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My fiancé, the Underboss of the DeLuca Crime Family, promised he would burn the world down for me. But when my mother was dying in the hospital, he chose a ski trip with another woman. It was that woman's dog that attacked my mother, but when I called him, shaking, he was annoyed. He was in Aspen with Isabella, and I could hear her laughing in the background. He dismissed my mother's injuries as a "minor scrape" and told me not to "make a big deal out of this." While my mother's fever spiked, he ignored my desperate pleas. Instead, my phone lit up with an Instagram post of him and Isabella smiling by a fireplace, sipping hot chocolate. My mother slipped into septic shock. That picture was a public declaration, a judgment on my mother's worth, and my own. A cold fury burned away every last bit of love I had for him. She died at 3:17 a.m. I held her hand until it was cold, then walked out of the hospital and called the one number I was never supposed to use-the number for my father. "She's dead," I said. "I'm coming to Chicago. I'm leaving this life, and I'm going to burn his world to the ground."
Chapter 1
My fiancé, the Underboss of the DeLuca Crime Family, promised he would burn the world down for me.
But when my mother was dying in the hospital, he chose a ski trip with another woman.
It was that woman's dog that attacked my mother, but when I called him, shaking, he was annoyed. He was in Aspen with Isabella, and I could hear her laughing in the background. He dismissed my mother's injuries as a "minor scrape" and told me not to "make a big deal out of this."
While my mother's fever spiked, he ignored my desperate pleas. Instead, my phone lit up with an Instagram post of him and Isabella smiling by a fireplace, sipping hot chocolate.
My mother slipped into septic shock. That picture was a public declaration, a judgment on my mother's worth, and my own. A cold fury burned away every last bit of love I had for him.
She died at 3:17 a.m. I held her hand until it was cold, then walked out of the hospital and called the one number I was never supposed to use-the number for my father.
"She's dead," I said. "I'm coming to Chicago. I'm leaving this life, and I'm going to burn his world to the ground."
Chapter 1
Alessia POV:
My fiancé, the Underboss of the DeLuca Crime Family, promised he would burn the world down for me. But when my mother was dying, he chose a ski trip with another woman.
The fluorescent lights of the hospital waiting room hummed, a flat, dead sound that scraped against my raw nerves. An hour ago, I was wiping down my mother's kitchen counters, the scent of lemon cleaner still faint on my hands. Then the call came-an unknown number. An accident. A dog. My mother.
Now I was here, my world shrunken to the size of this sterile, beige room. I'd called Caden on the drive over, my hands shaking so badly I could barely keep the phone to my ear. He was my anchor, my future, the man who had plucked me from a life of paychecks and prayers and promised me a kingdom. His power was a shield, and I needed it now more than ever.
He answered on the third ring.
"Ally? What's wrong?" His voice was tight, irritated.
In the background, I heard a woman's bright, tinkling laughter. I knew it instantly. Isabella Ricci.
"Caden, it's my mother," I said, my voice trembling. "She's in the hospital. She was attacked by a dog."
A heavy sigh on his end. "Jesus, Ally. Is it serious?"
"I don't know yet. The doctors are with her now. I... I need you."
"I'm not in New York," he said, the impatience in his tone like a slap. "Isabella and I just landed in Aspen. It's a business trip, a strategic retreat. You know how important her family's alliance is."
Isabella's laughter again, closer this time. A chill, sharp and painful, slid down my spine. He was with her-of course, he was with her.
"Don't make a big deal out of this," he said, his voice dropping to that low, commanding tone he used to signal a conversation was over.
He hung up.
The dial tone echoed in the sudden silence of my car. I sat there for a moment, hollowed out, before finally forcing myself to move.
Inside the hospital, the doctor's words were a blur of clinical terms. Mauling. Deep lacerations. The dog, he told me, belonged to an Isabella Ricci. He needed vaccination records. Urgently.
I remembered Caesar, Isabella's Doberman. A sleek, black missile of muscle and teeth she called her "baby," an animal that snarled at anyone but her or Caden.
My mother was lying in a hospital bed, her face pale, a weak smile on her lips. "It was just an accident, honey," she whispered, but her hand trembled in mine. She had diabetes. The doctor had been very clear about the risk of infection.
My phone buzzed. A text from Caden. Update?
I typed back, my thumbs clumsy. Isabella's dog attacked her. The doctor is worried about infection because of Mom's diabetes.
His reply was almost instant. Isabella is a wreck. She says the dog has never done anything like this. It was probably just a minor scrape. Don't let them overreact.
He wasn't just defending Isabella. He was erasing my mother.
I didn't reply. I sat by my mother's side, holding her hand, the steady beeping of the heart monitor the only rhythm in the world. Hours passed. Her fever spiked. I called Caden again, my voice cracking with a plea as I told him her condition was worsening, that she might need surgery.
He didn't call back.
Instead, my phone lit up with an Instagram notification. A new post from Isabella. It was a picture of her and Caden, their faces close, smiling in the warm glow of a roaring fireplace, mugs of hot chocolate in their hands. The caption was a single red heart emoji.
I looked from the picture on my screen-the perfect snow, the luxury lodge, the man who was supposed to be mine-to my mother's frail form, lost in a tangle of tubes and wires. A quiet, cold flame ignited in my chest, burning away the tears, the fear, the love. It was a fury so pure it felt like clarity.
She slipped into septic shock while they sipped hot chocolate. The doctor began talking about organ failure.
I sat alone in the waiting room, staring at my phone, at their smiling faces. He had made his choice long before he boarded that plane. The trip, the alliance, this picture-it was all a declaration. A public judgment on my mother's worth, and by extension, my own. It was a public dishonor.
My mother died at 3:17 a.m.
I held her hand until it was as cold as the tile floor. Then I walked out of the hospital, into the grey light of dawn. I drove back to her small, empty house.
I pulled out my phone and called the one number my mother had made me memorize years ago, a number I was never to use unless the world was ending: the number for my father.
He answered on the first ring.
"She's dead," I said, my voice a hollow echo of itself.
A long silence. Then, a voice thick with a grief I hadn't heard in twenty years. "Where are you, Alessia?"
"I'm coming to Chicago," I told him, the decision crystallizing in my soul. "I'm leaving this life."
And I was going to burn everything down.
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Chapter 1
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Chapter 2
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Chapter 3
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Chapter 4
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Chapter 5
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Chapter 6
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Chapter 7
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Chapter 8
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Chapter 9
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Chapter 10
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Chapter 11
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Chapter 12
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Chapter 13
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Chapter 14
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Chapter 15
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Chapter 16
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Chapter 17
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Chapter 18
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Chapter 19
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Chapter 20
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Chapter 21
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Chapter 22
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Chapter 23
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Chapter 24
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Chapter 25
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Chapter 26
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Chapter 27
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Chapter 28
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Chapter 29
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Chapter 30
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