Chapter 1

1.

My husband, Julian Moretti, is the uncrowned king of New York’s underworld.

On our wedding day, a rival cartel planted a C4 bomb in his Rolls-Royce.

The explosion threw him twenty feet and shattered his mind.

Dissociative Identity Disorder. That was the doctor’s calm, clinical death sentence for my marriage.

The main personality, Julian―my Jules―still loved me to death.

But his alter, Jax, only remembered his college sweetheart, Chloe. To him, I was just some slut who had seduced his other self.

For the first three years, I fought for my marriage like a boxer in the ring.

I took a bullet for Jax. I drank poisoned wine meant for him. I did it all just waiting for my Jules to come back.

But that day, on the cliffs of Montauk, I finally saw the truth.

An enemy had tied both me and Chloe to the edge of that stormy cliff.

Julian pulled out a Camel cigarette, lit it, took a deep drag, and then pointed at Chloe. "Let her go."

I plunged into the icy Atlantic.

It wasn't because Jax chose Chloe―Jax never smoked. He was a health fanatic.

It was because Jules, the man who claimed to love me, chose another woman when it was life or death.

In that moment, I finally admitted it to myself: he no longer knew who he truly loved.

Later, I heard the fearsome Godfather had lost his mind.

They said he went to St. Patrick's Cathedral, pressed an M1911 to his temple, and cried, begging God to bring his Nora back.

But God didn't answer.

Because Nora was already dead in that freezing cold sea.

...

Three Years Ago

"Congratulations, Mrs. Moretti."

I was in the Moretti family lawyer's office, signing the prenup. Julian refused to let me sign away my rights to his assets, insisting on a 50/50 split.

"You're my partner, not my property," he had said, his eyes frighteningly sincere.

Back then, he was just a man who had clawed his way out of the streets of Brooklyn, his body still covered in fresh knife scars.

I had just spent five years dancing at the 'Blue Velvet' club to pay for my mother's surgery.

We were both survivors who had crawled out of the mud.

The night before our wedding, he knelt before me and slid a black onyx ring, a three-generation heirloom, onto my finger. "I will never let you down, Nora. Never."

I believed him.

Now

After drifting in the Atlantic for a day and a night, I was rescued by a fishing boat off Long Island.

I woke up in the Moretti family’s private clinic on the Upper East Side. Julian’s right-hand man, Marcus, stood by my bed, his usually stoic face showing a rare crack of emotion.

"The boss locked down the entire coastline looking for you," Marcus said. "He was in the water for twelve hours. He only collapsed after he got confirmation you were safe. He's next door on an IV drip right now."

My heart, that traitor, clenched in pain.

This was Julian's greatest weapon―every time I was ready to give up, he’d do something that made me hesitate.

Marcus handed me a new phone. "Your old one's fried from the seawater. I've transferred your contacts."

I nodded and turned it on. There was one unread message from a sender listed only as "A."

[Are you ready?]

My finger hovered over the keyboard, but I didn't reply.

The door to my room flew open. Julian rushed in, his lips purple and his eyes bloodshot. When he saw me, a look of pure joy washed over his face.

"Nora. Thank God."

He rushed forward to hug me, but I stopped him with a hand flat against his chest.

"I'm tired."

He froze, panic flickering in those deep Italian eyes. "I'm sorry, I can't control that guy..."

"I know," I cut him off, my voice terrifyingly calm. "You're sick. It's not your fault."

In the past, I would have screamed at him, hit him, thrown things. But now, all I felt was exhaustion.

He secretly breathed a sigh of relief and squeezed my hand again. That large hand, which once made me feel so safe, now just made me feel sick.

Just as I was about to pull away, a delicate voice came from the doorway.

"Jax? Are you in here? Don't leave me..."

Julian's face instantly darkened, the intimidating aura of the Godfather returning. "Who let you come here? Go back to your room."

Hearing his roar, Chloe dramatically stumbled backward.

Julian let go of my hand.

He shot toward Chloe with shocking speed, catching her in his arms. "You're so dramatic. Nora spent a day in the Atlantic and isn't as fragile as you."

His words were harsh, but his actions were gentle. He swept her up into his arms and looked back at me, his tone sickeningly sweet. "Nora, you get some rest. Chloe's been frail since she was a child, and she's been through a scare. I have to take her back."

He turned to Marcus. "Keep an eye on Nora. Get her back to the estate safely."

Ever since my first attempt to leave, he had watched my every move.

After they left, I picked up my phone and replied to "A."

[I don't want him anymore. Let's do it.]

A few seconds later, a reply came.

[Understood.]