Chapter 2
Victoria
The scandal blew up overnight.
By morning, my fractured marriage was the top story on every news outlet and underground forum in the city.
Vincent finally stormed into the estate just as I was putting on my coat. I was heading to headquarters.
He marched straight over and grabbed my wrist. His grip was like a vice.
"Victoria, why the hell didn't you kill that story?" he barked. He looked exhausted, but his eyes were pure fury. "Bianca's been getting death threats since midnight. She's got reporters and rival scouts circling her building. She can't even walk out her front door!"
I yanked my arm free and rubbed my wrist.
"I told you last night to know where the line was," I said flatly. "You didn't listen."
Vincent stared at me in disbelief. "Since when are you the jealous type? This isn't you."
He wasn't wrong. Usually, I was the silent fixer. I always swept his dirt under the rug before anyone else saw it. After five years, he just assumed my patience was his birthright.
I tapped my watch. "We have a sit-down with the capos at ten. You have two hours. Don't be late."
I turned away and headed for the door.
Before I could take another step, Vincent grabbed my arm again. He spun me around and shoved me hard against the wall.
His chest heaved. I couldn't read the look in his eyes.
"Vic."
The moment the name left his lips, my breath hitched.
For five years, he had only ever called me Victoria. The only other time he used that name was months ago. He was dead drunk, kissing me rough, whispering how much he hated me.
"Don't get greedy, Vic," he muttered, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You wanted the Castellano throne, and you got it. Don't expect my heart, too."
He let go of my wrist and stepped back. His eyes were ice cold.
"Stay away from Bianca. You don't own me."
Vincent turned and walked up the grand staircase. He didn't look back. He didn't see me leaning heavily against the wall, pale as a ghost, quietly dry-heaving as I clutched my stomach.
I stared at his back as my vision blurred.
Sometimes, I really couldn't tell the dream from the reality.
The first time I met Vincent, it was pouring rain.
Dominic had just been murdered. The syndicate's uncles saw a power vacuum and made their move. They orchestrated a quick coup and threw a nineteen-year-old Vincent right out of his own family estate.
He stood alone in the storm. He clutched his brother's urn to his chest, letting the freezing rain soak him to the bone.
I sat inside my armored SUV. I watched him in silence for ten straight minutes.
I pushed the door open. He turned his head.
I looked at him, and time just stopped.
Seeing his face, my heart slammed against my ribs so hard it actually hurt.
They were identical. He looked exactly like Dominic from our younger years. It was like a ghost had walked straight out of my memories and stepped into the rain.
"Vincent Castellano?" I held an umbrella over him and opened the back door. "Get in."
He gripped the urn tighter and backed up like a cornered animal. "Who the hell are you?"
"A friend of your brother's."
His eyes were bloodshot. He glared at me, his voice raw. "Why should I trust you?"
"Because I can help you take back your family." I stepped closer and grabbed his freezing hand. "On one condition. You marry me."
I needed to be Mrs. Castellano. It was the only way I could hold the empire together... for Dominic.
