Watching Danica's tears fall, Valerio's hand at his side clenched suddenly, veins standing out along his forearm.
Serina knew—he was feeling pity for her.
Sure enough, the next moment, Valerio cast a deep, lingering glance at Danica before forcing himself to look away.
He wrapped his arm around Serina's shoulder, the pressure so intense it felt as if he were crushing her bones.
"Serina," his voice low and hoarse, "Danica saved my life. No matter how you feel about her, you can't treat her like this."
Serina's eyes froze with icy disdain. "You believe whatever she says?"
Unaware of her fury, Valerio continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Baby, you went too far this time. Next time, don't do this again."
She opened her mouth to retort—but a dull pain shot through her knees.
A bodyguard pressed her down forcefully, kicking her already injured leg with stiff leather shoes.
"Baby," Valerio said, holding her chin, "you've broken the rules. Normally, you'd lose a finger for this—but I can't bring myself to do it. So I'll let you endure a few lashes instead."
It was only then that Serina realized the truth: this wasn't about belief or trust. Valerio couldn't stand seeing his little mistress feel wronged, so he used her as a scapegoat.
The whip sliced through the air with a shrill crack. Serina arched her back in pain, biting her lip to stifle a scream.
Her clothes shredded, revealing the twisted, angry wounds beneath.
Through gritted teeth, she watched the man in front of her comforting Danica with tender words.
Danica, in his embrace, tilted her chin up, eyes full of provocation.
In a haze, Serina recalled her first year in Sicily—before she had agreed to Valerio's pursuit.
At a family gathering, one of his trusted men tried to approach her, sliding a hand to her waist. She had struck him in anger.
Valerio saw and simply smiled, helping her handle the situation despite the pressure from the family elders.
"My woman, whatever she does is right," he said.
The mafia admired violence. Back then, he praised her courage. Now, for Danica's side of the story alone, he publicly whipped her.
Time passed in a blur until Danica's voice rang out in a shrill cry:
"Oh! So much blood!" She pointed at Serina's battered back. "Val, stop punishing her! She didn't mean it!"
Valerio held her closer. "I knew Danica had a kind heart."
With a wave of his hand, the whipping finally stopped.
Watching them flirt and laugh, Serina felt darkness creeping into her vision.
Clenching her teeth, she struggled to her feet, limping out the door.
The man who had once promised never to let her suffer didn't spare her a single glance.
That night, she lay on her bed, awkwardly applying ointment to her back.
Valerio suddenly entered, snatching the ointment from her hands and tending to her wounds. His expression of concern seemed genuine this time.
The cooling ointment eased the pain, but seeing his hypocritical face, Serina felt only cold emptiness.
He brushed her tears away with his fingertips, soothing her. "I know you've been wronged. I planned to make you kneel and apologize to Danica—but we'll skip that this time."
"Apologize on my knees to her?" Serina's eyes were red, her voice incredulous. "Valerio, have you lost your mind?"
"That's the rule," he said, pressing her struggling body down. "I've been lenient enough. Don't make it difficult for me."
Serina didn't want to hear any more. Tears streamed down her face as she pointed toward the door, her voice hoarse. "Get out. I don't want to see you."
Sighing, Valerio spoke in resignation, "Serina, calm down. Don't leave the house these days."
He turned to leave. Four bodyguards took their place at the door, effectively placing her under house arrest.
In the middle of the night, a bag of freshly harvested shells was thrown in front of her.
"The boss said Miss Anderson was frightened and sleepless, so you must craft a pearl bracelet to make amends."
The salty, fishy smell hit her nose. Serina lowered her gaze and let out a bitter laugh.
These shells had been privately cultivated by Valerio for her, nurtured by the sea for three years to produce the roundest, most beautiful pearls.
And now, he expected her to hand them over to another woman as compensation.
Without gloves or tools, Serina pried open the shells with her bare hands.
The hard shells cut her fingers, leaving streaks of blood—but she barely felt it, continuing her self-inflicted punishment.
Not every shell contained a pearl. She pried open ninety-nine shells before gathering enough to make a single bracelet.
By dawn, she dragged her exhausted body to hand the bracelet to the waiting bodyguard.
"Tell Salvatore and his little mistress—don't come bother me again."
