The Woman Sacrificed by the Godfather

I was the heir’s most loyal shadow—ten years of killing for him without a single mistake.

The night I was captured and my fingers were broken, they laughed and told me he was engaged—and that he had personally tampered with my gun.

I endured torture and kept my silence for him, but when I crawled back to the manor covered in blood, he only demanded to know why I was still alive.

On the night of his engagement party, he ordered me to attend in full dress, publicly reduced me to a “used blade”—and when a bomb fell, he shoved me in front of him and his fiancée.

As I lay bleeding on the floor and watched him carry another woman to safety, I finally understood—I hadn’t been protecting love, I had been volunteering for my own execution.

……

I'd spent ten years of my life serving that man, only to hear about his engagement from the enemy the moment I was captured.

My finger rested on the trigger, breath lighter than a cat's, the target crystal clear in my scope.

This was my training at its finest, orders from the only man I'd ever trusted.

"Pull it."

I executed without hesitation. But the damn gun misfired in my hands, the bullet veering wildly off course, barely grazing the target's coat. I didn't even have time to get a clear look at the man's face before I heard the chaotic rush of footsteps behind me.

I was surrounded.

"Sir? Extraction route!"

Only static crackled through my earpiece. That voice I'd listened to for ten years, the one that let me confidently expose my back, had vanished. My blood turned to ice instantly, heart gripped by an invisible fist.

This was betrayal.

They caught me easily, like trapping a useless stray cat.

When they dragged me into that underground interrogation room, I still believed Dominic would come for me.

I was his sharpest blade. He wouldn't abandon me.

But I was wrong.

Three days of interrogation. My finger bones broke, but I still didn't talk.

Even when they used whips, electric batons, I gritted my teeth, Dominic's face filling my mind.

"You'll never get anything from me."

This was my fate, the medal I wore willingly.

I wouldn't tolerate betraying him.

I stared coldly at the scarred brute before me—Viktor, second-in-command of the rival family.

"Oh? Is that so?" Viktor wiped his hands, suddenly pulling a remote from his pocket, clicking on the wall projector with a sharp snap.

Harsh white light hit the wall, revealing not torture instruments, but a photograph.

In the photo, Dominic wore an impeccably tailored black suit, head lowered as he smiled at the woman beside him. The woman—blonde, blue-eyed, in haute couture—leaned happily against his shoulder.

My breathing hitched violently.

That smile was too familiar—the fleeting tenderness he only ever showed me.

But now, he was giving that smile to another woman.

"Open your eyes wide and look carefully. This is tomorrow's headline," the boss sneered, kicking my ribs with the tip of his shoe. "Dominic Romano and Anastasia from the Russian family, officially announcing their engagement. Seven days from now, in that estate you'll never return to."

My eyes locked on the screen, heart seized by an invisible hand, every beat tearing with agony.

In the photo, Dominic's hand rested gently on Anastasia's waist, the intimacy painfully bright.

"Fake."

I heard my own voice, hoarse as sandpaper, forcing out those two syllables from deep in my throat.

I didn't believe it. This had to be a divide-and-conquer tactic, a way to break me.

I'd followed Dominic for ten years. Since he picked me up at fifteen, my life belonged to him.

I was his only Scarlett, his most trusted weapon. How could he marry someone else while I was gone?

"You think I'd believe that bullshit?"

I lifted my head, gaze like ice-forged steel, shooting straight at the boss.

My whole body hurt, but right now anger overwhelmed all physical pain.

I waited for him to slip up, to admit this was a lie to extract information.

But he only shrugged, lazily pulling a paper from a folder, tossing it into the pool of blood before me.

"Don't believe it? Then look at this. This is the estate's internal schedule—engagement party menu, floral arrangements, guest list... planned for three whole months. Sweetheart, you're just a pawn in his game, one he can sacrifice anytime. Even his fiancée's veil is worth more than you."

My gaze fell on that paper. The familiar handwriting—definitely Dominic's personal signature.

Every letter burned like a red-hot brand on my retinas.

Just then, the interrogation room door opened again. A subordinate walked in, whispering something in the boss's ear.

I watched his expression turn playful. He leaned close to my ear, each word dripping with malicious satisfaction.

"Oh, forgot to mention. When we caught you, we checked your gun."

"Someone tampered with the trigger sensitivity. The bullet was off by five whole degrees. Scarlett, tell me... besides the person who cleans your gun every day, who has access to your weapon's core?"

All the blood in my body went completely cold in that instant.

The only person who could access my weapon's core was Dominic.

I opened my mouth to argue, to say it was impossible,

But my throat felt stuffed with water-soaked cotton, no sound coming out.

All my faith began crumbling in that moment.

The man I'd desperately protected had personally handed me a defective weapon, then watched me fall into the enemy's trap.

"No... this isn't real..."

I muttered to myself. If even my gun was his sabotage, then this capture, this engagement—was it all part of his elaborate setup from the beginning?

He sent me on this suicide mission to make me disappear, to clear space for that Russian heiress?

"Take him down, take good 'care' of him," the boss stood up, dusting off his hands, voice contemptuous. "Let him know what it feels like to be sold out by the man you love most."

Two thugs dragged me up from the floor like a sack of potatoes, every bone in my body feeling shattered.

In the final moment before being dragged from the interrogation room, I took one last look at that wall.

The projection was still on, frozen on Dominic and that woman smiling at each other.

Turns out, the person I'd risked my life to protect had already pushed me off a cliff.

He didn't just not want me anymore—he wanted me dead out there.