Chapter 3

I looked up at him.

His gaze suddenly froze.

Fixed on my neck.

The cut from the knife was still oozing blood.

A drop slid down my collarbone, staining my shirt.

The lust in his eyes vanished.

Replaced by an irritation he couldn't name.

He stopped in his tracks, pointing at the door.

"Get out."

I didn't hesitate.

I grabbed my bag from the sofa and walked out.

Behind me, a vase shattered against the wall.

I didn't even turn my head.

Outside the club, the cold autumn wind whipped into my collar.

I pulled my thin coat tighter.

I wandered the streets with no destination.

The wind on my neck was like a thousand needles.

But that pain was nothing.

Not compared to the pain in my heart.

My vision blurred.

The city lights smeared together.

In a daze, I was eighteen again.

Working at a corner diner.

A drunk grabbed my arm.

Tried to drag me into an alley.

I screamed.

Cried.

Rocco appeared out of nowhere.

He grabbed a beer bottle and smashed it over the drunk’s head.

It was him against three of them.

All for me.

They cracked his forehead open.

His face was covered in blood.

After his crew dragged the bleeding men into an alley, Rocco wiped the blood from his own face.

He turned and grinned at me.

He took my trembling hand.

His voice was so gentle.

He comforted me, "Don't be afraid. I'm here."

Back then, he wasn't the untouchable Mafia heir.

He was just my Rocco.

And now?

The one who humiliated me.

The one who ground me into the dirt.

The one who indirectly killed my brother.

It was all him.

The same man who swore he'd never let me suffer.

I snapped.

The grief swallowed me whole.

I couldn't breathe.

My legs gave out.

I lost all my strength.

Everything went black.

I collapsed.

A screech of tires cut through the night.

A black Bentley slammed to a halt beside me.

The door was thrown open.

Rapid footsteps.

A strong arm wrapped around my shoulders, lifting me from the pavement.

I managed to crack open my eyes.

It was Rocco.

His face was deathly pale.

In the streetlight, I could feel his arm trembling as he held me.

He was scared.

But that fear didn't last a second.

The moment he saw I was conscious, the panic in his eyes vanished.

Rage took its place.

He shoved me into the passenger seat.

Roughly.

Without a hint of care.

The door slammed shut.

He got into the driver's side, yanking at his tie, breathing hard.

He snapped, "Are you done yet?"

I leaned against the seat, too weak to speak.

He looked at my pale face and sneered.

He asked mockingly, "Or do you think collapsing on the street like a pathetic victim will win my sympathy?"

He leaned in close, his eyes full of scorn.

He continued, "Think I'll go soft on you? Think this will make me give you more money?"

I looked at his face, so close to mine.

The features were the same.

But the soul was gone.

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.

I didn't say a word.

I just turned my head and stared out the window.

Rocco took my silence as defiance.

He roared, "Speak!"

He accused bitterly,

"Ava, stop playing the saint with me. You are, and always will be, a woman who would do anything for money. Doesn't it disgust you, pretending to be above it all?"

His accusations echoed in the car.

Every word was a knife in my heart.

I bit my lip and closed my eyes.

I didn't defend myself.

What was the point?

Tell him I never wanted his money?

Tell him Leo was dead?

He wouldn't believe me.

In his eyes, I was branded.

Gold Digger.

For five years, he tortured me with that label.

But he didn't know.

When we first got together, his father came to see me.

Many times.

He tried to buy me off.

The price got higher every time.

And every time, I refused without a second thought.

I told him, word for word, "I don't want your money. I just want Rocco."