Three Years After I Took The Fall, The Don Begged Me Back

I served three years in federal prison for the Don's precious Sophia, and then he suddenly fell for me.

The day he came to pick me up, he had a sapphire necklace ready, the kind I'd begged him for once and never got.

I dropped it onto the back seat without a second glance.

His expression darkened. "If you have something to say, just say it. Don't take it out on things."

I smiled. "Three years inside taught me never to keep anything valuable on me. It would only bring trouble."

He swallowed hard and pulled me close. "That's over now. You have me. Whatever you want, I'll get it for you."

I pushed him back. "Then give me my wedding ring."

I'd told him once: if the day ever came that I was leaving, I'd take that ring with me.

Three years had been more than enough to kill whatever love I had left.

Victor's brow creased. "No. Ask me for something else."

I stared out the car window and said nothing.

When I didn't answer, he tried another angle. "Come on, let the past be the past. I promise I'll do my best not to contact Sophia anymore. Okay?"

He was making an effort, just not much of one.

Three years inside, and the rival family's plant had worked me over until I lost the baby. In his mouth, all of that was just "the past."

I was about to speak when his phone started playing that song, the one I'd come to hate more than anything. My Heart Will Go On.

Three years, and he still hadn't changed her ringtone. What "not to contact" was he talking about?

He hesitated for just a second, then answered.

When he hung up, he turned to me with urgency in his eyes. "Delora, Sophia slashed her wrists. She's lost a lot of blood. The hospital's out of RH-negative stock, and I remember... that's your blood type."

I looked straight at him. "Victor. Are you actually asking me to donate blood for her? This is what 'not to contact' looks like?"

Victor took a long breath, pressing down whatever was rising in him.

"Delora, it's a human life. You've always been the reasonable one—"

"Victor." I cut him off. "What if I say no?"

He stared at me for a long time. Then, slowly, like a man reduced to prayer, he said: "Please. I'm begging you."

Something hit me hard in the chest.

Victor had once had a gun pressed to his head by my father and still wouldn't soften for me. Not once. And here he was, begging. For her.

I felt something sad wash through me, not just for him, but for myself.

"Fine." I pressed my nails into my palm. "But I have one condition."

"Name it," he said quickly. "Anything."

"Give me the ring."

His voice shot up, raw with anger he couldn't hold back. "I told you no! I'm not giving it back! Why can't you