Chapter 1

The Salvatores demanded a bride as blood payment.

My husband had two women to choose from.

His first love.

His wife.

He kept her.

He handed me the divorce papers himself.

And he never knew I was carrying his child.

The private room above Vincenzo's on Mulberry Street smelled like candle wax and cold espresso. Six armed men lined the walls. Three were my husband's. Three were not.

Across the table sat Lorenzo Salvatore. The man every family in New York called the Ice King.

"My brother Tommaso was shot outside his daughter's christening," he said. His voice was low and calm. "By Moretti men. So we follow the old law, Dante. Blood for blood. Or a bride for blood."

His gray eyes moved to the two women seated beside my husband.

Me. And Gemma.

"A woman of your house marries into mine by Sunday. She carries my name. No one under my roof will ever harm her. And the war ends tonight." He leaned back. "You choose."

Gemma started to cry. Soft, broken sobs. She was the widow of Dante's brother, Marco. She was also the girl Dante had loved at nineteen, before Marco married her first.

Everyone knew that. Nobody said it.

Dante put his hand on her back.

I wasn't crying.

I was thinking about the pregnancy test in my clutch. Two pink lines. I had taken it at six that morning. I'd planned to tell him tonight, in the car, after this meeting was over.

Dante reached into his jacket.

He pulled out a folded document and slid it across the table to me.

Divorce papers.

Already drawn up. Already signed by him.

He hadn't decided in this room. He'd decided before he walked in.

"Gemma lost her husband," he said quietly. "She has a little boy. She can't survive this." He finally looked at me. "You're strong, Sienna. It's a name on paper. Give me a year. I'll find a way to undo it."

You're strong.

Three years of marriage. That was my reward for never falling apart in front of him.

"Dante," I whispered. "Please. I need to tell you something—"

"Not now." He held out a pen. "Sign."

My hand was steady. I don't know how.

I signed.

Dante stood immediately. He took off his coat and wrapped it around Gemma's shoulders. He helped her up like she was made of glass.

At the door, he turned to Lorenzo.

"If anyone in your house hurts her, I'll burn your family to the ground."

Lorenzo didn't move. "Hurts which one?"

Dante didn't answer.

The door closed. His footsteps faded down the stairs. A car started on the street below.

And I sat alone at a table with my husband's enemy.

My clutch slipped from my lap. It hit the floor and spilled open. Lipstick. Keys.

And a white plastic test that slid across the tile and stopped against Lorenzo Salvatore's polished shoe.

The room went silent.

He bent down slowly and picked it up. He looked at the two pink lines for a long time.

Then he looked at me.

"Does he know?"

My throat closed. "No."

Lorenzo set the test gently on the table in front of me. Something dark and dangerous moved behind his eyes.

"Then on Sunday," he said softly, "Dante Moretti will watch me marry the mother of his child."