His Ceremony on Her Sacred Ground

So that's how it happened.

Compared to her story, my memory of that day was starkly different.

I was on a cold operating table, bleeding out after shielding our son from a car bomb, fighting with every ounce of strength just to stay alive for him.

Knowing that I had unknowingly witnessed the moment they met, should I feel my heart tear in two, or should I be grateful?

A dull ache throbbed in my chest. I dug my nails into my palm, forcing myself to maintain a mask of detached professionalism.

"Miss Doyle, do you have any other requirements for the ceremony?"

Cassie tilted her head, thinking for a moment. Then she said, "Oh, right. The entire hall must be decorated with imported bulletproof silk. My gown is a one-of-a-kind design, custom-made for me by Jarren, and it can't be damaged at all. Money is no object; Jarren will handle everything."

Hearing this, I almost laughed out loud.

Jarren. The man I had personally raised from a low-level Soldato. The enforcer who once couldn't afford a decent gun was now the family's unassailable Underboss. A position that took other men twenty years to climb, I helped him secure in just three.

Perhaps I had paved his path too smoothly, letting him forget where he came from—and who put him there.

As for that gown, it was from a luxury brand that required an asset check just to place an order.

At the show in Milan, the admiration in Jarren's eyes had been so obvious. In that moment, I was sure that bulletproof gown would be mine.

Then I received the confirmation letter from the brand, informing me the order had gone into production.

It was just two sizes too small.

I had assumed he’d simply misjudged my postpartum figure.

Now I finally understood. That gown I could never fit into was never meant for me.

I closed the folder. "I understand, Miss Doyle. I promise you a ceremony that money can't buy."

After seeing her out with a practiced smile, I sneered and called my father's most loyal strategist, my Consigliere, Marco Bellini.

"Jarren has betrayed the family," I said calmly. "I want everything he has, and I want him to disappear from this world."

...

In less than half an hour, encrypted evidence of Jarren's betrayal landed in my inbox.

It was only a few months' worth of data, but it was nearly 100GB.

The first video was from the day I was almost killed by the bomb. Cassie hadn't told the whole story.

While I was fighting for my life on the operating table, Jarren had taken her to the "safe house" we had prepared for our son for a tryst.

He had only rushed back, disheveled, after I was out of surgery, feeding me a lie about hunting down a family traitor.

The second video was from our son Luca's one-month celebration.

An enemy family had infiltrated and poisoned the wine. Luca was rushed to the hospital.

I was standing in the hallway, trembling, while Jarren slipped into another consultation room to murmur to Cassie, who was on the night shift.

The third video was from the time he claimed he was going for "peace talks" during my postpartum recovery.

The excuse was laughably thin.

The Caruso family business was mine; how could I not know about any peace talks?

But seeing him startled awake by our son's cries every night, his face etched with exhaustion, my heart had ached for him. So I let him go out to "relax."

I never imagined my consideration was just enabling an affair. An uninterrupted romantic getaway on my private island. How thoughtful of him.

With a trembling hand, I held my phone and clicked on the longest video.