36 weeks pregnant in my hospital bed, I was jolted awake when my husband’s mistress shoved me and snarled, “You really think that baby makes you the winner?” The monitors erupted in alarms. As pain tore through my body, my husband smirked, convinced they’d crushed a helpless rival. Then my father stepped into the room, his voice deadly quiet: “What exactly did you just do to my daughter?” Their face drained white.

“I am Vincenzo Rossi,” he said. “And the woman you are standing over is my only daughter. Which means you have approximately sixty seconds of freedom left in your life. Use them to pray.”

The color drained from Elena’s face so fast I thought she might faint. She knew the name. Everyone in the financial world knew the name. The Rossi family didn’t just own companies; they owned the infrastructure of the city.