Yet somehow, he found out. He stormed out of a sit-down with three capos and drove home like the devil himself was chasing him, running every red light between the social club and the compound.
He grabbed my hand and cradled it like I was made of spun glass.
"I'm so sorry, tesoro. I should've protected you," he said, his voice rough with guilt. "I swear on my mother's grave—as long as I'm breathing, I'll never let anything hurt you again."
Then he pulled me into his arms. Warm. Strong. Trembling just slightly with the force of his conviction. That embrace—and that blood oath—had branded themselves into my memory like a scar.
But that boy was long dead.
He'd grown into a cold, calculating man who looked at me like I was nothing. Like I was disposable. Like I was a loose end waiting to be tied off.
Now, he was the one hurting me the most.
I stumbled toward the estate's side entrance, the one the servants used. The edges of my vision darkened, collapsing inward like a dying star.
But before I hit the ground—I fell into someone's arms.
A stranger's arms. Firm and unfamiliar, smelling of expensive tobacco and something darker. Something dangerous.
Before the blackness swallowed me whole, I heard a single whisper against the shell of my ear—a voice like smoke and shadows.
"Do you want revenge?"
The words curled around me like a devil's bargain, offered at the crossroads of desperation and death.
"In exchange for those stakes you just signed away… I'll help you find the proof of who really killed your mother."
Tears carved silent rivers down my face as I clung, half-conscious, to the man's shirt—the fine wool damp beneath my trembling fingers.
"Re… venge…" The word escaped my lips like a dying prayer, barely formed, yet heavy with the weight of a blood oath.
When I opened my eyes again, all I saw was white—too bright, too sterile. The antiseptic scent of a hospital room invaded my senses, a stark contrast to the darkness that had swallowed me whole.
I turned my head slowly, wincing at the dull ache that radiated through every fiber of my body, and reached for my phone. A message from Colino waited on the screen, sent the night before.
[I've got Family business to handle tomorrow. Go try on the wedding gown by yourself. Our union is approaching, so pull yourself together. Stop with the dramatics and marry into the Marconi Family with some dignity.]