---- Every word was a nail in my coffin. I kept reading. Bank records of payments to tabloids to smear Isabella's name. Detailed plans for forging the 'creative process' of her stolen art. An audio recording of Sophia colluding with Dr. Martinez to ensure Isabella's hand never healed. The papers scattered from my trembling hands. "Boss... there's something else," Carlo said, his voice barely a whisper. "The child Sophia is carrying... we ran the DNA." He slid a single sheet of paper across the desk. ''The father is Marcus." The words didn't register at first. Then, my world fractured. Even the child was a lie. Everything was a lie. ---- Only Isabella had been real. Only Isabella had ever loved me. And I had let her die. I started drinking. Brandy, whiskey, vodka-anything to numb the inferno in my soul. But the alcohol did nothing. I tooka shard of broken glass and dragged it across my forearm. The sting of it was a relief, a different kind of pain to focus on. "Boss! What are you doing?" Carlo burst in, snatching the glass away. "Let me die!" I struggled against him. "Let me go to her!" "What about the family? Your men?" "I don't deserve to live!" I roared, the sound tearing ---- from my throat. "I killed the only woman I ever loved! I don't deserve to be alive!" For a week, I was a ghost. I refused to eat, to speak, to see anyone. Ijust sat in the dark, staring at a photograph of Isabella, whispering apologies she would never hear. On the seventh night, I found a new resolve. Acold, hard purpose. I was going to make Sophia pay. And everyone who helped her. I wiped the tear tracks from my face, straightened my suit, and walked out of the mansion. Carlo saw me, a flicker of hope in his tired eyes. "Boss? "Get the car," I said, my voice like frozen gravel. "I'm going to see Sophia." "What are you going to do?" ---- "T'm going to give her a front-row seat to hell." Ten minutes later, I kicked her apartment door off its hinges. She was in the middle of packing a suitcase. Trying to run. Too late. "Vincent?" She turned, the color draining from her face. "What are you doing here?" Iadvanced on her, each step a promise of pain. "You killed Isabella." I grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her head against the wall. Her scream was music. "Life?" I hissed in her ear. "You don't get to keep yours."