On the day we were supposed to register our marriage, Ryan Thorne's men blocked me outside City Hall. Then he walked up to me, hand in hand with his first love, Camilla Reign. "Camilla's child needs a legal identity. I'm marrying her first. Give it a month—once the divorce is finalized, I'll come back for you." Everyone who knew me was certain: Elina Morandi would wait. After all, I'd already waited seven years for him. But that night, I accepted the arranged marriage my family had brokered and boarded a flight to Geneva. Three years passed before I accompanied my godfather husband, Gregor Volkov, back to the States to handle family business. But something urgent came up at the last minute, and he sent the New York branch to pick me up from the airport instead. The person they sent was Ryan—whom I hadn't seen in three years. He tilted his head, sizing me up, that familiar arrogance curling at the corner of his mouth—the same look I'd once grown so tired of. "Three years gone. Had enough of your little tantrum yet? Perfect timing—Camilla's kid starts school soon. You'll handle drop-off and pick-up." … … In the arrivals hall, I spotted someone in the distance holding a sign with my code name on it. As I got closer, I realized the person holding the sign was Ryan Thorne—my ex-boyfriend of three years ago. Beside him stood Camilla and a few of his lackeys I vaguely recognized. The whole group was craning their necks toward the exit, scanning the crowd. One of them—a gaunt-faced man—spotted me first. "Hey—isn't that the little leech who used to follow Ryan around? Elina?" Ryan turned at the sound, his gaze sliding from my face down to my clothes before one corner of his mouth hitched upward. "See? What did I tell you—she was always going to come crawling back." Laughter erupted from every direction. "Vanishes for three years, and now that Ryan's made it big, she's kicking herself." "If you're going to stage a coincidental run-in, at least clean yourself up first. What are you even wearing?" "Don't tell me you can't even afford a decent outfit without Ryan. How far have you fallen?" The old me would have presented nothing less than perfection whenever I went to see Ryan. But now, there was absolutely no need for that. Since the pregnancy, Gregor wouldn't let me touch cosmetics—only let me wear whatever felt comfortable. This loungewear was something he'd had custom-made for me; the fabric alone cost a fortune. But hearing their comments, I understood immediately—they only knew the code name on that sign. They had no idea the person they were here to collect was me. I was about to set the record straight when Camilla beat me to it. "Elina, don't blame Ryan. He arranged things this way for your own good. After all, you disappeared for three years—God knows what you've been up to out there." She swept her eyes over me, a thread of pity leaking from the corner of her lips. "Looking at the state of you… honestly, even if Ryan gave you my position as his personal assistant, you wouldn't be able to handle it." "Just help me look after the child." Three years, and Camilla still had that same insufferable, holier-than-thou expression. Still just as capable of making my stomach turn. Ryan, meanwhile, misread my grimace as jealousy over him. A flicker of satisfaction passed through his eyes. "Come on. You couldn't even hack it out there on your own, and you're still putting on airs?" "Just be a good girl, take care of the kid, stop making a scene. Know your place." "Don't worry—I'll set aside a servant's room for you." The crowd erupted into shameless laughter again. "Elina, look at that—Ryan's being more than generous. He's giving you room and board; all that's missing is a paycheck." "It's just picking up Camilla's kid. That's better than roughing it out on the streets, isn't it? Hurry up and thank the man." Camilla flicked her earring, adopting a magnanimous pose. "Don't worry. If my son misbehaves, I'll discipline him myself. I'd never put you in an awkward position." Ryan shot me a derisive glance. "What's she got to feel wronged about? She vanished over some trivial nonsense, and now she's back because she can't survive on her own. If she suffers a little, she brought it on herself." Hearing that, every inch of my body recoiled. Even now—he still thought marrying Camilla that day was just "some trivial nonsense"? The Ryan Thorne who once loved me was truly gone. He was no longer the boy who, battered and bleeding, had carried injured-me across half the city. No longer the young man who had nothing but swore he'd give me the best of everything. And certainly not the man who, even after making his fortune, still cooked for me with his own hands. But maybe that was fine. It was all in the past now. After all, I was about to give birth to my second child.
I pressed my emotions back down and looked at Ryan, my voice flat. "Aren't you here to pick me up? Let's go." A beat of silence. A few of them exchanged glances, then burst into raucous laughter. Camilla scoffed, her voice ice-cold. "Wait for you? You think you're worth waiting for?" She jabbed a finger at the code name on the sign. "Read it clearly. We're waiting for the Godfather's wife—the Donna of the Volkov family." That was my code name. I was perfectly aware. "The Godfather rules the underworld with an iron fist—ruthless, untouchable—but for his wife alone, he's utterly devoted. They say he refused to marry for years, just to wait for her." "Everyone in the circle knows: if you want to win the Godfather's favor, you're better off winning over the Godmother first. She's the one he cares about most." Listening to them chatter, the corners of my mouth lifted involuntarily. Three years of marriage, and Gregor's influence had only grown. His reputation as a man obsessively devoted to his wife had spread through every corner of the underworld. And Camilla would never pass up an opportunity to show off in front of me. "To win the Donna's heart, the Godfather bid on a 'Heart of the Ocean' necklace at a world auction. Thirty million dollars." She paused, and her gaze suddenly locked onto my neck. Her voice shot up an octave. "That's the exact same one!" The room went silent. Every pair of eyes dropped in unison to the deep blue stone resting against my collarbone. Ryan seized my shoulder, glanced down at the necklace, then let out a derisive laugh. "Decent knock-off, I'll give it that. Which broke loser bought you this flea-market junk? Gifting a fake—how embarrassing." "Let go." I shook off his hand, my fingertips lightly tracing the pendant. Remembering the night Gregor gave it to me as his proposal gift—the reverence and adoration in his eyes—I still felt a rush of sweetness. Seeing the happy smile spread across my face, Ryan's pupils contracted sharply. "Smiling over garbage. How cheap can you get?" Before I could react, he reached up, clamped his fingers around the chain, and ripped the necklace off me. I hadn't expected him to do that. I didn't have time to stop it. Camilla was already striding forward, taking the necklace from his hand, turning it over and over beneath the light. "Even more convincing than my replica. Though I'd never actually wear mine out—too humiliating." Then she laughed, fixing me with a look full of insinuation. "Unless—Elina, are you the legendary Volkov Donna?" The moment those words landed, the group around her howled with laughter. "Are you joking? The Godfather's woman? Her? Three years ago Ryan kicked her out of their own wedding." To them, the idea was utterly absurd. Gregor Volkov was an underground emperor whose reach spanned continents, feared by both sides of the law. And three years ago, I'd still been part of their circle—publicly discarded by Ryan. There was no conceivable way I could be connected to Gregor. Camilla dangled the chain. "Elina, let me have this necklace. I'll pay you double." Terrified she'd let it slip and shatter, I reached out instinctively. "Give it back. Gregor gave me that—" Before I could finish, a slap cracked across my face with enough force to snap my head sideways. Blood seeped from the corner of my mouth. "Shut up!"
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