Are you sure?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

He ignored my panic and pulled out a voice recorder. "I happened to record your little monologue last night. Want to hear how twisted you really are?"

I shook, frozen. Humiliation crashed over me. That kind of secret feeling—hidden because it's shameful—now exposed and used as evidence, like a crime.

"Either you stay and work at my casino, on call whenever I want. Or I make sure you can't survive in Boston. And that recording? It'll spread through the family."

"You're getting revenge."

"Yes." He said it lightly. "You made sure I suffered. Why should you have it easy?"

"Two choices. Stay or leave. But if you walk out, no one on the entire East Coast will hire you."

The clock ticked in the silence, each second pressing on my ears. My lips were dry and cracked. I looked up numbly. "I'm leaving."

Under his icy gaze, I whispered, "Nico, I won't be anyone's mistress."

He studied me, then smiled. "Valentina, who do you think you are? Do you really have a choice?"

In the bathroom, I found my clothes in a heap on the floor.

His were neatly hung on the rack by the door. Separate. Orderly.

The sight stung. I sighed, changed quietly, and left the hotel.

Chiara called, her voice strained. "Valentina, they want half a million."

The sky was gray. No sun.

She'd spent most of her savings on my treatment. I had almost nothing left.

"They said if we don't pay, they'll expose everything and never tell you where your mother's ashes and belongings are."

"I'll try to borrow. We should have it by next month."

"Okay."

After hesitating, I dialed a number.

It took a while to connect.

"Valentina? What's up?"

"Dr. Marco, I'm sorry to bother you. I…"

He sounded busy. After some shuffling, he reached a quiet place. "Trouble?"

I took a deep breath. "Can you lend me four hundred thousand?"

It was the first time I'd ever asked anyone for money. My whole body burned.

A commotion on his end: "Dr. Marco, emergency surgery."

"Got it."

I didn't expect much. I was ready for him to hang up.

But at the last moment, Marco said shortly, "Send me your account number. I'll transfer it today."

Then the line went dead.

The sky stayed gray.

But the cold dial tone suddenly felt warm.

That evening, the deputy knocked on my desk. "VIPs tonight. You're coming."

A few hours earlier, I'd asked him for an advance on my first month's salary. With that, the borrowed money, and my savings, I barely scraped together the half million.

When I walked into the private room, I saw Nico.

He was working the room with ease, exchanging pleasantries. The chandelier light traced his sharp profile.

The deputy gave me a small push.

All eyes landed on me.

"Mr. Barzan, is she one of yours?"

Nico glanced at me casually. "Yes. New."

"A new girl you personally bring around? Not bad-looking."

Chatter, then everyone sat. The deputy placed me next to Nico. He whispered, "Be smart tonight. Take the drinks when you need to."

"Mr. Barzan, can your new girl drink or not?"

Before Nico could answer, the deputy jumped in, "She can, she can."

He pushed a glass toward me. "Start with a toast."

Nico said nothing. Just smiled and tapped the table.

I held my breath and downed it. The liquor burned through my throat, my stomach churning.

Cheers erupted. They were about to pour another when Nico changed the subject. "What were we talking about? Let's continue."

Throughout the night, people tried to toast Nico, but he claimed a bad stomach and didn't touch a drop. The deputy funneled every drink to me.

Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. I went to the bathroom.

I turned on the tap and retched. My hair came loose and fell into the sink, getting wet.

After texting Chiara, I slumped over the counter, eyes closed, panting.

Footsteps approached from outside. The door opened.

I assumed it was some woman.

But it was Nico. Calm. "Can't handle it already?"

I pushed myself up, wobbled, tried to walk past him.

He grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

His large hand went to the back of my neck. Hot.

"Let me go."

My throat was raw from stomach acid. Every word hurt.

Nico easily dragged me to the mirror, turned me to face it, and lifted my chin. He smirked.

"Take a good look. You think it's safe to walk out looking like this?"

My reflection stared back—wet eyes, flushed cheeks, tangled hair, collar open.

He stared through the mirror, openly, greedily.

I closed my eyes, trembling. "Who's more dangerous than you?"

He laughed softly and kissed my ear. "Come home with me tonight, okay?"

"Get lost—"

He silenced me with his mouth, crushing the air from my lungs.

Under the influence of alcohol, my blood felt like molten lava.

Lights blurred. Water dripped like acid on my heart.

Agony.

I broke out in a cold sweat, weakly hitting him.

Dragged back to that dark time.

Desperately watching a bright, colorful world where I didn't belong.

"Nico… can you just let me go?"

I was falling. Silent. Hitting the bottom of the well.

It hurt.

But I couldn't feel it anymore.

"Valentina!"

He was shouting my name.

Not with the look that said he wanted me dead.

He looked scared.

For a moment, I couldn't tell if he was the young Nico or the man he'd become.

I said, "Nico, I never want to see you again."

The fever hit hard.

I was delirious, every bone aching, shivering under the blanket.

The wind howled outside. In my haze, I dreamed of the past.

I was on Nico's back. "Nico, what if I die?"

He walked steadily, his voice soft. "Don't say that. It's just a fever. You'll be fine after a shot."

"Hey, do you have enough money? Shots are expensive."

"It's fine."

"How can it be fine? How much do you have left?"

He didn't answer. He carried me into the hospital, crouched in front of me, and said seriously, "As long as you're okay, I'm okay."

I was bundled up in a thick coat. "When Mom and Dad stop fighting, I'll ask them for money to pay you back."

Nico touched my hair, his eyes gentle. "Trust me. You're going to be fine."

But I wasn't fine.

The night Nico was sent to the East Coast on family business, I came home and opened my parents' bedroom door.

My father had another woman in his arms.

That was the beginning of my fall.

Then came the screaming fights. Then my father was shot dead by my mother. My home vanished.

Late one night, my family's enemies broke in.

The chandelier swinging. Men's excited shouts. Dull pain on my skin. The sickening feel of hands. My mother's hysterical screaming—all mixed into a boiling, churning mess in my head.

Then time fast-forwarded.

My mother drowned in the bathtub—by their hands.

Chiara found me, half-clothed, and took me far away to the West Coast.

On a rainy day, I sat curled in a hospital corner in a patient gown, my face blank.

"She has a genetic psychiatric condition. Any family?"

Chiara looked at me with worried eyes. "She has a boyfriend. On the East Coast."

"Contact him." The doctor used clinical terms. "She's at high risk for suicide. Treatment will be long and difficult. She'll need someone with her for years."

I was in no state to plan revenge.

Chiara and I were like two stray dogs. We fled everything we'd ever known.

The same day, Nico got the chance to expand into Europe.

He called.

There was wind on his end.

"Valentina," he said, tenderly. "I promise you. In three years, I will marry you."

I watched the iron gate close behind me. There was no way back home.

"Nico… I don't think I can be with you anymore."

I swallowed the sob. Tears fell silently.

He stopped breathing. "Why?"

I opened my mouth. For a moment, I hesitated.

His future was so bright.

And I—parents dead, violated by multiple men.

Would I really chain him to me? Trap him on this gray, rainy coast?

Through a window, a girl cried behind a fence. The boy's face showed nothing but numbness and disgust.

I saw the light die in someone's eyes. It was devastating.

The wind lifted my hair, revealing bruises and bite marks on my neck.

Finally, I wiped my tears and said, "Nico, take care of yourself. We're done."