Imprisoned by the Don I Called Mine

My husband, Don Lorenzo, ran New York's underworld. And he's the one who put me in prison. All because his childhood flame, Cassandra Viti—the Viti family princess—killed my father. I was the first one on the scene. The Feds caught me standing over the body. He faked the evidence. Made sure I took the fall. I spent three years in hell. His apology? A single sentence and an unlimited black card. "I owe Cassandra three wishes. Once you're out, once I've paid my debt to her, you'll be my Donna again." Chapter 1 My husband’s old flame killed my father, and I did the time for it. Three years. “Inmate 7734. Pack your shit. You’re out.” I slowly got to my feet. The concrete walls were covered in scratches. Every single one clawed there by my own nails. A tally of my despair. “Move it!” the guard barked, tapping his baton. I walked the long corridor, my footsteps echoing over the ghosts of the past three years. “Isabella Rossi, congratulations on your freedom.” The warden’s smile was so fake it hurt to look at. “Your husband has people waiting for you outside.” Husband? I almost laughed. I pushed open the last gate. The sunlight was so bright it made me squint. I hadn't seen light like that in three years. I stared at the black Lincoln parked by the curb. I knew the license plate, but the man leaning against the door wasn't my so-called husband. It was Marco, Lorenzo’s right-hand man. “Bella.” Marco hurried over. “The Don got held up. He sent me.” Held up? Or with someone more important? A bitter taste filled my mouth. I pulled open the back door and got in. “Ma’am, the boss got you some clothes.” Marco handed me an expensive-looking bag. “He said… he said you could change in the car.” Change. The pity and disgust in Marco's eyes stung. Was he disgusted by the smell of prison on me? I sat in the back and, not caring about Marco’s eyes in the rearview mirror, I stripped off my prison uniform. My emaciated body, all sharp angles and jutting ribs, met the cool air of the car. My shame had been torn to shreds by Lorenzo himself, the day I stood in that courtroom three years ago. I closed my eyes. The memories flooded back. The trial. Three years ago. Don Lorenzo Romano, the Godfather who controlled half of New York’s underworld. He stood on the witness stand in his expensive, tailored suit. He was elegant. He was cruel. And he showed the jury my deepest scars—the ones no one could see. “Members of the jury,” Lorenzo’s voice echoed, cold and calm. “My wife, Isabella Rossi, was six years old when she watched her mother get shot to death. Her father ran, leaving her mother behind to die.” I snapped my head up to look at him, unable to believe my ears. That was my deepest wound. The secret I only ever told him, after he held me through countless nightmares. “She suffers from severe PTSD,” Lorenzo continued, his voice devoid of emotion. “It causes violent, vengeful outbursts.” “No!” I screamed. “Lorenzo, what are you saying?” He didn’t look at me. He didn’t even pause. “Given her mental state, and her hatred for her dead father, I believe she had every reason and capability to commit this murder.” He sold me out. All because the real killer—the delicate Cassandra Viti, who could break his heart with a single tear—had cried and whispered, “Lorenzo, I don’t want to go to jail. I’ll die in there.” “Lorenzo, you can’t do this to me!” I fought against the guards, trying to get to him. “You promised you’d protect me!” He finally looked at me. His eyes were cold, like I was a stranger. “Isabella, please. Calm down.” Calm down? The love of my life was pushing me into an abyss. I stared out the window, my heart turning to ash. Later, Lorenzo had visited me in prison. He held the phone on the other side of the glass, his face twisted in pain. “Bella, it’s not a promise. It’s a blood oath. An old one between our families. The Romano heir must grant the Viti heir three wishes. No questions. If I refuse, I’m an oath-breaker. The Commission will come for us, and everything my father built will turn to dust. I’m protecting her to protect us. Just hold on. Once this is done, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” Three years in a cell can’t be ‘made up.’ He was a goddamn liar. “Ma’am? Ma’am?” Marco’s voice pulled me back. The car had stopped. I looked out the window. We were in front of a lavish private club. Dozens of men in black suits stood guard at the entrance. This wasn’t the way home. “Where are we?” “The boss is waiting inside,” Marco said, opening my door. Just as I stepped out, I heard a familiar voice. “Bella!” Lorenzo walked out of the club, his face as handsome and suffocating as ever. He looked more powerful, more commanding than he did three years ago. He’d done well for himself while I rotted in a cell. And me? I looked at my reflection in the car window—skin and bones, pale, like a ghost clawed from a grave. Lorenzo got closer, moving to hug me. I took a step back. “Bella, you’re so thin,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve missed you.” Missed me? Missed me while you were what? Traveling the world with Cassandra? “Lorenzo.” My voice was so hoarse I barely recognized it. “Get out of my way.” A flash of hurt crossed his face, but he covered it with a smile. “Bella, come on,” he said, holding out his hand. “Cassandra threw a welcome home party for you. We’re just waiting on you.” Chapter 2 Cassandra? A welcome home party from her? The woman who threw me into hell now wants to play the forgiving angel? I stared at the perfect mask Lorenzo wore—the mask of the Don—and felt sick to my stomach. “She’s in there?” “Of course,” Lorenzo said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Cassandra’s been setting up since this morning. Didn’t even stop for lunch. She… she really wants to make it up to you.” Make it up to me? For killing my father and stealing my life? With a party? Lorenzo saw my blank expression, and a flicker of annoyance crossed his face. It was the look of a man whose patience was wearing thin. “Bella, Cassandra’s gesture…” “What gesture?” I cut him off, my voice flat. His expression hardened. Finally, he just said, “Get inside.” I walked straight for the main doors. Lorenzo was right behind me. The scent of his expensive cologne, once my safe harbor, now felt like poison in my lungs. Before we even entered, the chatter from inside slithered out like snakes. “I heard the father-killer is back.” “The Don is too merciful. If it were me, I’d have let her rot in that cell.” “A woman with no family name. How is she fit to be the Donna of the Romano family?” The words were needles, pricking at nerves I thought were long dead. Lorenzo’s steps faltered. His face darkened. He instinctively reached for me. An old habit—to pull me into his arms, to shield me from the world. That was how he used to protect me. The proof that he loved me. But now, I calmly stepped aside, avoiding his touch. “Don’t touch me.” Lorenzo’s hand froze in mid-air. Real pain, just for a second, flashed in his eyes. “Bella…” I looked at his hands. “The same hands that once shielded me from the world,” I whispered, “are the ones that pushed me into the fire.” His body went rigid. His face turned pale. The gossip inside continued, getting louder, bolder. Lorenzo snapped. He kicked open the heavy oak doors. BOOM— The sound silenced the entire hall. Every head turned in shock to see him, and me, standing in the doorway. Lorenzo’s eyes were like ice as he swept them across the room. His voice was low, dangerous, laced with the promise of violence. “This is Isabella Romano. My wife. The Donna of the Romano family. Her honor is my honor.” He paused, forcing the words through his teeth. “Anyone disrespects her again, they get a bullet. A lesson in manners.” The room was dead silent. That was the power of Don Lorenzo Romano. I felt a flash of irony. He was defending an "honor" that he himself had destroyed. This sudden protection gave me a sliver of false hope. Maybe… he still cared. “Lorenzo…” A soft voice cut through the silence. I saw Cassandra, dressed in a pristine white Chanel suit, step out from the crowd. Her eyes were red-rimmed, making her look like a frightened deer. Beautiful and innocent. Three years had only made her more stunning. She walked straight to me, tears in her eyes, her voice trembling. “Bella… I… I’m so… so sorry…” She reached for my hand. I didn’t move. “Sorry?” I looked at her. “What for?” Cassandra bit her lip, a tear rolling perfectly down her cheek. “I know… because of me… you’ve been through so much…” Been through so much? She orchestrated a murder, and I went to prison for it. That’s what she calls “going through so much”? Lorenzo immediately stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Cassandra’s shoulder. “Cassandra, don’t cry. It’s not your fault.” Not her fault? Then whose was it? Mine? “Bella,” Lorenzo turned to me, his tone a mix of reprimand and command. “Cassandra worked all day on this party.” I watched them. One playing the innocent victim, the other the devoted protector. And I was the ungrateful bitch. Cassandra took two glasses of red wine from a passing waiter’s tray and downed one of them. Then, she held the other out to me, her hands trembling. A flash of hatred in her eyes was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a look of deep regret and pleading. “Bella, I am officially apologizing to you,” she choked out, her gaze flickering past me to Lorenzo. “Can you… can you forgive me?” Chapter 3 I stared at the glass of blood-red wine in