Chapter 1
When rivals came for blood, I took a blow meant for Damian Black, shattering my leg.
He knelt before me, eyes bloodshot as he swore, "Victoria, I'll rise to the top. I'll make sure no one breathes wrong on you again."
Yet seven years later, he flung me from my wheelchair for some barfly, all because I'd tossed a drink in her face.
"Victoria," he hissed. "I warned you not to touch her. If you're tired of playing Mrs. Black, step down. Let her take your place."
He slammed the divorce papers into my chest.
"One billion. For the leg you lost for me. From now on, she's untouchable."
I shredded the papers and flung the scraps back. "Damian, you owe me more than flesh and bone. Want to wipe the slate clean? Then settle this in blood—yours and your little w***e's!"
"Victoria!" His voice thundered as he wrenched me up by the collar. "Who gave you the right to call her that? Apologize. Now."
Gasping for air, I spat a laugh. "That gold-digging floozy? She's not worth my breath."
"You begging for an early grave?" His grip turned vice-like, tendons standing stark.
His eyes glowed like hellfire, and the look that made hardened men piss themselves. Those who'd seen it knew that bodies followed.
I bared my teeth. "Do it. Strangle me. Damian, where's your spine?"
He faltered.
Every gangster in the city knew my rep. From stray dogs scavenging gutters to building Globe Summit Group, clawing our way to Westfield's throne, I'd bled buckets, crippled myself for his dream.
Betray me? Who'd follow a king who eats his own?
Right on cue, he released me. Snatching a handkerchief from his lackey, he wiped each finger with theatrical slowness. "Victoria, you'll always be my wife," he crooned.
"But cross me, and you pay. Drain the wine cellar. Since my wife loves throwing drinks, let her choke on them. Ice included."
The moment the words left his mouth, freezing liquor hammered down, searing my eyes and flooding my mouth. He damn well knew a single drop could send me into anaphylactic shock.
My throat swelled, and my skin erupted in angry welts.
For a heartbeat, his mask slipped and then hardened. "One word of apology stops this. I'll get you to a doctor."
Locking my knees to stay upright, I smirked through cracked lips. "That's it? Pathetic. This is nothing, just a drop in the bucket, compared to when rival gangs tore out my nails and hammered spikes through my knees."
The faintest hint of remorse in Damian's eyes evaporated in a heartbeat. His gaze turned glacial as it sliced through me. "Then by all means, enjoy every second."
He swept Eva Green into his arms, her legs still trembling from her fall, and pressed a tender kiss to her cheek. "Shh, it's okay, love. I've got you. Let's get you to the hospital."
But Eva clutched his sleeve, her voice honeyed with false concern. "Damian, don't be so harsh on Victoria. In our line of work, getting a drink thrown at us is nothing. Really, it's fine."
"This is all my fault," she whispered, batting tear-filled lashes. "I tried... I tried so hard to forget you. Dated other men, forced myself to pretend... but my heart won't obey. Send me away. I won't be the reason you abandon the wife who weathered storms with you. I refuse to let people call you a heartless man because of some... bar girl. I'm just a cheap thrill. I've never bled for you, never earned the right to stand here."
"Enough." Damian cupped her face, his thumb brushing away imaginary tears. "You're the one who owns my soul, the mother of my child. No more suffering. Just focus on our baby. Soon, you'll be my wife in every way and I'll burn the world down to give you the stars."
