Don’t Say You Love Me at My Grave

Three years ago, I pulled Dante Moretti from a blood-soaked alley and gave him a reason to live. In return, he helped my stepsister shatter my limbs and steal my mother’s legacy. Now, they see only a broken heiress in a wheelchair, a girl with ruined hands and a family that traded her for a lie. They think the torture broke me, that the silence means I’ve surrendered. They’re wrong. My hands may be scarred, but I still know how to cut a diamond—and I’m starting with the hearts of the people who think they’ve already won.