Chapter 1

The Don who killed seven of my exes just to have me — yet stood by and let his side piece flaunt a positive pregnancy test in my face.

When I dated, he kidnapped my boyfriend. When I got engaged, he chopped off my fiancé's hands. So I drugged him, took three hundred sixty-five filthy photos of his sleeping body, and leaked every single one online.

He woke up, wrapped a hand around my throat, and kissed me laughing.

"That's my girl. The rose I raised myself. We were always meant to bleed together."

I laughed too. God help me, I agreed.

That was eight years ago. Eight years of blood, bullets, and a bed neither of us ever left empty. Nothing on earth could pry us apart.

Until her. Sienna Moretti. Soft hands. Soft eyes. No blood under her nails.

I'm at the black-market clinic for my tenth round of fertility treatment when she walks in, cradling a swollen belly like a prize.

"You must be Christian's sister," she purrs. "I hear you kill people for sport. No wonder your womb won't take."

I just nod. I don't even blink.

She knows what I am. She walked in here anyway. That's not courage. That's an invitation.

I have her strapped to the operating table within minutes. The doctor doesn't ask questions. He never does.

I snap a picture of the bloody little thing they pull out of her and text it to Christian.

Got your gift. I love it.

Ten minutes later, every soul in the building has been cleared out by his men. He storms in with a Glock in his hand and fresh blood still drying on his collar.

"Have you lost your mind?"

"Wasn't this your gift to me? I opened it. You're not happy?"

His jaw locks. His eyes—those cold dead eyes I've watched empty a hundred men—turn red as he stares at the operating room door.

"Elena. She's just a girl. You didn't need to go this far."

"Just a girl?" I light a cigarette, let the smoke curl between us. "She knew I get off on killing. I figured you sent her over so I could blow off some steam."

I lean in close.

"Tell me, big brother. Did I read it wrong? She wasn't a present. She was your new mistress."

The fury drains out of him. Something worse replaces it. Guilt.

He shoves past me into the operating room. The girl is already awake and screaming, clawing at her empty, bleeding stomach.

"Christian! She killed our baby! Kill her, kill her!"

He scoops her up like she's made of glass and presses his gun against my forehead.

"Elena. You went too far."

I laugh. I actually laugh. I push the barrel aside with one finger and blow smoke into his face.

"So what now? You gonna put one in me to avenge that little bastard?"

I trail my fingers down Sienna's bloody thigh and slide the blade from my garter.

"Or do you want to gut me too? Even the score for your lamb?"

The knife is already moving. Sliding into her fresh wound, twisting just enough. She goes quiet. Out cold.

"Sorry, brother. There's nothing in mine to take."

His men swarm me, guns drawn from every angle.

But Christian just stares at me. And then he smiles. He waves them off.

"Out. All of you. I didn't call you here."

"Elena. Well played."

"Right back at you, brother. You taught me everything I know."

Eight years. Ten dead boyfriends. That's how long it took him to turn me into this.

The night he made me his, he wrapped my hand around the hilt of his knife and drove it through my fiancé's heart together.

He whispered against my ear, "Once you become me, no one else will ever be good enough."

He pulled me down off my white pedestal and into the dirt. The white roses turned red. The stain never washed out.

And now he wants something clean?

That's a joke.

"What, brother? Disappointed I accepted your gift? You're right, I should've gone further. You always say a real Vance leaves nothing standing. I'll do better next time."

He stares at me for a long moment. Then he carries her out.

"Elena. Remember this. We're not done."

The consequences come faster than I expected.