Chapter 3

My doctor had been treating Sophia for a month when she had an episode behind the wheel and crashed into a woman near the Moretti estate. The woman turned out to be a DEA informant who'd been watching our family.

That night, Victor came home and threw a stack of files in my face.

"Look what you did."

His anger over Sophia's treatment had become routine.

I picked up the pages and sorted them one by one. "The doctor said she'd been making progress. She shouldn't have crashed like that. Maybe she was... drinking..."

Victor sneered. "Here we go again. More blame-dodging."

"I can't believe I ended things with her for you. You're a vicious woman."

His cold indifference cut into me like a blade, slicing through everything I'd once felt for him.

My eyes burned. "Victor, wake up. If I actually wanted to hurt her, it'd be easier than stepping on an ant."

He scoffed. "Of course you wouldn't dare. My father nearly had her killed for opposing our marriage back then, and you knew I had people protecting her. You think I don't know how badly you want her gone?"

At our engagement, he'd held my hands and told me he'd never met anyone as radiant, as genuinely alive, as me. Now he was accusing me of wanting to commit murder.

"You hate her, you're jealous of her, you resent her—"

I didn't realize I was crying until I felt it on my face. I couldn't take any more.

"I have never wished Sophia harm. I respected your past with her. I've put up with all of this because I love you, Victor. What do I have to do for you to stop making her suffering my fault?"

Victor's throat moved. A long silence. Then he spoke.

"Someone has to answer for this accident."

"Delora, if you really haven't done anything to hurt Sophia, then help her. Take the fall. Tell them you were the one driving. No one will touch you. She gets to walk away."

I couldn't move. I hadn't expected him to ask me that.

Sophia had hit a federal informant. The DA's office wanted someone, and they'd made it clear: no low-level pawns. Senators were staying out of it. As the Moretti heiress, if I confessed, it would be worse for me than it would ever be for someone as fragile as Sophia.

He saw me go quiet and kept going. "Sophia's too vulnerable. The DEA will use her to get to the whole family. I can't let that happen." He looked at me with the same warmth that used to mean something, trying to hold me in place with it. "I trust you, Delora. You're the Donna. This is your responsibility."

Yes. Responsibility.

He was responsible for Sophia's illness. And I was responsible for Sophia's crimes, apparently. The reason he'd married me in the first place was because he was supposed to, not because he wanted to.

I had a responsibility too: to myself, for loving the wrong man.

I cut him off mid-speech. With great effort, I nodded.

"Fine. I'll confess. But remember, I'm not doing this for Sophia. I'm doing it for you and me."

Victor didn't understand what I meant at the time. I didn't explain. I walked into the DEA's building and didn't look back.

Three years followed. The memories came faster and heavier until I couldn't breathe. My vision blurred, and then everything went dark.