Cassandra's hand. I didn't move. This wasn't an apology. It was a performance. A show for Lorenzo, a play about forgiveness and reconciliation. And I was the prop that had to play along. "I don't drink," I said, my voice dead flat. Cassandra's face froze. Annoyance flashed in her eyes. The guests started whispering immediately. Their stares felt like needles. "So ungrateful." "Miss Viti is being so gracious, and she's acting like this?" Lorenzo's face darkened completely. He stepped up beside me, his voice low and threatening. "Bella, don't make a scene. Drink it." I looked up, straight into his deep eyes. They used to be my entire sky. "And if I don't?" "This isn’t a request," he said, his voice dropping. "This is how it ends. Drink it." An end? My surrender, so he could put a neat little bow on his betrayal? I let out a cold laugh and turned my head away. Lorenzo was silent for a moment. The air felt thick enough to cut. When he spoke again, he used the only weapon he had left that could destroy me. "Drink the wine," he said, his voice slow, a devil's whisper, "and I'll take you to see Nonna." Nonna. My heart seized. It felt like a fist was crushing it. I couldn't breathe. She was the only family I had left in the world. My only weakness. He knew. He always knew. I looked at him, the man I once loved with all my soul, using my most cherished person to force this humiliation down my throat. I snatched the glass from Cassandra’s hand. Without looking at anyone, I tilted my head back and drank it all. The cold liquid slid down my throat, with a faint, bitter aftertaste. A triumphant glint appeared in Cassandra's eyes, quickly replaced by a look of tearful gratitude. "Oh, Bella! I knew you'd forgive me!" Fake applause echoed through the room. Lorenzo seemed to relax. He’d completed his "mission." He turned back to Cassandra and began comforting her, like soothing a frightened child. His attention, once a precious thing that was all mine, was now being wasted on another woman. Guest after guest came up to me, glasses in hand. "Welcome home, Mrs. Romano!" "To your return, Ma'am!" I went through the motions, numb. But my stomach was starting to churn. A familiar pain was waking up deep in my abdomen. An old injury from prison. The bitterness from the wine was now spreading through my blood. My vision started to blur. The noise of the party twisted and warped into the sound of a cell door slamming shut. "Be careful, don't touch the cut," I heard Lorenzo's gentle voice. I turned my head. He was carefully holding Cassandra's wrist, where there was a tiny, almost invisible scratch. Meanwhile, a thousand knives were twisting in my gut. Cold sweat soaked my back. I instinctively pressed a hand to my stomach. My fingertips were ice. "Lorenzo..." I whispered his name, my voice barely audible. He didn't look up. He was talking to Cassandra. "Is the steak too tough? I'll have them make you another one." The pain was making my vision go black. I couldn't hold on. My throat tightened. A metallic taste filled my mouth. Cough. A trickle of blood escaped my lips. It dripped onto my white dress, a single red flower blooming on the fabric. My body swayed. Surrounded by a sea of shocked faces and gawking eyes, I collapsed. In the last second before I lost consciousness, I heard Lorenzo’s stunned voice, and Cassandra’s shriek of thinly veiled delight. I woke up to the familiar ceiling of the family's private clinic. Lorenzo was sitting by the bed. He'd changed into a clean shirt. His face was dark. "The doctor said it was just a stomach spasm from anxiety," he said, his voice cold as ice. "It's nothing serious." Nothing serious? I coughed up blood. “Isabella,” he cut me off, his eyes like chips of ice. “When did you become such a good actress? So damn calculating?” Chapter 4 Acting? My heart plunged into an icy abyss. He would rather believe I was a manipulative actress than believe the real pain in my body. "You think I was acting?" My voice was hoarse, laced with a bitter laugh. Lorenzo looked away, a flicker of unease on his face. His voice softened slightly. "Bella, that's not what I meant..." He reached for my hand. I pulled it back with all my strength. Three years in prison, plus the internal bleeding, had left me weak. But not too weak to refuse him. "I know you've been through a lot," Lorenzo said, his voice gentle now, like he was calming a child throwing a tantrum. "But I need you to hold on a little longer." Hold on? For what? To watch him and Cassandra play out their epic romance while I faded into the background? “Two more wishes,” Lorenzo said, his voice flat, final. “Then we’re gone. Lake Como. Just us. We’ll never come back.” Lake Como. Our honeymoon spot. The most beautiful memory of our love. Now it was just another