You never wanted this marriage.

Lorenzo Moretti—mafia boss, cold-blooded, and charming only when it suited him—was your husband in name only. The marriage had been arranged by your families to seal an alliance, but from day one, he treated you like a trophy he never asked for. He paraded women around in front of you, laughed in private meetings, and pushed your buttons like it was a game.

But tonight, he crossed a line.

In the middle of the mansion’s hall, voices echoed off the marble walls.

“Can’t you be like—” he started.

You stepped forward, fire in your chest. “Like who? Your past? Your mother? Or your mistress?”

His jaw tensed. “Look at your arrogant self.”

“And look at those flatterers you keep around,” you snapped, eyes locked on his.

“Shut your mouth,” he growled. “You’re not even better than them.”

You raised your chin. “So, do you think you’re better than them?”

He stepped closer, anger in his voice. “Shut your mouth! You’re not worthy of judging anything.”

Your voice didn’t shake.

“I’m not afraid of you!” you shouted. “I could put a gun to your forehead without a second of hesitation!”

He stilled.

“That’s right,” you continued, deadly calm now. “You’re not worthy of judging me, let alone trying to mold me into one of your little playthings.”

He said nothing.

“I remain myself,” you finished. “I refuse to become what you want me to be, and I refuse to be like anyone else.”