The Don who killed seven of my exes just to have me — yet stood by and let his side piece flaunt a positive pregnancy test in my face. When I dated, he kidnapped my boyfriend. When I got engaged, he chopped off my fiancé’s hands. So I drugged him, took three hundred sixty-five filthy photos of his sleeping body, and leaked every single one online. He woke up, wrapped a hand around my throat, and kissed me laughing. “That’s my girl. The rose I raised myself. We were always meant to bleed together.” I laughed too. God help me, I agreed. That was eight years ago. Eight years of blood, bullets, and a bed neither of us ever left empty. Nothing on earth could pry us apart. Until her. Sienna Moretti. Soft hands. Soft eyes. No blood under her nails. I’m at the black-market clinic for my tenth round of fertility treatment when she walks in, cradling a swollen belly like a prize. “You must be Christian’s sister,” she purrs. “I hear you kill people for sport. No wonder your womb won’t take.” I just nod. I don’t even blink. She knows what I am. She walked in here anyway. That’s not courage. That’s an invitation. I have her strapped to the operating table within minutes. The doctor doesn’t ask questions. He never does. I snap a picture of the bloody little thing they pull out of her and text it to Christian. Got your gift. I love it. Ten minutes later, every soul in the building has been cleared out by his men. He storms in with a Glock in his hand and fresh blood still drying on his collar. “Have you lost your mind?” “Wasn’t this your gift to me? I opened it. You’re not happy?” His jaw locks. His eyes—those cold dead eyes I’ve watched empty a hundred men—turn red as he stares at the operating room door. “Elena. She’s just a girl. You didn’t need to go this far.” “Just a girl?” I light a cigarette, let the smoke curl between us. “She knew I get off on killing. I figured you sent her over so I could blow off some steam.” I lean in close. “Tell me, big brother. Did I read it wrong? She wasn’t a present. She was your new mistress.” The fury drains out of him. Something worse replaces it. Guilt. He shoves past me into the operating room. The girl is already awake and screaming, clawing at her empty, bleeding stomach. “Christian! She killed our baby! Kill her, kill her!” He scoops her up like she’s made of glass and presses his gun against my forehead. “Elena. You went too far.” I laugh. I actually laugh. I push the barrel aside with one finger and blow smoke into his face. “So what now? You gonna put one in me to avenge that little bastard?” I trail my fingers down Sienna’s bloody thigh and slide the blade from my garter. “Or do you want to gut me too? Even the score for your lamb?” The knife is already moving. Sliding into her fresh wound, twisting just enough. She goes quiet. Out cold. “Sorry, brother. There’s nothing in mine to take.” His men swarm me, guns drawn from every angle. But Christian just stares at me. And then he smiles. He waves them off. “Out. All of you. I didn’t call you here.” “Elena. Well played.” “Right back at you, brother. You taught me everything I know.” Eight years. Ten dead boyfriends. That’s how long it took him to turn me into this. The night he made me his, he wrapped my hand around the hilt of his knife and drove it through my fiancé’s heart together. He whispered against my ear, “Once you become me, no one else will ever be good enough.” He pulled me down off my white pedestal and into the dirt. The white roses turned red. The stain never washed out. And now he wants something clean? That’s a joke. “What, brother? Disappointed I accepted your gift? You’re right, I should’ve gone further. You always say a real Vance leaves nothing standing. I’ll do better next time.” He stares at me for a long moment. Then he carries her out. “Elena. Remember this. We’re not done.” The consequences come faster than I expected.
That same night, my doctor calls. The one who’s done all ten rounds of IVF on me. Christian has shut down every treatment. He’s moving the doctor to the estate to take care of Sienna. He’s even confiscated my psychiatric meds. The fragile little lamb needs them more, apparently. When his men leave, I’m staring at the ceramic pieces in the display case. The ones Christian and I made by hand when we were young and stupid and in love. Marco is shaking with rage as he packs them into a box. “Miss Elena, the Don’s lost his mind. Turning on you for some outsider? If it weren’t for you, he’d be rotting in a ditch a dozen times over.” “He’s playing with a new toy,” I tell him, smiling. “Let him play. When he’s done, I’ll bury what’s left of her.” “Throw those out. And bring me his wine collection.” I sit in the moonlight with a glass of red and look at Christian’s prized bottles. Vintage Bordeaux. Sixty-thousand-dollar Burgundies. A whole cellar of them. Pretty things are always so easy to break. I pick up a hammer. One. Two. Three. In ten minutes, two million dollars worth of wine is a sticky red lake on the marble floor. Marco rushes over. “Watch your feet, Miss Elena. Don’t cut yourself on this junk. It’s not worth it.” I snap a picture and send it to Christian. Not loud enough. Buy me more. He doesn’t text back. He video calls. Sienna’s smug little face fills the screen. “What, disappointed it’s me?” “I should thank you, really. If you hadn’t done what you did, I’d never have moved into Christian’s penthouse. He didn’t leave me after the miscarriage. He’s actually softer with me now. Guilt does wonderful things to a man.” She fakes a yawn, tugging her collar down so I can see the fresh kiss marks he left across her chest. “Sorry, can’t chat. Christian wants to make it up to me again tonight.” “You really are as filthy as they say, Elena. No wonder he can’t stand you.” I smile. “Is that right? Sweetheart, clean things don’t live long around the Vances.” Marco’s face goes black with fury. “Let me handle her, Miss Elena. Quiet. Clean.” I wave him off, swinging on the porch swing. “She’s just a girl. I’ve already wrapped a present for her.” If she’s smart, she’ll understand who she’s playing with. If she’s not, I’ll teach her. A month passes. Christian doesn’t come home once. I know my husband. He collects things. Wine. Art. Women. So I buy a ticket to the biggest underground auction of the season. He’s there. Of course he is. Sienna is glued to his arm. “Elena. What a coincidence. What brings you?” “Did someone tell you there’d be a gift for you tonight?” I lean back in my chair. “Tell me, sweetheart. Pregnant again? Already?” Her smile cracks. Her eyes go wet. Christian gives me a warning look. “Elena. Watch yourself. You’re scaring her.” That’s funny. I once gutted twelve men in our foyer five months pregnant, and he kissed the blood off my face and called me his good girl. “Just here to restock, brother?” I murmur. “Makes sense. Your cellar’s looking awfully empty.” His jaw tightens. He looks at Sienna. She mumbles something about the photos I sent—she deleted them because she didn’t think they mattered. “Don’t make decisions for me again,” he says coldly. Then he sees how upset she looks, and his voice goes soft. “It’s fine. Just don’t do it again.” A dozen lots come and go. Then the headline piece. The lights dim. Three hundred sixty-five photos of Sienna fill the screen. Every position. Every angle. Every filthy little secret she thought was private. Her scream tears through the ballroom. “What is this! How did you—” Christian kicks the door of my booth open. “Elena. Pull them down. Now.” I nod at the auctioneer. He clears his throat. “My apologies, Don Vance. These are tonight’s featured lot. Starting bid: two million.” I tap my fingers against the table and watch his face. Rage. Disbelief. Hatred. But not a single drop of guilt. “You’ve gone too far.” “She’s just a girl!” I smile, wide and innocent. “So what do you want me to do, brother? The bidding’s already open. My opening offer is ten million. Care to match?” “Otherwise, who knows where these end up.” He slams the door behind him. A minute later, the booth next door bids back. Every time I raise, he adds a hundred grand. Eighty million dollars later, I let him win. I lean back, satisfied. Bleeding him was only step one. A text buzzes on my phone. Unknown number. Watch your back, Elena. You’re next.
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