How Does Quattrocento End?

The night before my victory gala, I heard my husband, Matteo Bellandi, promise my credit to his mistress. "Vivian, I'll put Sofia's project credit under your name. Consider it an early second-birthday gift for our son." Vivian laughed softly. "Will Sofia agree to that?" Matteo sounded bored. "She has the title of Mrs. Bellandi. That's enough." I thought I had misheard him. But the next night, my award was given to Vivian, and Matteo personally walked her onto the stage. "Young talent needs room to grow," he told the room. "From now on, Vivian will lead this project." The gala went silent. Everyone tried not to look at me. I sat in the corner Vivian had arranged for me and finally understood. Matteo had kept the title for me, then given the credit, the money, and his future to his mistress and their son. Fine. I left the ballroom without looking back. I was done being Mrs. Bellandi. From now on, I was Sofia Valenti again, the princess of Chicago’s most feared family.

My husband is poor. We've already been married for three years, but I've covered all our expenses during that time. Even when I'm interested in a cheap bag when we go shopping, he says it's too expensive. He tells me not to buy it. Later, I discover that he gives his first love a four-million-dollar diamond necklace for her birthday. It turns out he's not broke and heavily in debt—he's the heir to an affluent family with a net worth of billions of dollars.

When I took a bullet for Theo Moretti, the bullet grazed my temple, compressing the optic nerve and causing blindness in both my eyes. He kneeled by my hospital bed, pressed the family crest to his chest, and swore: “Sophie, I will be your eyes for life. If I break this oath, may I die a horrendous death.” I believed him. However, the day my sight returned, I saw Theo through the bedroom door, naked on our marital bed with the maid, Isabella. He gripped her waist and thrust violently, his voice hoarse in a way I had never heard, growling, “Bella… you really are the most seductive woman in all of Sicily…” “Theo, who else besides me could satisfy you like this in bed? Divorce that blind woman already!” Isabella nibbled his earlobe. “After all, I’m the one who truly understands you.” “Wait a little longer,” Theo panted. “I need time… Don Lucas just handed me control of the docks. If I divorce now, I’ll be left with nothing.” Rare snowflakes rained down outside. I walked barefoot out of the estate in a thin nightgown and sent an encrypted message to my father. “Father, send someone to pick me up in three days. I’m coming home.” Don Lucas, my father, never expected that the boss he had personally promoted would dare betray his daughter. He replied with a single sentence: “For daring to betray you, Theo’s dead.” What I did not know was that this message would ignite a storm that would sweep across all of Sicily. In three days, Theo Moretti, the man I had risked my life for and I had personally helped rise to power, would lose everything he held dear, including me.

I was the Falcone family's top consigliere. Their brain. And today, I was walking away—handing over the books to every legitimate business I ran, severing my final tie. My protégé couldn't understand. "You're the future of this family, Aurelia. You can't just leave." I shook my head with a bitter smile. They didn't know. I'd been secretly married to the Don, Vittorio Falcone, for three years. I thought my looks, my mind, and everything I gave him would be enough to win all of his love. A hit at the docks three months ago showed me the truth. I took thirteen bullets. Emergency. I needed the family surgeon—which required Vittorio's direct order. I called him over a dozen times. But when he finally answered, all I heard was a soft, breathless voice on his end. "Vittorio, we haven't cut my birthday cake. Will you hold my hand and cut it with me?" That voice. My best friend. The woman Vittorio once had a crush on. Carina. In the safe house, weak from blood loss, I dug the bullet out myself and had one of my men rush me to a family clinic. Right before they wheeled me into the OR, Vittorio burst in—carrying Carina. Twisted ankle. Needed a doctor. Now. My surgeon was dragged away. The antibiotics came too late. The wound got infected. I fought for my life for a week. When I woke up, I stared at my phone. Not a single message. The tears finally came. I understood. I was just the woman he'd been forced to marry after he was drugged and slept with me. A scandal averted. All he cared about was my value and his reputation. And me? The secret princess of the Rossi family, who gave up everything to build his empire. All for nothing. So I prepared four parting gifts. A celebration of our mutual destruction. Then he'd never see me again.

"You're my sister. I don't care if I'm drugged—this ain't it. You ain't my cure." Carlo Quaranta's eyes were shot red, chest heaving, but that rage? Way hotter than any craving. "Even if you make me marry you, I'll never love you." Vera Este didn't doubt it. Not for a second. He meant every damn word. Last time, she was the so-called "cure"... and it dragged her straight into marriage. She stared at his face—still young. Felt like it belonged to someone from a whole other life.

On the streets of Milan, our nanny, Fiona, livestreamed my son’s limited-edition sneakers. A few days later, she shockingly transformed into my son’s stepmother. I overheard Anthony telling Fiona, “Once Francesca signs the divorce papers, all her assets will be ours.” Anthony was the man I had loved for ten years and had defied my family to marry. I took a step back, pretending to break down in tears, trembling as I told him I would give him anything as long as he didn’t go through with the divorce. What they didn’t know was that I had just dialed the number I hadn’t called in ten years. In a low voice, I said, “Father, the game is over. Your heiress, the principessa, is coming home.”