Something flickered in Colino's expression when he saw me fighting to hold myself together. A shadow of the man he used to be. A ghost of whatever conscience still haunted him.
But the moment Piper whimpered against his chest—a soft, wounded sound designed to twist the knife—his expression hardened back into stone.
"I saw you try to hit her," he said flatly. "I don't care what your excuse is. I don't care what story you've convinced yourself is true."
He took another step forward, close enough that I could see the vein pulsing in his temple.
"This is the last time I'll say it. Apologize."
My heart clenched like it was being crushed in a vice—squeezed until there was nothing left but pain and the bitter taste of betrayal.
I looked at him. At the man who had promised to protect me. At the underboss who would inherit an empire built on blood and broken oaths.
At the stranger wearing my fiancé's face.
"And what if I don't?" I said coldly.
"She's not just the daughter of some mistress—she's the reason my mother is dead. And you expect me to kneel and beg her forgiveness?!" The words tore from my throat like shrapnel.