No More the Don's Broken Doll

Never mind the Soldati; even Marco’s Capos could hardly conceal their excitement.

With a sickening crash, a wine bottle shattered against my head. Alcohol and blood streamed down, and the world swam before my eyes.

The Soldato let out a triumphant whoop, happily collecting a check from Marco's Consigliere.

No, I have to move faster. I can't just stand here like a target.

Seeing this, the others began to throw with even more vigor, but they weren't as lucky; the bottles all smashed on the ground around me.

By the time all the bottles were gone, the entire warehouse floor was a sea of broken glass.

Dizzy and busy dodging the bottles, I stumbled and fell, my entire body collapsing onto the sea of shards.

The sharp fragments dug into my flesh, staining the floor red with my blood.

The old family butler, his voice laced with grave concern, addressed Marco.

“Boss, the Madam has been very weak since giving birth. If this continues, I fear this will kill her.”

Marco, however, merely sneered, his voice oozing confidence.

“Of course, I know that. That’s why I already told the doctors to have blood plasma and emergency equipment on standby.”

"I did it to teach Anastasia a lesson, to stop her from constantly bullying Sofia. Besides, didn't you see she kept trying to crawl toward the door?"

"It's freezing outside. What would happen if she ran out? The only way to stop her from crawling was to make her realize it was nothing but broken glass ahead."

But he never expected that I would rather be covered in wounds, that I would still push myself up and stubbornly crawl toward the door, even when the sharp shards had pierced through my palms and knees.

Seeing the bloody prints I left, Marco frowned, a flicker of pain in his eyes.

Seeing this, Sofia quickly tugged on his sleeve, pouting as she complained, "Marco, can't you see? Anastasia is doing this just to spite you. She knows it's the wrong way, but she's doing it just to defy you."

"After having a child, most women take care of themselves. But Anastasia... it's like she's deliberately trying to harm the body that belongs to you. I'm starting to wonder if she ever really loved you at all. If she doesn't, then her reason for marrying into our Torrino family..."

Sofia didn't finish her sentence, but it was more than enough to ignite Marco's fury.

He growled, his voice low, "Anastasia, so your obedience was all an act. You're just like those other bitches trying to climb into my bed, only after my family's power and influence. That's why you tricked me into marrying you!"

"You insist on being stubborn, don't you? Fine. I'll leave a permanent mark on you. We'll see how defiant you are after that!"

As soon as he finished speaking, two Soldati stepped forward, holding red-hot branding irons with sinister smiles.

The next second, the iron was pressed hard against my back, the sizzling sound of my own flesh burning filling the air.

The searing pain sent me crumpling to the floor, glass shards digging deeper into my chest.

I had never imagined that the man I loved most in the world would see me this way.

Years ago, when Marco lost his memory after an assassination attempt in Italy, I was the one who found him on the streets. I spent every penny I had to get his wounds treated and took care of him for six whole months.

He had sworn he would make me the happiest woman in the world.

To buy me an antique necklace, he'd worked grueling hours off the books at a restaurant. I can still remember the love and determination in his voice when he placed the necklace in my hands.

"Anastasia, one day, I'm going to give you the very best of everything this world has to offer."

But after he regained his memory, was taken back by his family, and spoke privately with Sofia, everything changed. He always looked at me with suspicion, yet he trusted Sofia completely.

For the murderer who killed our daughter, he branded me with a hot iron, leaving me in an abandoned warehouse to be tortured and humiliated.

Perhaps our union was a mistake from the very beginning.

My fingers brushed the earring nestled in my hair, and I spoke again, my voice a faint whisper.

"You have twenty minutes left."