Chapter 2

Isabella's POV

I was the heiress of the Rossi family, and the Corsicas were our family's oldest allies.

Ever since I was a child, I'd trailed after Alessandro, hopelessly infatuated. All of Sicily knew about it.

The year my family fell, I became his fiancée in name only.

Only in name.

He never once looked at me the way I looked at him.

Not until Vittoria came back. The only daughter of the Martini family, the one he'd kept closest to his heart since they were children.

My heart had gone cold as ash by then. I decided that on the day of my coming-of-age ceremony, I would confess to him one last time.

If he rejected me, I would let go. I would leave this family for good.

But he said yes.

I thought ten years of devotion had finally moved him.

I never imagined he'd only said yes to make Vittoria jealous.

The night before our engagement, Vittoria collapsed, blood spilling from her lips.

The security footage showed it clearly — me, pouring something into her wine.

I never did it.

Vittoria sobbed against his chest. "Alex, let me go. If I stay by your side, she'll kill me eventually."

He pulled her tighter against him, and turned the gun on me, his eyes like ice.

"You're the one who should disappear, Isabella."

I dropped to my knees, wrapped my arms around his legs, kissed the back of his hand through my tears.

"Alessandro, I didn't do this. Even if I envied her, a Rossi daughter would never stoop to something so filthy."

He stepped down on my hand, his smile pure mockery.

"What wouldn't you do to claw your way into my bed?"

"Put her on a plane. Send her to the abandoned estate in Switzerland. No one touches her without my order."

I thought that meant exile.

I never imagined it was the first step into hell.

Halfway there, the traffickers sold me straight into Sicily's underground black market.

The first year, I was the lowest kind of blood slave.

The second year, they broke my right leg and forced me to take customers.

I tried to scream for help. They answered with a red-hot iron.

I tried to kill myself. They held a knife to another girl's throat and made me spread my legs instead.

My soul had already died in that basement, thick with mold and the stench of other men.

I woke from the nightmare drenched in sweat.

The buried memories came trickling back, piece by piece.

Sunlight spilled through the window. I touched the tears on my face and whispered, "I'm... still alive."

Vita's voice surfaced in my head, unbidden.

"Isabella, if you breathe a single word of this to the Don, Miss Martini will send you right back here — and let a hundred dogs take turns on you."

A shiver ran through me. I locked that warning away in my chest.

Trembling, I made my way down the stairs.

Alessandro stood below, dressed in a bespoke suit. Vittoria was draped over his arm in a flowing gown.

He looked at me, his tone flat, giving nothing away.

"Awake now? Do you even remember who I am?"

Vittoria covered her mouth with a laugh. "Isabella put on quite the show at the hospital yesterday, pretending to lose her mind. Scared everyone half to death."

I dug my nails into my palms and lowered my head.

I held onto that warning — never provoke Vittoria.

She approached carrying a bowl of steaming soup, her smile gentle.

"Bella, look how thin you've gotten. I made this soup myself to build you back up. Drink it while it's hot."

She lifted a spoonful, pressed it toward my lips.

The heat hit my face.

And in that instant, I smelled it again — the basement, the burning taste of the drugs they forced down my throat, the scalding liquid they poured over my skin.

I screamed. My arm swung out on its own, uncontrolled.

The bowl shattered against the floor, soup splattering across Vittoria's dress.

She shrieked, collapsing, tears springing up instantly.

"That hurts... you still hate me this much?"

Alessandro racked the slide of his gun, leveling it at me, fury burning in his eyes.

"Isabella! So you're still that same arrogant, poisonous bitch after all!"

The click of the slide and the crack of a whip in that basement — the sounds merged into one.

My legs gave out. I dropped onto the shattered porcelain, arms wrapped over my head.

"I'm sorry! Please don't hit me! Master, please, not the burns—"

Nearby, a maid whispered, "Look how thin she's gotten, nothing but bones... and kneeling to beg the Don like that. Not a shred of dignity left, for a mafia heiress."

Alessandro seized my collar and slammed me against the wall.

"Playing the victim now? I wire you a hundred thousand dollars every month. You're the one who ran off to the slums looking for cheap thrills. Now you want to act like some kind of victim?"

I had never seen a single dollar of it.

I'd scraped by washing dishes for half a loaf of moldy bread, until they broke my leg and sold me into the market.

I opened my mouth to argue, but the tears came first.

Vittoria let out a sudden shriek. "That hurts!"

Alessandro dropped me instantly, letting me fall to the floor as he scooped her up into his arms.

"Clean this up," he ordered coldly, and walked away without a backward glance.

Vittoria rested her head against his shoulder, and shot me a faint, knowing smile over it.

I managed a hollow smile, too drained to fight back.

Numbly, I crouched down and started gathering the broken porcelain with my bare hands.

A shard sliced into my palm, blood welling up. I didn't feel a thing.

Afterward, I went back to my old bedroom.

The curtains were drawn tight, the room clearly untouched for years — and yet it had been kept spotless. Not a speck of dust anywhere.

On the desk sat a glass jar, filled with brass bullet casings.

Every single one, I'd secretly collected after watching Alessandro practice at the shooting range. Each one was carved with every private thought I'd ever had about him.

I picked up the jar and threw on a coat. There was nothing left I wanted.

I just wanted to escape this place. And live.

My hand found the side door's handle.

His voice came from behind me.

"And where do you think you're running off to this time?"