Now We Are Even, Underboss

Dante paced restlessly outside the emergency room, his agitation radiating off him like heat.

His voice cut through the air, sharp and unforgiving.

"Isabella! Is this really the time for an argument? We were together for six years, and Carina is your goddamn cousin! Of course I remember your blood type."

I remained silent, my body threatening to collapse at any moment.

I had just had an abortion. I was still bleeding.

And here he was, demanding my blood for his mistress.

The physical toll of the procedure was immense, and the Rh-negative bloodline of the Falcone family was rare.

Donating blood would have been dangerous even if I were healthy.

Besides, why should I risk my life for a man like him?

Hadn't Dante considered the consequences when he brought his mistress onto Falcone territory?

Everyone knew we were engaged. The union of Falcone and Moretti was meant to reshape New York City's underworld.

Yet he had dragged the honor of both our families through the mud for my cousin.

"I just had an abortion," I said calmly.

"I can't donate blood. Find someone else."

Dante's anger flared, his words scorching.

"Isabella! You always claimed to love me. Now I'm just asking for a little blood, and you're using an abortion as an excuse? This is who you really are. You'd rather let Carina die than lift a finger. I can't believe I ever loved someone so cold-hearted."

His accusation landed like a punch.

Maybe he was right. Maybe he’d never loved me.

Because if he had, he wouldn't have faked an illness to cheat on me.

He wouldn't have ignored the exhaustion etched on my face and tried to force me to donate blood for his mistress.

And he certainly wouldn't have been sleeping with my cousin.

A harsh alarm from a nearby monitor shattered the tense standoff.

The ER doctors rushed Carina into surgery.

In a flash of frustration, Dante hoisted me over his shoulder and hauled me toward the blood donation area like a conquest.

"Isabella, like it or not, I'll owe you for this," he said gruffly.

"Damn it, I'll even marry you on the original date if that's what it takes."

This was the future Don of the Moretti family—cold, reckless, and willing to do anything to get what he wanted.

I stopped resisting.

Perhaps this was my way of settling an old debt.

Once, he had risked his life to save me during an ambush by a rival family.

Now, this would settle the score.

As the crimson blood flowed into the collection bag, a chill seeped into the marrow of my bones.

After the donation, Dante rushed after the nurse toward the operating room without a single glance in my direction.

As his back disappeared down the hall, I whispered to the empty space, "Now, we're even, Dante."

Later, I woke up in a hospital bed, exhaustion pressing down on me like a lead blanket.

The doctor's voice cut through the haze.

"You can't donate again for at least six months," the doctor stated gravely. "If you try, it could kill you."

I nodded weakly, a faint, detached smile on my lips.

After he left, I checked my phone.

A dozen missed calls from the hospital to Dante's emergency contact number.

Not one had been answered.

Instead, there was a single text message from him.

Dante: Isabella, stop being so fucking dramatic. Know your place.

I stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity.

The last flicker of warmth I held for him froze solid in that moment.

I couldn't connect the man who had once loved me with the venom in those words.

I didn't reply. I spent the following days recovering in silence.

When I finally felt strong enough, I dragged myself to the hospital garden, hoping to soak in some sun and melt the frost inside me.

Instead, my path was blocked by a group of Dante's men.

Each of them carried bouquets and fruit baskets. For a brief, foolish moment, I thought they were for me.

I turned to leave, but they blocked my path, their taunts like sharp jabs.

"Well, look who it is. The great Falcone Principessa. Dante's with his new girl, and you're still here playing the victim? Pathetic."

"Isn't this a bit much? Acting so weak over a little blood. What a drama queen."

"Guess even a Principessa can't keep her man. Getting played by your own cousin. Fucking priceless."

Their words stung, but I steadied myself and glared back at them.

"Don't forget that the Falcone name is worth more than anything the Morettis can offer.

Keep talking, and you'll drag Dante's name right down into the mud with you."

They froze, momentarily taken aback.

Before they could retort, Dante emerged from the stairwell.

His gaze landed on me, his brow furrowed in frustration.

"Isabella, really? You have to pick a fight with my men?"

His tone grew colder, each word suffocating.

"I already said I'd marry you. What the hell more do you want? Stop faking sick to spy on me. Pull this shit after we're married, and it’ll be bad for both our families."