Chapter 4

I stared at the white ceiling of the hospital room. The sterile white slowly morphed into the blood-red canvas of my revenge.

My palm rested on my flat stomach. It was an empty grave now. A tiny flame had flickered there, only to be snuffed out.

The burner phone hidden in my pillowcase vibrated.

"It's done," Zia's voice said, sharp and efficient. No comfort, not a single wasted word.

"The annulment request has gone through the highest channels, directly to the Commissione's desk. The grounds are domestic abuse and embezzling Family funds. Angelo won't hear a word until the papers are served."

"And my marriage?" I asked, my voice raspy.

"It's all arranged. The groom's family is waiting. Their Don needs a Donna before his birthday banquet next week to shut up the old fools on the High Table. And you need the sharpest blade available. This is a power trade, Siena. Nothing more than a business transaction."

"I understand," I said. "Who is he?"

"One hour. South Dock, Pier Seven. A white private yacht. The guards will know who you are."

She paused. "This man is not to be trifled with. He controls more than half the city's underworld. Not just casinos and docks. Small-time players like Angelo aren't even qualified to hand him a cigar."

"Good," I said through gritted teeth. "Because a monster is exactly what I need right now."

"Don't be late," she said, and the line went dead.

I pushed myself up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. Every organ screamed in protest. The hollow ache in my abdomen was a constant reminder of what I had lost.

But the agony only fueled my thirst for revenge.

The door creaked.

I shoved the phone under the blankets. Angelo walked in, wearing a dark, sharply pressed suit. He looked like the perfect husband, worried sick about his wife.

"Who were you talking to?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

"No one," I blurted, then added, "Actually... I was trying to find a therapist."

Angelo raised an eyebrow. "A therapist? I thought you hated them."

"I've been thinking a lot," I lied, forcing a tremble into my voice. "About everything. About... everything I've lost."

My voice cracked, the tears real, but they were for my child.

I had to play the part of a broken woman. "Maybe you were right, Angelo. Maybe I am too sick to be saved. Maybe I do need to be locked away. I came to beg you… please, just send me to that asylum up north. Somewhere isolated."

The lines on his face relaxed. A slow, arrogant, satisfied smile crept onto his lips.

"Siena," he said, walking over to pat my shoulder. "You finally understand. I'm so glad you've stopped fighting. As long as you sign the admission papers, it'll be a relief for everyone."

"I know," I said, lowering my head. "I just want to get better."

"Of course," he said, glancing at his watch. "Perfect timing. I have a shipment arriving at the South Dock tonight. We can't afford to mess it up. Bianca and I have to supervise. You handle the paperwork."

"Okay," I said.

"Siena," he said, squeezing my shoulder hard. "Don't try any tricks. Don't do anything stupid. If you run, my men will drag you back. And next time, it won't be in a comfortable hospital bed."

"I won't run." I looked up, meeting his eyes. "I don't want to fight anymore, Angelo," I whispered. "You win."

"Good girl." He leaned down and pressed a cold kiss to my forehead. Every muscle in my body went rigid.

He turned and walked out, his step light, whistling as he went.

I waited. Five minutes. Then ten.

I ripped off the hospital gown and slipped into the trench coat Bianca had tossed over a chair. It hung loosely on my emaciated frame.

I slipped past the nurses' station, out the emergency exit, and into a black car waiting in a dark alley.

"South Dock, Pier Seven," I told the driver.

The night pressed down layer by layer. Gliding past the window were the streets I knew by heart, the streets my father had once walked with me.

The neon signs of the casinos glowed in the distance, my name still at the top of the shareholder list. In a few days, that spot would belong to Angelo.

Unless I struck first.

Pier Seven was deeper than I imagined. The closer we got to the water, the fewer streetlights there were, but the number of men in black suits increased.

When the head guard saw me, he asked no questions. He simply spoke into his earpiece, "She is here," and pointed toward the massive white yacht anchored at the very end.

I threw down a few bills and walked up the gangway. Passing through carved wooden doors, I was finally led to a cigar lounge at the stern of the ship.

When the door opened, the room was dimly lit, illuminated only by the fireplace and the bar. The entire room smelled of rich cigar smoke and aged whiskey.

A man stood with his back to me. Broad shoulders, tall frame.

"Hello?" I spoke.

The man slowly turned around.

I sharply inhaled a breath of cold air.

This was no stranger I had never met. Nor was he some fat, cold-blooded old man with too much power.

Black hair, piercing dark gray eyes, and a jawline sharp as a knife.

He was harder and colder than the version in my memory, but I recognized him in a heartbeat.

"Massimo?" I whispered in disbelief.

Massimo Vitiello. The boy who lived in the villa next to our vineyard when I was a child.

The boy my father would bring me over to have dinner with every year during the grape harvest. The boy who tied a piece of twine around my finger under the fig tree, calling it a "ring" and promising to marry me when we grew up.

He looked at me, his eyes betraying absolutely no emotion.

"It has been a long time, Siena," he finally spoke. His voice was low and steady, like a whiskey aged in a cellar for twenty years. "You are just as beautiful as ever."

"You..." I took two steps forward. "You're the man Zia arranged for me?"

"I prefer the term 'partner'," he said, his lips twitching into a ghost of a smile. "But call it what you will. My Family needs a proper Donna to hold the fort. And you need a name that even the Commissione won't dare to touch."

"It seems we are a match made in heaven."

I stared at him. The boy who used to push me on the swings in the vineyard was now the man whom even the Chief of Police bowed to in this city. And he was handing me a lifeline.

"Massimo," I heard my own voice tremble. "Angelo, he..."

"I know everything," he cut me off, the gray in his eyes darkening, turning as cold as the harbor outside the window. "Every photo, every dollar he stole from your father's accounts, the poisoned wine in the cellar… and the child."

My heart violently clenched.

He reached out his large, knuckle-heavy hand. On his index finger sat the solid gold Family ring, the symbol of absolute power belonging to the strongest Mafia Don in North America.

"Ready to marry me, principessa?" he asked softly.