Chapter 2

My small two-bedroom safe house had been torn apart by his enforcers, every drawer emptied, every cushion split, the way men search when their Don has stopped caring about mess.

Yet he still found nothing.

"Didn't you say Bianca was unclogging a sewer? Where is she?"

His face flushed dark as he crossed the room to me, his voice filling the wrecked space like a threat with no leash on it.

Seeing the Don of the Ferrante Family reduced to this, a wicked satisfaction curled in my chest.

Revenge tasted sweet.

I raised my brows, speaking slowly, almost lazily. "I only said she was unclogging a sewer. I never said it was in my house. Maybe she's unclogging one over at your driver's place. Why don't you have Enzo checked?"

Salvatore's eyes went cold. He fisted a hand in my hair and yanked hard, the way a man handles someone he no longer counts among the living.

"Drop the sarcasm," he growled, his voice dropping low, the register every man in his crew had learned to fear. "I'll ask you one last time. Where are you hiding Bianca?"

Bianca's movements had always been kept from me. I was nothing but her scapegoat. How could I possibly know?

Through gritted teeth, I answered, "She's a grown woman with hands and feet of her own. Why would I know where she goes? I'm not her mother!"

Not getting the answer he wanted, Salvatore's eyes turned vicious. He released my hair only to strike me hard across the face, the blow leaving my head ringing. Rage flared through me. Yet beneath it, an even greater anticipation stirred.

You're angry already? You've seen nothing yet, Salvatore. The worst is still waiting for you, I muttered internally.

He loomed over me, striking my face again and again with the flat of his palm, and sneered, "You think keeping your mouth shut means I can't deal with you?"

He reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and powered it on.

Holding it up to my face, he unlocked it with the scan, then scrolled straight into my contacts.

When he spotted my emergency contact, a cruel smile spread across his lips.

He dialed.

"Hello? What's wrong?"

On the other end, my husband, Marco, answered with his usual gentle voice.

I opened my mouth, desperate to speak, but one of the enforcers clamped a rough hand over it, smothering the words in my throat.

"You're Adriana's husband, right?"

Salvatore's voice was cold, dripping with disdain, the voice of a man used to speaking down to lesser Families.

"And who the hell are you?"

Hearing an unfamiliar man on his wife's line, Marco's tone sharpened, his calm instantly replaced by unease.

Salvatore held my eyes, mocking me as he replied, "I'm Adriana's ex. But don't worry. I'm married now. I've got no interest in her anymore."

There was a short silence, then Marco demanded, "Then why are you calling me from her phone?"

"No real reason. I just thought you should hear the truth about your lovely wife."

Salvatore began, every word a dagger meant to bury me alive.

"Do you know how she got those burn scars? She tried to set herself on fire when I threw her over, wanted to die with me. If my wife hadn't gone in after her, she'd already be ashes."

"When that failed, she threw herself at man after man, desperate for company."

"She's lived off my wife for years. Sold the jewelry off her own wedding to buy gifts for her boytoys, gambled the rest away, ran my accounts dry, made my wife cover her debts."

"She even got caught playing mistress and took a beating from the man's real wife."

"Oh, and she's been at the doctor lately, getting treated for a dirty disease. If I were you, I'd go get tested."

"Tell me, doesn't it shame you to be married to a filthy woman like her? Doesn't it make you feel like less of a man? If I were in your shoes, I'd already be dead."

Each word was venom, each sentence a blade, hacking at my dignity until nothing remained.

On the other end of the line, Marco fell into a long, chilling silence.

My heart twisted.

Since the day our two Families bound us together, our marriage had always been good...