bargaining chip. "Where is Nonna?" I asked weakly. It was the only thing I cared about. Lorenzo's face shifted. "She's… not well. She's in a private care facility." "I want to see her." "When you're feeling better…" "Now." I used my last bit of strength to look him in the eye. "I want to see her now." Lorenzo opened his mouth, about to argue. Just then, the door flew open. Marco rushed in, his face a mask of panic. "Boss! It's Cassandra. She's locked herself in. She's threatening to kill herself!" Lorenzo was on his feet in an instant. He looked at me, a moment of conflict in his eyes. But it only lasted a second. "I'll be right there," he said to me, then rushed out the door without a backward glance. For Cassandra. Always for Cassandra. I closed my eyes, my heart a dead weight in my chest. "Ma'am…" A soft voice. I opened my eyes. A young nurse was standing by my bed. She glanced nervously down the hall, then pulled a folded paper from her pocket. "Ma'am, this is your real test result." My hands trembled as I took it. The diagnosis made my breath catch: rupture of an old abdominal injury with internal bleeding, and traces of psychotropic drugs found in the bloodstream. Immediate surgery required. "What does this mean?" The nurse lowered her voice. “Ma’am, your old injury is severe. That drug they gave you? It’s designed to trigger exactly what happened. Someone gave your husband a fake report. They told him it was nothing.” A fake report. Drugs. I let out a bitter laugh. "You need surgery now," the nurse said urgently. "If you wait, it could be fatal!" I picked up my phone and dialed Lorenzo. "What is it?" His voice was impatient. In the background, I could hear Cassandra's muffled sobs. "Lorenzo, I need surgery. Now." "Isabella, stop causing trouble! Didn't the doctor say it was just a stomach cramp?" he snapped. "Cassandra's in a bad state. I don't have time for your games!" Beep. Beep. Beep. He hung up on me. Games. To him, my life was just a game to get his sympathy. "Ma'am," the nurse looked at me, worried. "The cost of the surgery…" "I'll pay for it." A familiar voice came from the doorway. I turned my head. Sofia stood there. My friend from prison. The only friend I had left. She looked like she'd rushed over as soon as she heard. "Son of a bitch," Sofia swore, her face grim after reading the report. She slapped a black card down for the nurse. "Get her the best doctor, the best medicine. Everything." The surgery was a success. Three hours later, I was in the recovery room. Sofia was sitting by my bed, peeling an apple. "Sofia," I said suddenly. "I need you to do something for me." "Name it." "A month from now, I need a new identity. And a passport." Sofia's hand stilled. She gave me a long, hard look, then nodded. "Done." … An hour later, Lorenzo finally showed up, a guilty look on his face. "Bella, are you okay? I heard about the surgery." I looked at him. My heart was a block of ice. He’d seen the real report. Marco stood behind him, his face pale. The worry and pain in Lorenzo’s eyes were real. He slammed his fist into the wall. BAM. "Bastards!" He turned back to me, his voice hoarse. "Bella, we looked into it. It was the Viti family doctor… he doctored the report. I'll make him pay." "And Cassandra?" I asked calmly. Lorenzo’s expression became complicated. “She… fell apart when she heard,” he said, forcing the words out. “Threatened to kill herself again. And she used it. It was her second wish.” My heart sank. "She wants me to… publicly acknowledge her as my mistress," Lorenzo said, his eyes filled with pain and conflict. "And, until her last wish is granted, I have to stay by her side. Every minute. To protect her until she's stable." I looked at this man. For the sake of a "wish," he was pushing me away again. "Bella, trust me," he said, taking my hand. "There's only one left. When this is all over, I swear, I will make it up to you. I'll spend my life making it up to you." Chapter 5 Lorenzo picked me up from the clinic himself. The drive was silent. The car stopped in front of our old home, the penthouse in Manhattan. This was our home. Our sanctuary. The place we’d built a life. Where we’d spent countless nights tangled in the sheets, whispering secrets into the dark. The moment the door opened, I froze. This wasn't my home anymore. The warm, cream-colored walls were gone, replaced with cold black and gray. The Italian sofa I'd picked out myself was gone. I walked to what used to be my art studio. My only sanctuary in this cold city. I pushed open the door. It was a gym now. A treadmill glowed with a soft blue light. My easel, my paints, my unfinished canvases… Every trace of me had been erased. "Bella…" Lorenzo stood behind me, his voice tinged with an awkwardness he couldn't hide. "I… I was going