Glass bit into my palms as I knelt, metal slicing skin. I welcomed the pain. It reminded me I was still standing.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Blood smeared the floor as I pushed myself upright, forcing my spine straight despite the sting.
“Is that sufficient, Don Moretti?”
His eyes held nothing—no memory, no regret.
“The man who protected you no longer exists,” he said coldly. “Who are you performing for now?”
I stared at him. “If you hate me this much, end it. Reject me. Cut the bond.”
He laughed, low and cruel. “Why bother? You’ll return. You always do. And rejection hurts more than you deserve.”
I gathered the remaining fragments, dumped them into the trash, washed the blood from my hands, and lifted my bag.
This time, when I walked out of the palazzo—
I didn’t look back.
Avery’s POV
I truly believed I had escaped.
For one delicate, foolish heartbeat, I thought I was finally free.
I didn’t even make it past the outer gates of the Moretti estate before fate laughed in my face.
Two men stepped out from the shadows as if they’d been waiting all along. Black suits. Stone expressions. Don Moretti’s personal security—soldiers who answered only to him. I barely registered their faces before they seized me, one iron grip on each arm, hauling me backward like a criminal instead of the woman who once ruled this house beside him.
“Mrs. Moretti,” one of them said flatly, already dragging me toward the main villa, “you’re required inside. The Don wants you now. He needs your blood.”
My lungs locked.
“What—no—let go of me!” I thrashed violently, panic flooding my body—not for myself, but for the fragile life hidden beneath my ribs. My heart hammered so hard it felt like a warning siren. A plea. “Why would he need my blood?”
Why him?
Why this marriage?
Why was my punishment always disguised as loyalty?
I had given him everything.
My body. My name. My future. I stood beside him through indictments, rival families circling like wolves, whispers that could’ve torn his empire apart. I shielded him when bullets flew—literal and political. I was his wife in every way that mattered.
Was that still not enough?
What kind of twisted joke was it that I ended up bound to a man who saw me as a resource? A tool? Something to be used and discarded when convenient?
And yet—he wanted more.
He always wanted more.