Chapter 2

I dragged Sofia into the main living room like a suitcase.

The priceless Renaissance oil painting that used to hang on the wall was gone. In its place was an oversized photo of Sofia and Lorenzo, pressed together as they looked deeply into each other's eyes.

What a revolting sight.

I raised the gun and fired once. The photo frame shattered, glass raining down across the floor. Sofia screamed, intending to escape, but I kicked the back of her knee, forcing her to kneel onto the shards.

"Shut up. Make another sound, and I'll slice off your tongue."

The maids came running at the noise and froze the moment they saw the scene. Most of them were unfamiliar faces, probably a bunch of new hires that Lorenzo brought in after I left.

Only one man reacted differently—the old butler. The instant he saw me, his clouded eyes filled with tears. "Donna Rossi, you're finally home!"

He tried to step forward, trembling, but a few hulking men blocked his way. They were Lorenzo's newly promoted enforcers. They were all dressed in tight suits, their muscles stretching the fabric to the brink.

"Let him go," I commanded, gun raised, my gaze sweeping over them like a blade. "Anyone who lays a finger on Mario won't see another day."

Mario Alfano was a butler who watched me grow up.

The goons exchanged looks, hesitating, as if they were stunned by my dangerous presence. Although I was still in a prison uniform with messy hair, three years inside had carved something sharp into my bones.

That kind of overwhelming presence wasn't something a bunch of suit-wearing, gym-built punks could handle.

Just then, sharp brakes screamed outside.

Lorenzo burst in with a group behind him. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, hair slicked back without a strand out of place. On his wrist was the limited-edition watch I had given him.

The moment he took in the wreckage—shattered glass and Sofia on her knees with blood all over her face—his expression dropped like a guillotine. "Vittoria, have you lost your damn mind?"

He shoved me aside and crouched immediately, carefully lifting Sofia and checking on her injury. I could see the vivid heartbreak in his eyes. "Are you okay, amore? Does it hurt?"

Sofia melted into his arms and began sobbing. "Amore mio, I'm so scared… She hit me the second she walked in—said she was going to kill me… and that this was her house. She wanted to kick us all out…"

Lorenzo snapped his head up and locked his eyes on me with oozing disgust. "How long are you planning to keep this up, Vittoria? You think this is still prison, where you can just run wild and do anything you like? Sofia's just a child! How could you do this to her?"

A child? A 20-something oversized baby playing house in my estate?

I looked at him coldly. "Lorenzo, unless you've gone blind, you should be able to see this is my house. The deed says Vittoria Rossi, not Lorenzo Morretti—and definitely not some puttana you picked up from a red-light district!"

"Shut up!" he snapped as if I had stepped on his tail, shooting to his feet. "Who's been running the family these past three years? Who kept your precious legacy intact? Me! I did!"

He continued, "If it weren't for me, the Rossi family would've been swallowed whole by the others! I live here because it makes managing family business easier, which the Consigliere approved!"

"The Consigliere?" I sneered, asking, "You mean that senile old fool, Paolo Benetti? Or the bunch of ass-kissing idiots you promoted because they clap the loudest when you talk?"

"You're being extreme, Vittoria."

Lorenzo took a deep breath, forcing calm onto his face. "I know you just got out, and you're… unstable. How about this? I've got an empty apartment in the suburbs. I'll give you the keys, and you can stay there while you cool off."

He paused, then generously added, "At the next family gathering, I'll announce some compensation for you."

Compensation? I took the fall for him and spent three years in prison, and he thought a vacant, nobody-wants-it apartment would settle the bill?

"I don't need compensation," I said, inching closer to him step by step, the muzzle drifting casually across his chest. "I just need you to get the hell out of my house and give back what's mine."