I took three bullets saving the mafia boss’s six-year-old son—and when I woke up, his “reward” was five terrifying words: “You’re going to be my wife.”

In his world, perhaps it could.

Dante traced the call within minutes. Or tried to. The number bounced through too many places, too quickly. Whoever had called knew enough to make Victor’s technology men curse under their breath.

But the words stayed.

Ask your husband what really happened to Alessia.

I asked.

Victor did not answer.

That was worse than any confession.

“Victor.”

He stood at the window, his shoulders rigid.

“You said she died in a car bomb.”

“She did.”

“You said it was meant for you.”

“It was.”

“But that isn’t all.”

His reflection stared back at me from the dark glass.

“No.”

Pain moved through my chest that had nothing to do with bullets.

I had married him under pressure. I had entered his house under threat. I had accepted his protection because danger had wrapped itself around my life. But there was one thing I could not survive again.

Being lied to by someone who controlled the door.

“Tell me,” I said.

Victor turned.

For once, he looked tired.

“Alessia was leaving me.”

The sentence landed softly, then shattered everything.

“She had packed two suitcases,” he said. “One for herself. One for Leo. She planned to take him to Boston, to her sister.”

I gripped the blanket.

“Why?”

“Because she said this house was killing him.”

Leo.

Always Leo.

“She was right,” Victor said.

The admission seemed to scrape his throat raw.

“I told her she could not take my son out from under my protection. We argued. She said protection was just another word for prison when the person holding the key refused to open the gate.”

I thought of Caleb telling me to run if staying meant losing myself.

“What happened after the argument?” I asked.

“She left anyway.”

“And the bomb?”

His eyes hardened with old grief.

“Her car exploded three blocks from the estate.”

The room was silent except for the machines monitoring my body.

“People blamed you,” I said.

“Some did.”

“Did Leo know she was leaving?”

“No.”

“Did Adriana?”

Victor hesitated.

“Yes.”

That explained Adriana’s anger. Her grief had sharp edges because it was tangled with guilt.

“And Luca?”

“I don’t know.”

I looked down at my ring.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His mouth twisted. “Because dead women are easier to honor when no one knows they wanted to leave.”

The honesty was brutal.

I hated it.

I respected it.

I did not know what to do with either feeling.

“You made her a saint because the truth made you look like a jailer,” I said.

Victor flinched.

Barely.

But he did.

“Yes.”

The door opened before I could respond.

Adriana walked in without knocking, her face pale and furious.

“Where is my husband?”

Victor turned.

“Being brought in.”

“You have no right.”

“I have every right.”

“You found phone records and decided he tried to murder a child?”

“I found payment to Patricia.”

Adriana’s eyes flashed. “Luca is stupid. Proud. Resentful. He is not a child killer.”

Victor stepped toward her. “Then why did he pay the nanny?”

“Because I told him to.”

The room froze.

Victor’s face emptied.

“What?”

Adriana lifted her chin, but tears brightened her eyes.

“I paid Patricia first. Through Luca.”

Victor moved so fast I barely saw it. One moment he was several feet away. The next he stood inches from his sister.

“Explain.”

Adriana’s voice shook.

“I paid her to watch Leo.”

“She was his nanny.”

“No. I paid her to tell me if you were hurting him.”

Victor recoiled as if struck.

The words were terrible because they were believable.

Adriana looked at me then, and the hatred in her face had changed. It was no longer for me. It was for the house, the past, herself.

“After Alessia died, Leo stopped talking for weeks. Victor wouldn’t let doctors speak to him unless they signed blood contracts. He fired anyone who said the word trauma. So yes, I paid Patricia privately. I told her to report everything.”

Victor’s voice was low. “She betrayed us.”

“Yes,” Adriana snapped. “But I didn’t hire her for that.”

“Luca made payments after you stopped?”

Adriana’s face changed.

There.

Truth.

“I stopped six months ago,” she whispered.

“The last transfer was two days before the attack,” Victor said.

Adriana’s lips parted.

“No.”

Dante appeared behind her, grim.

“Boss. We found Luca.”