My husband Julian Cain's old flame, Scarlett O'Malley, came crawling back to the Ricci family, seeking our protection.
Because of her, during a shootout with a rival family, my husband chose to shield her. I fell from a second-floor terrace and lost our child.
I called him from the operating table, but he was unreachable, cleaning up her mess.
After the surgery, I saw a photo making the rounds in the underworld: in front of a new speakeasy, Julian was handing Scarlett the keys to a vintage sports car.
The caption read: "To a new beginning."
On the night of that bar's grand opening, I appeared in the long black dress he loved most, only to be told it was a "private party." And there was Scarlett, playing the hostess, wearing my mother's sapphire necklace.
I stared at the necklace, a treasure that belonged in the family vault, and calmly called our Consigliere. "Silas, it's time to clean house."
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1
A week after I was discharged from the hospital, my husband, Julian Cain, finally came home.
He reeked of gunpowder and a cheap perfume that wasn't mine, a triumphant air about him that couldn't quite extinguish the flicker of guilt in his eyes.
I calmly sorted the painkillers and antibiotics from my doctor, refusing to ask where he'd been.
"Alessia, that new territory I told you about—I finally took it!" he announced, as if nothing had happened.
"Trust me, I'll make it right. I was unreachable because I was closing the deal. You're not mad, are you, Principessa?"
I couldn't summon even a cold smile. My lips parted, but no sound escaped.
This wasn't the first time. He always had a seemingly perfect excuse to cover up his sordid betrayals.
Seeing my silence, he closed the distance, his arms snaking around my waist. I went rigid, recoiling from his touch.
"I don't blame you," I said softly. "But don't touch me."
Julian's hand hovered in mid-air, his eyes flashing with disbelief.
He forced a smile. "Alessia, don't be like this. I can't think straight when you're angry."
I didn't respond.
God, the arrogance. Even his apologies were for his own benefit.
A pity I was only seeing it clearly now.
"Guess what I brought for you!" he said, pulling a long velvet box from his inner jacket pocket. It bore the emblem of Chicago's most exclusive cigar shop.
"The latest shipment from Cuba. I brought them back just for you," he said, flicking the box open. "You love these. Come on, try one."
I stood quietly, rooted to the spot.
A sorrow so sharp it pinned me to the floor. As I watched his pathetic one-man show, the faintest smile touched my lips.
"Julian, we've been married for seven years. I don't smoke cigars. Where did you get the idea that these are my favorite?"
Julian's fingers fumbled, and the box snapped shut.
His expression flickered, not with guilt, but with raw irritation—annoyed that I had ruined his moment.
"Sorry, Alessia. I've been so busy, I got confused," he said.
He hadn't forgotten. Those were Scarlett O'Malley's favorite cigars. He'd just gotten his women mixed up.
Julian tried to salvage the situation. This time, he produced no gift. He loosened his collar, revealing his muscular chest, and said with a smirk, "This is the real surprise. Look."
I gazed at his left breast.
When I finally saw the subtle change, my blood ran cold.
Over his heart was the Ricci family crest. Beneath it, where my initial "A" had once been etched, a new design bloomed: a scarlet, S-shaped flower.
The symbol for Scarlett.
He had turned his oath to my family into a pledge of allegiance to another woman and expected me to be moved by his "honesty."
I remembered the rumors I'd heard in the underworld.
"The Ricci Principessa? His heart belongs to that thorny wild rose from the streets. One day, he'll trade the lioness for a rose."
It seemed I was the lioness who'd been declawed.
I finally understood why Julian had run hot and cold on me for seven years. The family alliance I had cherished was just a cage he used to trap me.
"What's wrong? Did a little change move you to tears?" he asked, a smirk in his voice.
I took a deep breath, swallowing the coppery taste of bile that rose in my throat. "Yes."
Julian thought I was captivated by his "romance."
"By the way, you called me so many times before. Did something happen?"
I turned away, my voice a faint sigh. "It's nothing now." But my heart was a frozen wasteland.
So he knew. He knew something had happened.
But what did it matter? He wasn't worried, just annoyed that I had disturbed his precious time with his old flame.
It was the same tone he used after shielding Scarlett in a hail of bullets, the same annoyance he showed when cleaning up the messes she made.
He acted as if gracing me with his time was some kind of favor. I stood and walked toward the bathroom.
Julian called after me, but his phone rang.
He didn't answer. Instead, he turned back to me with an expression that screamed guilt.
"Something's come up. I have to go."
He left, oblivious to my ashen face and the pile of postpartum medications on the table.
The moment the heavy oak door clicked shut, I picked up the encrypted phone and dialed my godfather, the family's Consigliere.
"Silas, begin the preparations. It's time to pass judgment."
