Imprisoned by the Don I Called Mine

I stared at the glass of blood-red wine in Cassandra's hand. I didn't move.

This wasn't an apology. It was a performance.

A show for Lorenzo, a play about forgiveness and reconciliation. And I was the prop that had to play along.

"I don't drink," I said, my voice dead flat.

Cassandra's face froze. Annoyance flashed in her eyes.

The guests started whispering immediately. Their stares felt like needles.

"So ungrateful."

"Miss Viti is being so gracious, and she's acting like this?"

Lorenzo's face darkened completely.

He stepped up beside me, his voice low and threatening. "Bella, don't make a scene. Drink it."

I looked up, straight into his deep eyes. They used to be my entire sky.

"And if I don't?"

"This isn’t a request," he said, his voice dropping. "This is how it ends. Drink it."

An end?

My surrender, so he could put a neat little bow on his betrayal?

I let out a cold laugh and turned my head away.

Lorenzo was silent for a moment. The air felt thick enough to cut.

When he spoke again, he used the only weapon he had left that could destroy me.

"Drink the wine," he said, his voice slow, a devil's whisper, "and I'll take you to see Nonna."

Nonna.

My heart seized. It felt like a fist was crushing it. I couldn't breathe.

She was the only family I had left in the world. My only weakness.

He knew. He always knew.

I looked at him, the man I once loved with all my soul, using my most cherished person to force this humiliation down my throat.

I snatched the glass from Cassandra’s hand. Without looking at anyone, I tilted my head back and drank it all.

The cold liquid slid down my throat, with a faint, bitter aftertaste.

A triumphant glint appeared in Cassandra's eyes, quickly replaced by a look of tearful gratitude. "Oh, Bella! I knew you'd forgive me!"

Fake applause echoed through the room. Lorenzo seemed to relax. He’d completed his "mission."

He turned back to Cassandra and began comforting her, like soothing a frightened child.

His attention, once a precious thing that was all mine, was now being wasted on another woman.

Guest after guest came up to me, glasses in hand.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Romano!"

"To your return, Ma'am!"

I went through the motions, numb. But my stomach was starting to churn.

A familiar pain was waking up deep in my abdomen.

An old injury from prison.

The bitterness from the wine was now spreading through my blood.

My vision started to blur. The noise of the party twisted and warped into the sound of a cell door slamming shut.

"Be careful, don't touch the cut," I heard Lorenzo's gentle voice.

I turned my head. He was carefully holding Cassandra's wrist, where there was a tiny, almost invisible scratch.

Meanwhile, a thousand knives were twisting in my gut.

Cold sweat soaked my back.

I instinctively pressed a hand to my stomach. My fingertips were ice.

"Lorenzo..." I whispered his name, my voice barely audible.

He didn't look up. He was talking to Cassandra. "Is the steak too tough? I'll have them make you another one."

The pain was making my vision go black. I couldn't hold on.

My throat tightened. A metallic taste filled my mouth.

Cough.

A trickle of blood escaped my lips. It dripped onto my white dress, a single red flower blooming on the fabric.

My body swayed. Surrounded by a sea of shocked faces and gawking eyes, I collapsed.

In the last second before I lost consciousness, I heard Lorenzo’s stunned voice, and Cassandra’s shriek of thinly veiled delight.

I woke up to the familiar ceiling of the family's private clinic.

Lorenzo was sitting by the bed. He'd changed into a clean shirt. His face was dark.

"The doctor said it was just a stomach spasm from anxiety," he said, his voice cold as ice. "It's nothing serious."

Nothing serious?

I coughed up blood.

“Isabella,” he cut me off, his eyes like chips of ice. “When did you become such a good actress? So damn calculating?”