Chapter 1

Salvatore Falcone froze, then anger lit his eyes.

He strode forward and grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "What the hell is wrong with you, Alessia Santoro?"

I ignored the sharp pain in my jaw. Instead, I lifted his shirt and tossed it onto the floor.

Salvatore's eyes darkened instantly. "Looks like you want another trip to the basement."

The basement was dark and damp. It was filled with snakes and spiders that slithered across me whenever I woke up.

Any hint of disobedience meant being locked down there. Sometimes it was for three days. Sometimes it lasted for a month.

I used to be terrified. But now, I simply looked at him. There was no emotion in my eyes.

My silence seemed to enrage him further. Just as he raised his hand to hit me like he always did, a sugary voice drifted down from the staircase. "Salvatore, what got you all worked up this early in the morning?"

Valentina Caruso slowly descended the stairs wearing my nightgown.

That nightgown was the first and only gift Salvatore had ever given me. Now, it was on another woman's body.

Salvatore let go of me. The dark expression on his face immediately softened.

Valentina walked straight to the Donna's seat and sat down as if it belonged to her.

"This really is the best seat," she said.

Salvatore watched the scene unfold and said nothing. He silently allowed her behavior.

The housekeepers nervously brought out breakfast.

Valentina picked up the bowl of hot oatmeal, but didn't take a bite. Instead, she turned her gaze toward me.

"Alessia, don't be upset with Salvatore. He's just got a temper," she said, raising the bowl as if she were about to hand it to me.

Suddenly, her hand tilted, and the scalding oatmeal spilled onto the back of my hand.

"Ah!" Valentina cried out as if she were the one burned.

The scalding pain shot through me. Two blisters swelled on the back of my hand almost instantly.

Salvatore rushed forward, gripping Valentina's hand to inspect it. "Are you hurt? Let me cool it."

Valentina shook her head, her eyes glossy with tears.

"I'm fine. I just… spilled Alessia's breakfast," she said, glancing at my injured hand. "Alessia, is your hand okay? It's all my fault. I was careless."

Salvatore finally looked at my hand and frowned. "Don't think you can win my sympathy with that pitiful look. Clean this up!"

I lowered my gaze to my swollen hand, but I couldn't feel the stinging pain.

My heart had gone numb.

Seven years ago, my brother, Nicola Santoro, had gotten into an accident. His treatment required medicine that cost a fortune.

Salvatore had appeared out of nowhere. He said he could save Nicola, but I would have to become his wife—a nominal Donna.

We agreed to a seven-year contract.

Once it ended, he promised he wouldn't interfere with my life.

Now that Nicola's treatment was almost finished, I had reached out to a high school friend. Once the agreement expired, I would leave with him.

All I had to do was endure Salvatore until the day the contract ended.

I was about to tend to my hand when Valentina spoke again. "Salvatore, there's a charity auction tonight. I'd love to go check it out."

She leaned against him before flicking her eyes to me. "As the Donna, you should show up too, Alessia. People would talk if you don't."

The blisters on my hand had begun to ooze blood. Cold sweat dripped from my forehead.

Clutching my wrist, I refused coldly, "I'm not going. I need to get this treated at the hospital."

Salvatore's frown deepened. "It's just a scratch. Don't be dramatic."

"Just a scratch?" I asked, staring at my ruined hand. "Is anything short of death just a scratch to you, Don Falcone?"

I turned to leave, refusing to look at the two of them again.

Salvatore's voice rang out from behind me. "Alessia, stop right there!"

He stepped in front of me, blocking my way. "You are going to that auction. It's your responsibility as the Donna. Are you telling me you want to give up that title?"

It was a blatant threat.

He knew I couldn't risk losing the title while Nicola still needed care.

I had no choice but to give in until he's out of danger. "Fine. I'll go."