“Massimo!” Bianca sobbed, burying her face in his chest. “She’s jealous of me! Jealous of the jewels your mother gave me, jealous of the gifts you bought me!”

“She said she was going to kill me and our son!”

I scrambled up from the ground, blood dripping from my scraped palms.

“Bianca, you—”

“Enough!” Massimo cut me off, his eyes burning with a rage that terrified me. “Just because my mother doesn’t like you, you have to take it out on Bianca?”

“You want bags and jewels? I can buy you anything!” his voice rose. “All you have to do is be obedient! Stop this goddamn jealousy!”

“We have an heir to raise together! I won’t have you acting like this!”

An heir?

I couldn’t stop the cold, bitter laugh that escaped my lips.

“What heir, Massimo? Is our heir even still alive?”

Massimo’s face went pale.

“Why was security pulled from the gala, Massimo? Why did I almost bleed to death on that floor? Don’t you have an answer for me?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Massimo clutched Bianca tighter. “Arabella, stop this nonsense!”

“Now, apologize to Bianca. Immediately!”

Apologize?

Apologize to the woman who murdered my son?

A desperate rage swallowed the last of my sanity.

I snatched the dagger from Massimo’s belt and slashed it across my own forearm.

Blood poured out, a river of red far more horrifying than the scratch on Bianca’s forehead.

“Is this sincere enough?” I stared at them, my voice dead. “Is this apology good enough for you?”

“Arabella!” Massimo looked at me in shock.

But the moment was broken by a weak moan from Bianca.

“Massimo… my head hurts so much…”

His attention snapped back to her. “I’m taking you to the hospital. Right now.”

He turned and ran back toward the villa without another look at me.

He left me standing in a pool of my own blood.

A few hours later, Massimo’s deputy, Alex, found me.

He brought a doctor and a first-class medical kit, a pained look on his face.

“Donna, the Boss asked me to tell you he apologizes for his… outburst this afternoon. He also insists you attend the christening tomorrow. For the sake of the family’s honor.”

I stared at the ugly gash on my arm, ignoring the kit he offered.

I uttered a single word. “Get out.”

Alex started to protest, but I met his gaze with an expression he had never seen before. “Tell Massimo I’ll be there,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m going to give him and his ‘heir’ a christening they’ll never forget.”

Shaken, Alex backed away and left in a hurry.

The next day, the whispers spread through Chicago’s underworld:

Don Falcone had used his family’s private medical jet to fly in a dozen of Europe’s top surgeons.

All to treat a minor cut on his mistress’s head.

Such a grand romance. Such a high price to pay.

And me?

I was at home, silently bandaging my own arm, with no one to care.