to wait for you to get back before I cleaned up." "Cleaned up?" I stared at him. "Or erased? Erased every trace that I ever lived here?" "No," he said quickly, gesturing at the cold machines. "Cassandra was unstable. I had her stay here for a while. She said working out helps…" Cassandra stayed here? In our home? Slept in our bed? Click. Before I could say anything, the master bedroom door opened. A lazy voice drifted out. "Lorenzo, you're back! I can't find the hairdryer…" Cassandra emerged, wearing nothing but one of Lorenzo’s white button-downs. The hem skimmed the top of her thighs. Her hair was damp, and the clean scent of his soap clung to her skin. She looked like she owned the place. She looked like the lady of the house. She saw me and froze for a second. Then a sweet, innocent smile spread across her face, as if we were old friends. "Bella! You're out of the hospital! That's wonderful!" She hurried towards me, arms open for a hug. I took a step back. My stomach turned. "What are you doing here?" my voice was ice. "I… I came to see Lorenzo," she said, blinking innocently at him. "I heard you were in the hospital. I was so worried…" Worried? Worried I wasn't dying fast enough? Lorenzo jumped in. "Cassandra is just… staying here temporarily. It's easier to look after her." He quickly changed the subject. "Bella, your clothes…" "Oh, right!" Cassandra said, as if she'd just remembered. Her tone was light and cheerful. "I had all your old clothes thrown out. They had that… prison smell on them. Lorenzo doesn't like it. He said it reminds him of bad times. I figured you wouldn't want them anyway, right?" A lie. But it was a sharp knife, and it went straight for my heart. Lorenzo cleared his throat. "Bella, Cassandra meant well. We'll go to Fifth Avenue. I'll buy you the best of everything." I watched them, a perfectly rehearsed duo. I felt sick. "Fine," I said flatly. "Let's go." "Great!" Cassandra chirped like a happy child. "Let me just go change!" I watched her walk back into our master bedroom like she owned the place. The last bit of warmth in my heart died. The car stopped in front of a high-end boutique on Fifth Avenue. "Get my wife some clothes," Lorenzo told the bowing store manager. "Lorenzo, why don't you go check out the watch shop next door?" Cassandra said, tugging on his arm like a spoiled child. "I'll help Bella pick some things out. A woman knows a woman's taste." Lorenzo hesitated, looking at me. "Whatever," I said, my face blank. He nodded. "Okay. I'll be right next door. Call me if you need anything." The second Lorenzo was gone, Cassandra's sweet smile vanished. In its place was the cold, vicious sneer of a winner. She walked right up to me, her voice low enough for only me to hear. "Do you see now, Isabella? This is the difference between you and me. In Lorenzo's heart, a single one of my tears weighs more than your life." I stared at her. I said nothing. "Still playing the saint? You really think Lorenzo loves you?" My silence seemed to infuriate her. Her voice grew sharp. "He's trapped by that ridiculous blood oath! As soon as my last wish is granted, he'll throw you out like trash!" Just as she finished, a loud noise erupted outside. BANG! BANG, BANG— Gunshots. The store descended into chaos. People screamed and scrambled for cover. Cassandra’s face twisted into the perfect mask of terror. But for a split second, I saw it. A flicker of triumph in her eyes. A plan, executed to perfection. The next instant, Lorenzo burst through the door. His eyes found Cassandra instantly through the chaos. "Cassandra!" he roared, lunging toward her without a second thought. Tears streamed down her face as she threw herself into his arms, clinging to him. "Lorenzo, I'm so scared! I'm so scared!" Chapter 6 Gunshots echoed down the street. People scrambled, screaming, a human stampede. Lorenzo didn't hesitate. He wrapped Cassandra in his arms, holding her tight. "Don't be scared. I'm here," his voice was so gentle it could break your heart. Then he ran with her toward the exit. He never looked back. Not once. I stood there, watching them disappear through the door. He made the same choice he made three years ago. The crowd surged toward the exit like a tidal wave. Someone shoved me hard. I fell to the floor. A stampede of feet. A boot connected with my ribs. The sharp point of a stiletto heel ground into the back of my hand. Pain, white-hot and blinding, flared through me. My body, barely healed, screamed in protest. "Help… me…" I tried to call out, but the sound was swallowed by the panic. No one stopped. No one even looked down. I was like a stray dog, curled up and abandoned in the corner of the shop. The taste of blood filled my mouth. My consciousness started to fade. The last thing I saw was Cassandra's