Just Some Madman I Don't Know
After the Donovan family fell, I was cornered by creditors. That's when he returned—Cian Rourke, the man I once cast out, now the formidable new Don of the Chicago Outfit.
He loomed over me, a king judging a beggar. "Willow Donovan," he said, his voice cold as steel, "belong to me, and I'll settle your family's blood debt."
To survive, I accepted without a second thought.
The woman he now faced was no longer the proud, untouchable Principessa of the Donovan family.
When he brought his fiancée to humiliate me, I lowered my eyes and poured their drinks.
Even when he paraded another woman before me, I would only offer a faint, hollow smile and turn away.
I had become the obedient plaything he'd always wanted.
But when I had finally paid my "debt" and was ready to leave, he grabbed me, his eyes blazing with a desperate fire. "Who said you could go?"
"Willow Donovan," he snarled, "you don't love me anymore. Do you?"