The biggest regret of my life was falling in love with my Zio, Lucian Moretti.
When I was ten, my father took a bullet for the Moretti family. At the funeral, that tall man held me, an orphan now, in his arms and promised to keep me safe for the rest of my life.
When I was fifteen, I was bullied at my private school. He showed up and made the girls who'd tormented me get down on their knees and apologize.
When I was eighteen, he was badly wounded in a shootout and nearly died. Against the doctors' advice, I gave him part of my liver.
That same day, I stole a kiss from him, and he woke up just in time to see it.
There was no sweetness like I'd imagined. All that waited for me was his horror, and an endless, icy distance.
Until Bianca, the first love he'd never gotten over, was dying, and I was the only match.
The man who had always been so cold came to me and said that if I'd give her a kidney, he would give me anything I asked for.
I said nothing. I didn't agree. And Bianca died on the operating table.
He didn't shed a single tear. It was as if nothing had happened.
But seven days after Bianca's funeral, he made public the diary that held every one of my girlhood secrets.
He nailed me to a pillar of shame for the rest of my life: the girl who fell in love with her own guardian.
On my birthday, he drugged me, dragged me into one of the family's warehouses, and let his men do whatever they wanted to me.
He stood off to the side and watched. All he said was:
"Don't flatter yourself that I'd ever touch you. You disgust me."
At the end, he threw a bucket of ice water on me when I was about to pass out.
Through the haze, I saw him walking toward me, step by step, a knife in his hand.
The blade came down. His voice was cold as ice. "This is what you owe Bianca."
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day he begged me for my kidney.