face, looking back at me through the car window. She was smiling. When I woke up, it was the same damn ceiling. The VIP room in the family's private clinic. Lorenzo was sitting by the bed, his face etched with guilt. "Bella, you're awake." I turned my head to look at him but said nothing. "The doctor said your stitches tore," he said carefully. "You have some new bruises, too..." "Where's Cassandra?" My voice was a raw whisper. Lorenzo's face tightened. "She… she was in shock. She's resting now." Resting. While I was lying in a hospital bed. “Bella, listen,” he started, his voice low. “It was chaos. I had to get Cassandra to safety—she’s fragile. I was coming right back for you, I swear.” Isn't well? I looked down at my own bandaged arms. I almost laughed. It was pretty clear who wasn't well. "But just as I got her in the car, I heard more gunshots from inside," he went on. "I wanted to run back, but my men said it was too dangerous…" Too dangerous? For his precious Cassandra, but not for me? "Bella, say something," Lorenzo pleaded, his voice desperate. "I never meant to leave you behind…" I just looked at him. The man I once thought I would spend my life with. I stared for a long time. So long that the desperation in his eyes started to turn to frustration. Then I spoke. "I understand." Just those two words. All the excuses, all the apologies he had prepared, they all turned to dust. He just stared at me, like he didn't understand. "Bella…" "I want to see Nonna," I cut him off again. It was the only thing I wanted. "Now." A difficult look crossed Lorenzo's face. "Bella, Nonna's heart has been acting up. The doctor said she shouldn't have visitors…" The same excuse. "As soon as you're better, I'll arrange it, okay?" he asked, testing the waters. I closed my eyes. I had no more responses for him. Lorenzo sat by the bed for a long time. The silence was suffocating. Finally, he stood up. "I'll go get you something to eat." He had just reached the door when his phone rang. "Lorenzo…" It was Cassandra's voice, thick with tears. "I had a nightmare. I heard the gunshots again… I'm so scared…" Lorenzo's face instantly filled with worry and pain. "Don't be scared. I'm coming right now." "But… Isabella…" "She's fine," Lorenzo said, glancing back at me, his voice low. "You need me more than she does." You need me more than she does. He hurried out of the room, rushing to the person who "needed him more." I opened my eyes and stared at the bright, sterile light on the ceiling. My heart was a stone. The next evening, the news was on. A breaking story, an explosion that rocked all the channels. "...sources have confirmed that the current Don of the Viti family, Antonio Viti, seized power by murdering his own father..." My hand tightened on the remote. In the world of the mafia, killing your own father was the ultimate sin, worse than being a rat. It was a crime that shook the very foundation of blood and legacy. If this was proven, the Viti family would tear itself apart. My phone rang. It was Sofia. "Isabella, did you see the news? The Viti family's dirty laundry is finally out in the open!" she said with a cold laugh. "This is going to be good. That bitch is finished this time." Not long after I hung up, my hospital room door was thrown open. Lorenzo stormed in, radiating a cold fury. His eyes were bloodshot, his face a mask of uncontrolled rage. "Isabella!" he roared, like a cornered animal, stalking to my bedside. "Was this you?" Chapter 7 The sting of Lorenzo’s handprint burned on my cheek. He stood over me, his chest heaving, the rage in his eyes still burning. "Isabella, this isn't over." He spun on his heel and left. The door slammed shut, leaving me alone in the silence. I touched my cheek. My fingertips came away wet. Blood. Lorenzo's ring had cut my skin. I closed my eyes and laughed, a bitter, silent laugh. The man who once swore to protect me with his life had just struck me himself. The next morning, I was woken by a nurse’s gasp. "Oh my god, Mrs. Romano, have you seen the news?" I took the remote and turned on the TV. The scandal about Antonio Viti was gone. In its place was a picture of me. A small, frail child, standing in a pool of blood. The crime scene from when I was six years old, when I watched my mother die. A news anchor read in a cold, detached voice: "Sources close to the family say Isabella Romano suffered from severe mental illness after witnessing a violent event in her childhood..." "Psychologists believe this trauma could lead to retaliatory behavior..." "Reports are now claiming that, in a jealous rage, she spread false information to ruin a rival for her husband Lorenzo Romano's affections..." My hands started to shake. My deepest trauma, splashed across the screen for the world's entertainment. A