The Lioness Reclaims Her Pride

Silas sounded grieved by my decision, but he didn't try to talk me out of it.

"Alessia, my child, are you certain? Once judgment is passed, there is no turning back. It means war."

I nodded, then remembered he couldn't see me. "Yes," I said through gritted teeth. "I'm sure. Begin the investigation."

When I married Julian, every elder in the family was against it. He was a street bastard with nothing but his fists and his ambition; I was the sole heiress of the Ricci family, Chicago's Principessa.

No one thought it was a match.

It wasn't until my father, the Don, made him swear an oath of allegiance in his own blood that he was permitted to marry me.

I’d laughed at my father for being so old-fashioned, boasting that Julian and I would become a new legend. Who knew this would be the end?

I was the one who chose Julian. In college, the so-called scions of prominent families were a dime a dozen, and I swatted them away like flies.

Julian never approached me, never offered cheap flattery for my status.

I later learned it was because Scarlett was in Chicago then. All his attention, all his protection, was for the woman singing in some grimy bar.

It wasn't until Scarlett ran off with some Miami drug lord that Julian finally turned his attention to me. Or maybe he hadn't given up on her, just gotten tired of waiting. He chose me as a shortcut to power, and I, the fool, thought it was love.

The night we first slept together, I proposed the marriage alliance to my father. Julian was speechless.

He once asked me, "Alessia, aren't you afraid I have someone else in my heart?"

I replied that I was confident I could be his wife, his one and only.

Looking back, my naivety was laughable. Our relationship was a transaction from the start.

Three years ago, she'd cry on the phone, and he'd ditch a summit with the Five Families in New York to fly to her in Atlantic City, all because she "missed him."

Two years ago, a bomb was planted in my car. While I was hovering between life and death in the emergency room, Julian was gone. It turned out Scarlett had returned to Chicago, and they'd spent the entire night together.

Last year, at the family's annual profit-sharing meeting, he vanished midway through. Later, he was spotted taking Scarlett to watch the sunrise over Lake Michigan.

I opened the encrypted file Silas had sent.

It showed an astonishing accumulation of international flight miles over the past few years.

Irrefutable proof of his devotion, all right.

The intelligence report also confirmed the truth of my miscarriage.

That St. Christopher medal I'd received for "luck"? It was never a gift. It was Scarlett's—she had worn it for years. That wasn't a blessing; it was a taunt.

Julian knew I was pregnant. But when the gunshots rang out, when the danger was real, he never even looked back at me. He shielded Scarlett with his own body.

I was finally awake. From the very beginning, this marriage was a monumental lie.

It took lying in a pool of my own blood, terrified and unable to reach him, for me to finally understand: he never gave a damn about me.

This mistake had to end.

You love her, Julian. Fine. I'm going to make sure you get everything you deserve.