Chapter 2

Bradley’s mother, Eden Moretti, was the first to react.

She rushed toward me and seized my wrist.

“Wallis, no man in this family is allowed to treat his wife this way. Bradley may have lost his mind, but the rest of us haven’t.”

Bradley’s father, Eric, sat at the head of the long table.

The old man controlled half the docks, casinos, and underground shipping routes on the East Coast. His face had gone ashen, his expression hard as stone.

“You’re throwing away your wife and newborn daughter for another woman?”

He looked at his son as if he were staring at a traitor.

“Bradley, do you even understand what you’re saying?”

Bradley remained on his knees, his back rigid. He had removed his black suit jacket, and his white dress shirt clung to him. A dark patch of sweat spread slowly across his back.

“I do.”

“But Zora was taken because of me. Everything she suffered during those three years is on me.”

The uncles, advisers, and lawyers seated along both sides of the table said nothing.

They had seen gunfights. Betrayals. Bodies disappearing beneath the Hudson.

But none of them had ever seen the Moretti heir kneel in the family chapel and ask to abandon his wife and child.

An elderly family adviser finally spoke.

“Bradley, the Moretti name survived a hundred years. It wasn’t built for you to drag it through the mud.”

“If you insist on this divorce, you will accept the punishment that comes with it.”

Bradley lowered his eyes. “I accept.”

Eric rose slowly. “Bring the whip.”

Eden went white. “Eric!”

“If he wants to break the family code, he should understand the price.”

Moments later, someone brought in a black leather whip.

Bradley unbuttoned his shirt and bared his back.

When the first lash struck, Anne startled awake in my arms. Her cry was thin and reedy.

A welt split open across Bradley’s back, and blood welled at once.

His jaw tightened, but he made no sound.

He remained on his knees like a martyr.

How absurd.

Once, he had knelt before his parents just like this and sworn he would marry no one but me.

Back then, I was only a lawyer’s daughter—quiet, ordinary, and completely unconnected to a family like theirs.

Everyone said he had lost his mind.

But Bradley drove to my house himself and waited outside all night.

He told my father,

“I know what the Moretti name means. But I’ll protect her with my life.”

Later, we married at St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

He lifted my veil, bent down to kiss me, and whispered so softly that only I could hear,

“Wallis, I’ll be good to you for the rest of my life.”

I believed him then.

Now, for another woman, he would rather let his back be flayed to ribbons than keep his wife and daughter in his life.

After the hundredth lash, Eric threw the whip to the floor.

“Get out.”

Bradley braced a hand against the marble and forced himself to his feet. The back of his white shirt was soaked with blood.

Snow was falling outside.

He walked to the center of the estate courtyard and dropped to his knees again.

His face was deathly pale, but his answer did not change.

“Even if I die here, I still want the divorce.”

I watched him until the pain in my chest finally gave way to numbness.

Just the day before, we had held Anne’s baptism.

The Morettis had brought in a priest and invited half of New York’s high society.

That was when Zora Rossi appeared.

She stood in the cathedral doorway wearing a threadbare gray coat, her face gaunt and pale. In a voice as faint as a ghost’s, she called his name.

“Bradley.”

That single word was enough.

Bradley Moretti—always composed, always in control—dropped the glass in his hand. It shattered at his feet.

He shoved through the crowd, nearly stumbling in his rush to reach her, then pulled her into his arms.

I had never seen him lose control like that.

His eyes were bloodshot. His voice cracked as he repeated the same words over and over.

“I’m sorry, Zora.”

“It was my fault. I never should have left you there alone. I never should have said those things.”

“I did this to you.”

The entire cathedral fell silent.

Everyone watched their tragic reunion unfold.

His friends murmured among themselves.

“Bradley still loves her.”

“She’s finally back.”

I stood outside the circle with Anne in my arms, as if I were the one who did not belong.

Even then, I kept telling myself it was all right.

It was only guilt.

I was the woman he loved now.

We had Anne.

Our family would not fall apart.

Then, that night, he came into my room. He stood there in silence for a long time before finally speaking.

“Wallis, I want a divorce.”

“I’m sorry. Zora was taken because of me. She suffered more than you can imagine, and now she can never have children.”

“I owe her more than I can ever repay. I have to spend the rest of my life making it up to her.”

The words struck me like lightning.

“A divorce? What about Anne? What happens to our daughter?”

He looked away.

“Zora can’t stand the thought of me having a child.”

“I’ll send Anne away.”

I beat my fists against his chest, sobbing and demanding to know how he could be so heartless.

He did not stop me. He did not defend himself.

And he never withdrew his decision.

By the time dawn broke, I had nothing left.

So I said yes.