Chapter 6

The moment I walked out of the study, my phone lit up.

A picture from Isla.

It was a man’s lean, muscular waist. Maxim’s.

There used to be a long scar there. I’d kissed it a thousand times, my heart aching for the wounds he carried for his family.

Now, the scar was covered by a new, brash tattoo.

Four letters, tattooed raw and red into his skin. A brand. An insult.

My heart didn't speed up. My fingers didn't even tremble.

I saved it. Added it to the evidence file for the court.

Once, a vague rumor about him would have kept me up all night in pain.

Now, seeing another woman’s name carved on him just made my stomach turn.

That evening, the first-floor ballroom was lit up.

I stood by the fireplace, watching workers hang champagne-colored velvet drapes.

“Sister, what do you think of this outfit?”

Isla appeared beside me. She wore an expensive silver gown, radiant.

My eyes fell to her chest. She was wearing an emerald cross necklace.

The Volkov family heirloom. Passed down to every Donna. The one Maxim had placed around my neck in that dim little chapel three years ago.

“Maxim says the emerald brings out my eyes.” Isla toyed with the pendant, her smile pure venom. “He’s just trying to fulfill a dying girl’s wishes. You aren’t jealous, are you, sister?”

I stared at the necklace. Once, it was my treasured vow of love. Now, it was just a chain heavy with lies.

“Do whatever you want.” My voice was hollow. No anger. No tears. My heart was already a pile of cold ash.

Around the corner, Maxim paused, a drink in his hand. He heard my answer. His brow furrowed, a flicker of panic in his eyes. But he said nothing. He let her get away with it.

The party began.

The estate was a sea of beautiful people and sparkling champagne.

I wore a simple, long black dress. No jewelry.

Everything was ready.

In ten minutes, my car would be at the back gate.

I stood on the second-floor balcony, watching Maxim and Isla below, surrounded by a crowd.

Suddenly, automatic gunfire shredded the night. The floor-to-ceiling windows exploded in a rain of jagged glass. Screams tore through the ballroom.

A rival attack.

A firebomb landed on the balcony.

The blast threw me backward.

I hit the ground hard, my ears ringing.

A burning beam fell from the ceiling.

I closed my eyes, thinking this was the end.

A pair of strong arms yanked me into a hard chest.

A familiar scent.

Maxim was shielding me, his body covering mine from the falling debris.

I opened my eyes, looking at his face, so close.

For a split second, a pathetic thought crossed my mind.

He still wanted to save me.

“Maxim! Help me!”

Isla’s terrified scream came from downstairs.

Maxim’s body went rigid.

He didn't even hesitate. He literally shoved me aside into the line of fire, scrambling toward the stairs to get to her.

I was exposed. A perfect target.

Armed men in black swarmed the second floor. A gun barrel was pressed to my head.

I was dragged roughly down the stairs.

As they pulled me out the main doors, I looked back one last time.

Through the flames, Maxim was holding Isla tight. He never looked back. Not once.

They blindfolded me, threw me in a car.

I don’t know how long it was. I was thrown into a damp, cold basement.

“Where are the Volkov ledgers?” someone growled, grabbing my hair and punching me in my wounded abdomen.

The pain was so intense I almost passed out.

I didn’t speak. I just laughed.

They got crueler. Hours of it. Every bone in my body felt like it was being crushed.

Just as my consciousness began to fade into black…

The iron door blew open.

Gunfire erupted like a sudden storm.

In seconds, my torturers were all dead on the floor.

A blinding flashlight hit my eyes.

Matteo Vitale stepped over a bleeding corpse. He shrugged off his custom suit jacket, draping it gently over my shivering shoulders. He dropped to one knee.

“Principessa,” his voice was absolute. “We are taking you home.”

——

Maxim's POV

After dropping Isla off at the safe house, I floored the gas pedal. The sky was on fire. The air smelled of burnt metal and flesh.

“Don, the fire… it’s too big. The transport van exploded on the bridge. It’s a fucking ruin…” my capo reported, his voice trembling.

I ignored him. I tore past the police tape like a madman.

“Seraphina!” I roared, kicking away a cop who tried to block me.

A stretcher came through the smoke. A charred body under a white sheet. A broken arm hung limply over the side.

On one slender finger, a diamond ring. Blackened and twisted from the heat.

It was our wedding. I’d put that ring on her finger myself. The ring of the Volkov Donna.

“No… impossible.” The blood drained from my body. I froze, my tall frame rigid.

I slowly fell to my knees in the scorched mud. My hand trembled as I reached for the ring, then flinched back in terror.

A moment ago, I was screaming at her in that hospital room. For Isla.

Now she was gone. The woman whose eyes saw only me. The woman who didn't shed a tear when I’d thrown her onto broken glass.

An invisible hand ripped my heart from my chest. I couldn't breathe.

“Seraphina, get up. Stop fucking with me…” My eyes were bloodshot. My voice broke.

I lunged forward, pulling the seared corpse into my arms. The heat burned my skin, but I didn't care. I howled.

“Bring her back to me! Get the best doctors! Whoever saves her, I’ll give them the whole fucking empire!”