"I didn't do any of—"
My voice came out thin, barely there.
The charges were fabricated. Every last one. But Rocco never bothered to investigate. He took Gianna's word as gospel, no questions asked. He really did love her that much.
A bitter laugh echoed somewhere inside my chest.
What followed was six hours of beatings. By the end, my vision went black and I lost consciousness entirely.
When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital bed. Not a real hospital. The Family's private clinic on the east side of the compound, where the dottore patched up men who couldn't go to emergency rooms and wives who weren't supposed to have bruises.
Rocco sat beside me, his gaze flat and cold. "Stop going after Gianna. Unless you want more of the same."
I said nothing.
During the two years he'd schemed to strip me of everything in the dissolution, I'd swallowed every kind of suffering there was. This time, I was going to carve out a future of my own.
Rocco looked at my bruised, swollen face. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes. Then a phone rang, and his attention snapped away.
I glanced over without turning my head. The caller was Gianna.
The moment he picked up, his brow softened. His voice turned gentle.
All things that used to be mine.
Back then, he'd been the notorious troublemaker running with the Marchetti crew before he was even made, and I was just a girl who'd gotten lost near the old warehouse district and stumbled onto him beating someone bloody behind the loading dock.
That one encounter was all it took. He latched onto me after that, impossibly tender and attentive with me while staying vicious toward everyone else. It didn't matter if they were women. He never spared them a second glance.
When he proposed at the Marchetti estate in that grand, over-the-top spectacle with half the families in attendance, practically everyone said Rocco Marchetti was head over heels for me.
We became Marchetti territory's golden couple. The gossip columns and society pages tripped over themselves to cover our story: a Valente daughter and a Marchetti heir, two bloodlines joined like something out of the old country. The whispers at every family dinner called us a fairy tale come to life.
Too bad fairy tales always end at the ceremony. And what came after, for Rocco and me, was everything those stories never bothered to tell.
"Something came up at the social club. I need to handle it."
Rocco stood and headed for the door. Just before it closed, I heard him murmur into the phone, "Whatever my girl wants, I'll get it for her."
I pulled my gaze back, picked up the phone on the nightstand, entered the passcode, and switched to the second operating system. A burner line hidden inside a legitimate device. The one precaution I'd taken that no one in the Marchetti crew knew about.
There was only one number in the contacts. I stared at it for a long time before I finally made myself dial.
He picked up almost instantly. A warm, rich voice came through the speaker: "Serafina. You finally decided to call me."
My heart stuttered. Heat flooded my ears. I turned the words over in my head, then forced them out through clenched teeth: "Could you... could you take me away? You mentioned a position within your family before. I can do the work."
He didn't hesitate. "Of course. I've been holding that spot for you. When do you want to come?"
I pressed my lips together. "One week. Once I've settled things here, I'll be there."
His voice was steady, sincere. "All right. I'll come get you myself."
After the call ended, I finally let myself exhale.
Three days in the clinic. Rocco didn't visit once. Meanwhile, the society pages and tabloids ran wall-to-wall coverage of him and Gianna.
SHOCKING! Marchetti Don Buys Every Lot at Black-Market Auction Just to Make His Advisor Smile!
BREAKING! Marchetti Heir Takes Personal Advisor Dress Shopping for a Ceremony Gown — Big Day Approaching!
On my very first day in the clinic, I'd received a message request from Gianna.
Over the next three days she sent me Rocco's full itinerary, message after message. I forwarded every single one to my independent operative and told them to move fast.
Ding.
Another taunt.
Gianna had sent a photo, smug as ever. It was the Valente Family Mausoleum.
When I made out the names carved into the stone, my pupils contracted to pinpoints.
Gianna called. My fingers were shaking as I answered.
She let out two soft laughs, her tone laced with venom. "What do you think about me bulldozing this place and putting up a nice parking structure?"
My mind went blank for a split second. I ground my molars together. "What the hell do you want, Gianna?"
Rocco had secured that sacred ground for my parents. He'd stood beside me in the rain that day and whispered, "From now on, I'm your only family. Wherever you are, that's home."
Promises from another lifetime. Punchlines now.
Gianna's voice kept coming, relentless: "You saw me in bed with him, and you still had the nerve to crawl back. Shameless."
"I was this close to becoming his wife before the families. I'm the one who should be Donna Marchetti!"
"You ruined my life, you worthless little tramp. So don't expect me to make yours easy."
She hung up without waiting for a reply.
I sat frozen for a beat, then scrambled to check myself out. The nurse at the front desk told me my account had been zeroed out. Every line of credit tied to the Marchetti name, closed.
I stared. I hadn't expected Rocco to go that far.
I twisted the diamond ring off my finger and slid it across the counter. "Put this toward the bill."
I was leaving soon anyway. None of these things mattered anymore.
By the time I reached the mausoleum, it was nothing but level ground. The stone walls, the iron gate with the Valente crest, the consecrated earth where my parents rested. All of it scraped down to bare dirt. A cement mixer idled at the far edge, its drum still turning.
Gianna was already there. Her eyes swept over me, dripping with contempt and spite. "Oh, silly me. I forgot to dig out your parents' ashes first."
"Then again, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I'm sure they're rotting in the lowest circle of hell by now."
"So really, ashes or no ashes, what's the difference?"
I was shaking from head to toe.
A calculating gleam crossed Gianna's eyes, and her lips curled into a cruel smile. "Tell you what. Get on your knees right now and knock your head on the ground a hundred times. Maybe, just maybe, I'll be generous enough to leave your parents' urn in one piece. If you refuse..."
I glared at her, cutting her off. "In your dreams."
Gianna scoffed.
Then, without warning, she seized my wrist and yanked me forward. The next second she toppled backward, stiff as a board. Behind her, the cement mixer was already pouring concrete over the flattened ground.
Gianna's face went white. "Don Marchetti, save me—"
Before I could process what had happened, a shadow streaked past the corner of my vision. Rocco hauled Gianna out.
He didn't give me a chance to speak. His face was stone. He drove his foot into my stomach and sent me skidding three yards across the dirt.
His voice was low, thick with fury. "Serafina. I gave you a chance."
"Take her to the basement. She comes out when she apologizes. Not before."
Soldiers dragged me to a car. As they pulled me away, I watched Rocco guide Gianna into his armored sedan with exquisite care, one hand hovering at the small of her back.
Two cars of very different worth drove off in opposite directions.
Just like the distance between Rocco and me. Growing wider with every passing second.
