Our Graveyard of Hate

In the inferno of our love, Marco took a bullet for me, leaving him at death's door.

Without his knowledge, I traded my body to save his life. From that moment on, I was branded a whore, a slut tainted by a thousand men.

But at the height of our hatred, Marco orchestrated my miscarriage and framed my father as a traitor, leading to his execution by the Family—all for the amusement of his new lover, Isabella.

But I gave as good as I got. I fought him at every turn, leaving his world in flames.

Lovers once destined for a lifetime together, now trapped in a deadly cycle of scheming against each other.

Yet, three years later at the Family's formal dinner, when Marco appeared with a pregnant Isabella on his arm, his gaze was locked on me.

"Since when do the Falcones let any trash in?"

Trash? Was he talking about me?

By the laws of our world, he should call me Donna.

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1

A hush fell over the grand banquet hall the moment Marco spoke.

When I didn't respond, he released Isabella’s arm.

"What right do you have to be here?"

"By what right are you even in this room?"

What right didn't I have?

I wasn't the same woman they could all scorn and insult three years ago.

I swept my gaze across the crowd.

"No one here would dare say I don't belong."

It was the truth.

But Marco took it as a provocation.

He strode toward me, grabbed my wrist, and started dragging me toward the exit.

"If I say you don't belong, you don't."

His pace quickened, his grip crushing my wrist.

As we passed Isabella, she cried out, "Ouch!" and stumbled.

"Aurora, how could you push me?"

Panic flashed across Marco's face.

"You venomous bitch! I knew you were up to no good coming here tonight."

He shoved me hard, sending me stumbling to the side as if I were nothing more than trash.

Every head in the room turned to watch.

Marco tenderly lifted Isabella into his arms.

She sobbed against his chest.

"Marco, I can't believe it. After three years, Aurora still won't let me go."

Isabella’s words sent a ripple through the crowd. I caught the shifting glances—a mix of raw curiosity, thinly veiled contempt, and a few unwelcome drops of pity.

Marco, focused entirely on comforting Isabella, didn't notice me approaching them.

I stood over them, looking down.

Thinking I was about to make another move, Marco shielded Isabella protectively.

"What are you trying to do?"

But I only gave them a fleeting glance before turning, my face a mask, and walking back to my seat.

My composure stunned the room.

They had expected a public meltdown, just like the one three years ago.

After all, everyone knew how madly in love with Marco I had been.

Back then, I was the center of his world, his goddess.

He’d taken a bullet for me. He’d been kidnapped by a rival family and endured torture that nearly killed him, all for me.

And I had given everything for him in return.

But that all shattered when Isabella returned to Chicago.

Isabella's return had turned our love—and my entire life—into a joke.

So, from the moment Marco arrived with a pregnant Isabella, they had all been waiting for a show.

The little scene a moment ago had only whetted their appetite for more.

Seeing me sit there so calmly, however, sparked a flash of irritation in Marco's eyes.

Why had I changed?

Noticing Marco's attention was still fixed on me, Isabella whimpered.

"Marco, my stomach… It hurts. Aurora went after our baby."

At her words, Marco’s confusion hardened into anger.

That was it.

I was just playing hard to get. It was all an act.

He twisted my supposed attack on Isabella into proof that I still cared.

But in his mind, I had attacked her and their unborn child, and he was their avenger.

Marco helped Isabella to her feet and turned to me, his voice cold.

"Apologize to Isabella."

Before I could answer, a text lit up my phone.