Engaged for three years, I once believed Lorenzo—the man who took a bullet for me—was my salvation. Until that night, after toying with me in the car, he tossed me like trash onto rival gang territory. The three years of devotion were all an act. To protect his so-called ""sister-in-law"" Sophia, he stole my pregnancy medication, letting me hit the table and miscarry. To vent for Sophia, he locked me in a water tank at an underground club and let everyone bid: ""The Saint of House Valenti, starting at one dollar."" My heart died. I shattered the glass, grabbed his archrival Antonio's hand, soaked in blood: ""Take me away. I'll help you kill him."" When I returned, a black datura was tattooed on my lower back. Lorenzo knelt and begged me to come home. I drew my blade and slit his flesh: ""This cut is for the child you killed.""