slideshow of my personal hell. The comments online were even worse: "They should lock that crazy bitch up in an asylum for life!" "How did Lorenzo Romano end up with a monster like her?" "She killed her own father, now she's trying to destroy Cassandra. She's pure evil!" "Poor Miss Viti, so kind and she's being targeted by this psycho!" The bloody images, the vicious words, the childhood nightmares… It all came rushing back. My breathing became shallow, my chest felt like it was being crushed by a stone. My PTSD was hitting me like a freight train. I gasped for air, but it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. "Help… help me…" A nurse rushed in and gave me a sedative. As my consciousness faded, I heard familiar footsteps. Lorenzo. "How is she?" he asked the nurse. "Mr. Romano, the online news triggered an acute stress reaction…" "I know," Lorenzo's voice was cold. "The stories have been pulled. It won't happen again." He walked to my bed and looked down at me. “Isabella,” he warned, his voice dangerously low. “There won’t be a next time.” That was it. No comfort. No apology. Just a cold, hard warning. Then he left. To be with his Cassandra. In the days that followed, Lorenzo and Cassandra were everywhere. Fancy restaurants, private parties, charity galas. The press snapped photos of them talking intimately, of Lorenzo opening her car door. The public was firmly on their side: "Lorenzo and Cassandra are a perfect match!" "A union of two great families. It's good for business!" "He needs to divorce her already. That psycho doesn't deserve the Romano name!" "Miss Viti is so kind. She'll be the one to heal Lorenzo's heart!" I lay in my hospital bed, reading the news, my heart dead. That night, I put in the micro-earpiece Sofia had given me. The bug in Lorenzo's study came to life. "Lorenzo…" It was Cassandra's sweet, cloying voice. "I have a favor to ask." "What is it?" Lorenzo's voice sounded tired. "Your tattoo… the one on your arm…" My heart skipped a beat. Lorenzo had an iris tattooed on his forearm. My favorite flower. A symbol of our love. "The iris?" Lorenzo asked. “Yes,” Cassandra’s voice was a venomous sugar. “Every time I see it, it’s a reminder… of her. Can’t you just… cover it up? For me?” A long silence. I held my breath, waiting. "To what?" he finally asked. "My initial," Cassandra's voice filled with excitement. "Just a 'C.' It's simple." Another silence. "Is this it?" Lorenzo asked. "Your last wish?" "Yes," Cassandra cooed. "The very last one. After this, we can finally…" "Fine," Lorenzo cut her off. "I'll go to the tattoo shop tomorrow." I heard Cassandra's happy laugh through the earpiece. I turned off the recording, my face a mask, and saved the audio file. The iris. The symbol of our love. Erased. Replaced by another woman's initial. The next day, I called Sofia. "Give me Nonna's address." "Isabella, are you sure you want to go now? Your body…" "The address," I said. My voice was steel. Sofia sighed. "I'm sending it to you now. I'll send the contact for your new identity, too." "Thank you." "Take care of yourself, sister." After I hung up, I packed a small bag. When the nurse tried to stop me from leaving, I just looked at her. "Are you going to try and stop me?" My stare was enough. She stepped aside. I stopped at a flower shop and bought a bouquet of white roses, Nonna's favorite. Three years. I was finally going to see her. The taxi stopped in front of the care facility. It was an expensive, private place. Beautiful grounds, modern facilities. Lorenzo hadn't skimped on Nonna's care. I held the flowers and walked toward her room. Room 308. I took a deep breath and reached for the door. Chapter 8 I stood outside room 308, my hand clutching the white roses. Three years. I was finally here. I reached for the doorknob, but stopped when I heard a voice from inside. "...so you see, old woman, what kind of person your precious granddaughter really is." It was Cassandra. What was she doing here? My hand froze in the air. I listened through the crack in the door. "She killed her own father," Cassandra's voice was dripping with malicious glee. "Then she played the innocent victim and fooled everyone." "No… that's not… " a frail voice trembled in protest. Nonna. My heart hammered against my ribs. "Oh? It's not?" Cassandra laughed. "Then why did she do three years in prison? Why did Lorenzo himself testify against her?" "Isabella's not… she wouldn't…" Nonna's voice was getting weaker. "She wouldn't?" Cassandra's laugh was even more piercing. "You're so naive, old woman. Your 'good' granddaughter is trying to kill me now, too." I heard the heart monitor begin to beep erratically. Beep-beep-beep— Nonna's heart was failing. "See? The truth is the truth," Cassandra said, without a shred of pity. "Your granddaughter is a born killer, just like her father. An eye for an eye. It's fate!" Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep— The alarm on the monitor grew faster, more desperate. I couldn't take it anymore. BAM— I threw my shoulder into the door, slamming it open. "Nonna!" I screamed, rushing to the bed. The old woman lying there was just skin and bones, her face a deathly white. Was this really the warm, kind Nonna I remembered? "Isabella…" she whispered, reaching out a weak hand. "My child…" I grabbed her cold hand, tears instantly streaming down my face. "Nonna, I'm back. I'm finally back…" Cassandra jumped at my sudden entrance, stumbling backward. "Ah—!" She stepped on a piece of broken glass on the floor, cutting her ankle. A drop of blood welled up. She immediately started to panic. "Blood… there's blood… Lorenzo! Lorenzo, help me!" Her screams tore through the quiet facility. "Doctor! Get a doctor!" I yelled into the hallway. "My grandmother is having a heart attack!" The beeping of the monitor grew sharper, more frantic. Nonna's breathing was shallow, her fingers like ice. "Isabella…" she said, her voice strained. "I've… been waiting for you…" "Nonna, hold on, the doctor's coming…" Just then, Lorenzo burst into the room. He saw the drop of blood on the floor, he saw the hysterical Cassandra, and his face turned to thunder. "Isabella!" he snarled. "What the hell did you do to her?" What was I doing? I couldn't believe my ears. "Lorenzo, Nonna's having a heart attack, call a doctor—" "Cassandra's hurt!" he cut me off, rushing to where she was huddled in the corner. "Baby, are you okay?" Baby? I watched, frozen, as he knelt down to gently inspect the tiny cut on Cassandra's ankle. "It hurts… it hurts so much…" Cassandra sobbed, a perfect picture of distress. "Lorenzo, I was so scared…" "I'm here now. Don't be scared." Lorenzo held her, then barked at the doctor who had just arrived. "Come look at Miss Viti's cut! Now!" "No!" I blocked the doctor's path. "My grandmother is dying!" Lorenzo’s eyes were black with fury. "Enough. Cassandra is hurt." "Lorenzo, please…" I fell to my knees, grabbing his pants leg. "Nonna is dying. Please, just let the doctor save her first…" Lorenzo coldly shook me off. "If she has the strength to hurt Cassandra, then it can't be that serious." He scooped Cassandra up into his arms. "Treat Miss Viti's wound," he ordered the doctor. "Everything else can wait." "Mr. Romano," the doctor said, looking torn. "But the old woman's condition…" "That's an order!" Lorenzo’s eyes flashed with menace. The doctor gave me a helpless look, then followed Lorenzo out of the room. And just like that, they were gone. Leaving me alone with my dying grandmother. Beep… beep… beep… The monitor's alarm was slowing down. "Nonna, hold on…" I squeezed her hand. "I'll find another doctor…" "Isabella…" her voice was as faint as a feather. "Don't… hate…" "What?" I leaned in close, my ear to her lips. "Don't let… the hate… eat you…" BEEEEEEEEEEEEP— The monitor let out one long, final tone. Then, silence. Nonna's hand slipped from mine. She was gone. The only family I had in the world. Gone. And in her final moments, Lorenzo chose to treat a scratch on Cassandra's ankle that didn't even need a band-aid. I knelt by her bed, silent tears streaming down my face. Five days later. Lorenzo walked in holding a document. I was sitting on the living room sofa, numbly watching TV. Nonna's funeral was over. Lorenzo hadn't even shown up. He said he had to take care of the "injured" Cassandra. "Isabella," Lorenzo said, placing the papers on the coffee table. "Sign it." I looked down. Divorce Agreement. "This is Cassandra's last wish," Lorenzo said, his voice flat. "She wants a grand wedding. To solidify the alliance between the Romano and Viti families." An alliance? He was going to marry my father's killer for an alliance? I picked up the pen. The ink flowed, my signature clean and sharp. No hesitation. No regrets. He stared, clearly thrown by my lack of a fight. "Bella, you…" "Is there anything else?" I asked without looking up. Lorenzo opened his mouth, but said nothing. He picked up the signed papers and turned to leave. At the door, he stopped. "Isabella, I…" "Get out," I said. My voice was quiet, but it was final. After Lorenzo left, I walked into the bedroom. The walls were covered in photos of us. Every picture, a memory of a love that was now dead. I took them down, one by one. And I tore each one to pieces. The fragments fluttered to the floor, like the shattered pieces of my heart. Finally, I grabbed my suitcase and walked out of that home for the last time. Lorenzo. Cassandra. You gave me three years of hell. Now, it's my turn. I'm going to give you a wedding gift you will never, ever forget.