Chapter Three

When I woke, my nose was full of disinfectant. My mother, Marianne, was in the chair by the bed; at the sound she jerked her head up.

“Baby, you’re awake? Are you still hurting? How did you fall down the stairs—”

“I… missed a step,” I rasped, my throat dry. “It doesn’t hurt.”

She let out a breath, but the red in her eyes didn’t fade. “Thank God it isn’t serious. Rest.” She held water to my lips like she was afraid I’d shatter.

“And one more thing—Vail has set the date. Your wedding with Adrian is in half a month. Funny coincidence… same day as Lorenzo’s.”

Same day.

Under the sheet, my fingers curled tight like they’d been pricked by a row of needles.

A ridiculous coincidence.

The door swung open.

Lorenzo stood there in a perfect suit, face hard. “What same day?”

My mother froze, about to explain—

I caught her sleeve, voice weak. “Mom… I want your beef stew.”

Marianne immediately turned back, touched my forehead. “Okay. I’ll go make it.”

The door closed. The room held only the two of us.

Lorenzo came closer. His fingers brushed the gauze at my forehead—like concern, without warmth. When his thumb touched the skin behind my ear—

where the chip was—

I flinched away.

He smiled, as if he’d noticed something newly entertaining. “Does it hurt?”

“Don’t bother.” I turned my face aside. “Go take care of your fiancée.”

He watched me for a few seconds, then gave a laugh like I’d said something childish.

“Jealous?” He gripped my wrist—not too hard, just enough that I couldn’t pull free. “Because I took Bianca first?”

“No.” I pulled my hand back. My voice stayed flat. “She’s the one you’re marrying. It’s normal you put her first.”

I paused, lifted my eyes to him. “I’ll be married too. I’ll put my husband first.”

In that instant, the cold in Lorenzo’s eyes sank like a dark undertow.

“Don’t use that to provoke me, Sienna.”

“Without my permission, you’re not marrying anyone.”

He stared at me, and it felt like his gaze could split my heart open. I held his eyes anyway.

Yes—no one can openly defy the Godfather’s heir, unless—

he doesn’t know I’m marrying.

On the wedding day, he’ll be in a church vowing to Bianca, and the Vail family will take me away. Once it’s done, even he can’t undo it.

When he saw me drift, Lorenzo’s temper flared. He yanked my hand hard, trying to force my attention.

“Talk, Sienna!”

“There’s nothing to say,” I said, pulling free.

“Is that so?” He gave a soft, humorless snort.

Then the familiar surge hit again.

The current snapped up through my chest. My breath caught. A muffled sound slipped from my throat—low, sticky, humiliating in the way my body could never fully control.

My eyes flew to his pinky ring. He was pressing it in alternating rhythms.

This was a hospital bed. How could he humiliate me like this?

He saw my pain and fury and finally looked satisfied. He lowered his hand, tone returning to calm.

“After the wedding, I’ll place you in the East Side villa. It’s safe. No one will dare touch you. I’ll come see you.”

So he really meant to “arrange” my future as hidden, shameful adultery.

My eyes burned hot, but all I got out were two words: “I won’t.”

Lorenzo’s gaze chilled, about to speak—

his phone vibrated.

He glanced at the screen. Whatever thin patience he had vanished, replaced by bureaucratic indifference.

“A caregiver will come,” he said. “Be good. Stop causing trouble.”

He turned and left. The door’s closing sound was soft, and it felt like a lock sliding shut on my cage.

I stared at the door and smiled slowly.

Lorenzo, I’m not waiting for you anymore.

In the days that followed, I kept seeing him at the far end of the corridor.

He accompanied Bianca to tests, fed her water with his own hand, pushed aside meetings to stay for her physical therapy. Nurses whispered with envy, “Mr. Corleone really spoils his fiancée.”

I stood around the corner listening to that word—*fiancée*—until my heart hurt into numbness, hollowed out until only a shell remained.

That day, Bianca came into my room with a bouquet of white lilies, her smile gentle and flawless.

“Sienna, feeling better?” She set the flowers down. “I need a favor—Lorenzo’s birthday is coming. I want to pick a gift. You know him best. Will you come with me?”

“Sure,” I said.

On the way, Bianca chatted about how considerate he was, how he “pressed down problems,” like it was a fairy tale. Halfway through she tilted her head and smiled.

“Did he ever date anyone? With other women… was he this attentive?”

My throat tightened. I forced it down. “No. You’re the first.”

Bianca’s smile turned sweeter. Her fingers rested lightly on the back of my hand like an accidental touch. “Then you’re lucky, staying by his side so long. You two… must be close, right?”

The word *close* tightened like a wire around my throat.

I pulled my hand away. “I just live at the old house.”

Bianca nodded as if she believed it—and as if she didn’t. She lifted her phone, tone bright. “Then when I pick things, can you take a few photos for me? I want to show Lorenzo and see what he likes.”

“I’m not good at it,” I refused lightly.

Bianca’s smile didn’t change. “It’s fine. Whatever I buy, he’ll like…”

The next second—

A shriek of brakes tore through the street.

A black SUV barreled in from the side and slammed into our car’s rear. The whole vehicle lurched. Then came several sharp, bursting gunshots in the distance—glass cracking like hard rain.

“Down!” the driver yelled.

Bianca screamed and threw herself at me, nails digging into my arm. The seatbelt cinched my lungs. I only heard someone outside shout, “Kane’s men!”

Before he could finish, a dull blast detonated at the front of the car—heat shoving bodies back into seats. The world flipped in my vision. Lights smeared into a long line.