Chapter 3

Gianna POV

The phone rang, a shrill, piercing sound just as I stepped back into the penthouse the next morning.

My body ached with a deep, profound soreness, but my mind was sharper than it had been in years.

I picked up the receiver. Carmela's frantic voice clawed through the speaker. Between breathless sobs, she told me Vincenzo was brutally punishing Christian in the private underground bunker for breaking his sacred marriage vows.

I hung up, snatched my keys, and drove straight to the main Cavallaro mansion.

I pushed through the heavy oak doors and descended the stone stairs into the subterranean level. The sharp, metallic scent of blood hung in the damp air.

Christian was on his knees in the center of the dimly lit room, his white shirt in ribbons, stained a dark, uniform crimson.

Vincenzo—the retired Boss and the man who had raised me—stood over his son with a heavy leather whip clutched in his fist.

Vincenzo roared that Christian was a disgrace to the Cosa Nostra, demanding that he remarry me immediately or be stripped of the Don's title.

Christian kept his head bowed, but his voice was unflinchingly steady as he refused to yield.

Carmela stood on the sidelines, weeping.

Suddenly, Serena rushed forward and threw herself onto the marble floor beside Christian, crying in a display of practiced hysterics as she offered to take the punishment in his place.

I walked down the steps and knelt on the hard stone next to them.

I met Vincenzo's furious gaze and invoked Omertà, the sacred code of silence and loyalty. I claimed the divorce was my own voluntary choice to protect the Family from a rival war.

Vincenzo's face twisted with fury. He knew I was lying to protect his son, and he was furious at Christian for coercing me into this position.

Vincenzo raised his arm and swung the heavy leather whip down with brutal force.

Christian lunged forward—to shield Serena with his body.

The thick leather missed Christian entirely.

Instead, the whip wrapped around my shoulder and slashed violently across my back.

The pain was a blinding, airless shock that stole the breath from my lungs. I collapsed forward onto my hands.

Vincenzo dropped the whip instantly, his face draining to the color of bleached linen.

Christian turned his head. He saw the blood rapidly soaking through the back of my light sweater. The rigid line of his spine seemed to collapse by an inch, leaving him deathly pale.

He scrambled toward me, his hands hovering over my wound, as if afraid the very air around me might burn him.

I slowly pushed myself up and looked at him, forcing a faint smile to my lips.

"I accept this," I whispered, "as the price of my freedom."

His voice trembling, Vincenzo ordered his guards to take Christian to the study immediately.