Chapter 1

In order to wed his first love, my fiancé, Wesley Houcci, publicly exposed my father's identity as an undercover agent. That resulted in my father being strung up and tortured for one entire day and night. In the end, my father's legs were chopped off, his eyes were gouged out, and he was thrown into a metal cage and burned alive. Just as I, Amara Slatero, was consumed with thoughts of revenge against Wesley, my childhood friend, now the Don of Scricia, rushed back from abroad with an army of men. Bruno Zedano mobilized his entire family's power and influence to hire the best legal team for my father and promised to clear his name. I believed him. After the funeral, I broke off my previous engagement to Wesley and married Bruno, the man who had allowed me to lean on him during my darkest hour. Five years later, while standing outside a private room, I accidentally overheard a conversation between Wesley and Bruno, who were inside. "Every time Amara sees me, she looks like she wants to do nothing else but tear me to shreds. But if the dumb woman ever finds out that the person who sold out her father is actually her husband who holds her in his arms every night, do you think she'll lose her mind?" My hand, which was just about to push the door open, froze in mid-air. Wesley's mocking voice continued, "You're truly ruthless, Bruno! Amara saw you as an older brother when she was a kid, and now that she's older, she climbs into bed with you naked. Never in her wildest dreams would she imagine that the person who actually uncovered her father's true identity was you!" I stood frozen by the doorway as Wesley's voice echoed, thick with meaning. "Look at how that idiot, Amara, massages your shoulders and feet every day, acting like she wants nothing more than to dig her heart out and offer it to you. If she ever finds out that you were the one who tipped off the boss about her dad being a mole, don't you think she'll skin you alive?" "Shut up," Bruno warned coldly. "Ha! Who knew there'd come a day when you—the Don of Scricia—would pretend to be a saint? Mr. Slatero was always so nice to you when you were a kid, and yet, you sent him straight to his death just because you wanted to please Lilah." Bruno slammed the liquor bottle down hard on the table as he snarled through gritted teeth, "I'll never be able to repay what I owe Amara and Mr. Slatero. Everything I did back then was so that Lilah could be safe. If you dare touch a hair on her head, I'll make you wish you were dead." Wesley snorted. "What a hopelessly devoted Don you are. At least you're sincere about Lilah. Too bad she wants nothing to do with a devil whose hands are as covered in blood as yours. You'd be better off staying with Amara. She thinks you're her redemption, but little does she know… you're her worst nightmare." The sound of shattering glass rang out loudly. I fought to stop my trembling and quickly headed toward the rooftop bar. I downed a shot of strong liquor in one gulp. I usually never drank, so the burn left me coughing so badly that tears were streaming down my face. The conversation I had just overheard kept echoing inside my mind. As it turned out, it hadn't been Wesley who had betrayed my father all those years ago, but Bruno—the man who had supposedly come back to seek justice on my father's behalf. That corpse, mutilated beyond recognition, had actually been Bruno's handiwork. No wonder the always-calm Bruno had looked so dazed when he stared at my father's charred remains in the funeral home. I had naively assumed that it was because of grief and anger. Never had I imagined that the man who had been sleeping beside me for five years was the true executioner who had sent my father to his death. All the tenderness and affection he had woven for me all these years was nothing but his way of atoning for his sins. How ridiculous. Hatred bubbled in my chest. Just as I reached for another glass, Bruno suddenly wrapped his arms around me from behind and drunkenly buried his face in the curve of my neck. "Where'd you go, Amy? I missed you… Let's go home, okay?" These past years, every time he got drunk, he'd always hold me like this and tell me over and over again how much he loved me.