The Crown That Fell

A kidnapper's gun was pressed to Lena's temple and mine, the whole scene streaming live online.

"Nolan," the kidnapper said, "your wife, Donna, or your first love. Only one of them walks away alive. Choose."

On the other side of the screen, my husband, Don Nolan Winston, head of the Winston family, did not hesitate for even a second.

"Let Lena go. As for that woman, do whatever you want with her."

I looked into the camera and laughed until tears ran down my face.

For seven years, I had stood by him as he rose from the Winston family's illegitimate son to the first Don of the Italvia mafia. I had taken knives for him, drunk with him, even lost a child along the way.

So in the end, in his eyes, I had been nothing more than a pawn he could discard at any moment.

"Did you hear that?" the kidnapper sneered at me.

I turned and ran toward the cliff. Facing the camera, I spoke my final words.

"Nolan, I'm giving this life back to you. We're even now."

I was so sure I was a goner, but then I blinked open my eyes to the sterile white of a hospital room.

"Awake?" came a voice, deep and seething with anger, next to me.

Turning my head was a struggle, but I managed, only to wish I had not. There he was, Don, the mafia boss–my so-called husband, Nolan Winston.

Nolan's face was like stone, but his voice dripped with mockery.

"Sophia Wood, you're a mafia Donna, yet you jumped into the sea just for a little sympathy? You've made a mockery of the Winston name."

His words were like ice, and my heart felt like it had frozen over.

To Nolan, my leap of despair was just a cheap trick for attention.

I was so shocked, I could not even find the words to respond.

In Nolan's eyes, my silence was as good as an admission of guilt.

He scowled at me and said with a frosty edge, "Today, I'm calling a family meeting. You're going to say sorry to Lena in front of everyone and confess that the whole kidnapping mess was your own little drama.

"And if Lena doesn't forgive you, say goodbye to your dad's health care."

That got me moving. I yanked the IV from my hand, tossed aside the blankets, and tried to stand.

Nolan pushed me back down hard. "Lost your mind? You've got a couple of busted ribs and a bunch of bruises. Where do you think you're off to?"

The pain was intense, but I faced him without flinching.

"You want that apology, right? Let's get it over with."

His hand was still heavy on my shoulder, his eyes swirling with something dark and unreadable.

For a moment, I thought I saw something in him that could not possibly be there.

It was gone as soon as it came, swallowed up by a wave of scorn.

"Sophia," he said, his hand falling away as a sneer twisted his lips, "you're pathetic."

He stepped back, looking down at me like I was nothing more than a begging stray.

"Why the rush to say you're sorry? Can't stand being out of the Winstons' good graces, or do you think buttering up Lena will get me to give you a second glance?"

I kept silent, my gaze fixed on the face I had loved for the past seven years.

Did Nolan have any clue?

The bullet he owed me for was still stuck in my shoulder, throbbing painfully whenever the weather turned sour and robbing me of sleep.

He was clueless.

I saw it in the way his icy mask melted into tenderness when he picked up that call.

"Lena?" His voice was a hushed whisper, as if he was afraid to break the spell her name cast.

"What's up? Feeling okay?"

I could not catch what was said on the other end.

However, his face said it all.

The worried furrow of his brow, the pained look in his eyes, his lips a tight line.

That was his 'I'm worried' face.

I have seen it before.

Like that night seven years back, when he was about to take over the family business and was up all night before the big meeting. He wore that same look.

I thought he was scared about the deal, but turns out, he was writing to Lena.

"Don't worry, I'm on my way." He hung up, did not even throw me a glance, and bolted out the door.

The door slammed shut behind him, echoing like a slap across my face, leaving me ghostly pale.

Lena played coy on the phone, and Nolan was ready to jump on a plane. Meanwhile, I was there with a cracked rib, fresh from a sea rescue, and all I got from him were biting remarks.

Love and indifference stood in such stark contrast, and it had taken me seven years to see it.

Just then, my phone buzzed.

A text from the hospital.

[Miss Wood, your father's medical bill is overdue by 12000 dollars. Settle it by five in the evening, or we'll have to cut off his treatment.]

What did this mean?

Nolan promised me that if I just apologized to Lena, he would not cut off my dad's medical funds. Why were we suddenly 12 grand in the hole?

A sickening thought zapped through my brain like a bolt of lightning. Nolan had been playing me all along!

I punched in Nolan's number, my heart racing.

It rang forever, but finally, someone picked up.

Lena's sugary voice oozed through the speaker. "Sophia? Thanks for sending Nolan over. He's busy slicing an apple for me. What's up?"

I inhaled sharply, fighting back the urge to hurl. "Put Nolan on the phone."

"Sophia, don't be mad. Nolan's just really concerned about me..."

"Lena, cut the act. I need to talk to Nolan!" I exploded.

The line went dead silent for a beat, then Nolan's icy voice cut in.

"Sophia, are you done throwing your tantrum? You scared Lena with that outburst!"

My hand clenched the phone so hard my knuckles blanched, nails biting into my flesh.

"Nolan, you can't just cut off my dad's medical funds. He'll die without his machines..."

Nolan's laugh was an icy slap across the face.

"This again? Can't you be a little more original? Your dad is safe in the family hospital. What, are you cursing him now just to scam some cash?"

"I'm not making this up, the hospital has already..."

"Enough!" He snapped, cutting me off. "You want money? Fine. Get back to the estate in thirty minutes. Tonight, you're not just apologizing to Lena–you're facing the family's wrath."

Nolan's voice was merciless. "The mafia doesn't put up with a liar. Survive ninety-nine lashes, and you'll get your money."

The call ended with a click, cutting off the conversation without a hint of warmth.

I stared down at the dark screen, my own ghostly reflection staring back at me, and I could not help but let out a bitter laugh.

This was the guy I had poured my heart into for seven long years.

Right then, he seemed more repulsive than ever. All those years of feeling small and pathetic just made me sick to my stomach.

'That's it, I'm done with him,' I told myself.