Vincent placed me under house arrest in the manor.

The season's latest haute couture and jewels were delivered to my room like clockwork. On the surface, nothing had changed.

"Donna," one of the guards at the door pleaded, "just bend a little. We all know you're the one the Don truly cares for."

I watched the days tick by, the date for the takeover of Leo's territory drawing ever closer.

"Fine," I said. "Tell Vincent to come back. I'll apologize."

That night, Vincent returned to our bedroom, carrying the scent of gardenia—Sofia's perfume. A stark red kiss mark bloomed on his neck, just above his collar.

I recognized the mark for what it was: a message from Sofia. A taunt. A declaration of victory.

"Elena, no matter what happens, you will always be the Donna of the Moretti family," Vincent murmured, pulling me into a fierce embrace, his nose nuzzling my neck. "And my men will only ever recognize you."

"Is that so?"

I gave him a submissive smile and pushed him back onto the bed.

"Wait for me. I have a surprise for you."

I left the room, locking the door from the outside, and slipped out of the manor through a hidden passage.

I reached out to my old crew, but the response was always the same.

"It's not that we don't want to help, Elena, but the Don's orders were clear. Anyone who interferes makes an enemy of the entire Moretti family."

It was time to play my last hand.

The sound of high heels approached from a distance.

I looked up. Sofia, draped in a white dress, was sauntering toward me, flanked by several of Vincent's top assassins.

"Elena, look how pathetic you've become. Vince is about to take over my brother's territory."

She smiled. "I am his savior, after all. Why bother fighting it?"

I clenched my fists.

Five years ago, Vincent was ambushed by rivals in a Philadelphia warehouse, trapped in a sea of fire. I was the one who led my men through that inferno, dragging him from the flames myself.

But I was bleeding out and barely conscious. All I could do was ask Sofia, just a barmaid then, to watch over him.

I never imagined Sofia would take the credit for my actions, and I certainly never expected Vincent would repay me by letting our daughter die.

"I told you," I snarled, "I will avenge my daughter!"

I drew the backup dagger from my sleeve. I slit the throat of the first assassin to rush me, my blade continuing its arc, stabbing straight for Sofia's heart.

Bang!

A gunshot cracked through the air.

The bullet tore through my abdomen.

Vincent walked over, his own gun still smoking, and pulled Sofia behind him.

"I taught you everything you know, Elena. Did you really think you could fool me?"

Sofia clutched his sleeve, her sobs delicate and broken.

"Vince, don't hurt Elena. This is all my fault. I'll kneel. I'll apologize. If she wants my life, I'll give it."

"That won't be necessary." Vincent's voice was ice.

"Disobedience has consequences."

On the eve of the takeover of Leo's territory, I held a funeral for my daughter.

But the whispers in the underworld had already turned against me.

Overnight, all proof of my daughter's murder was erased.

A cold-blooded murder was twisted into a tragic accident, spun as a result of my own mental instability and neglect.

"I always knew Elena was ruthless, but to be so careless with her own daughter..."

"She can't even watch her own kid, and now she's trying to frame poor Sofia? The woman's insane."

"I heard Don Moretti dropped it, but she won't let it go. What, is she looking for a payout?"

"Like mother, like daughter. If you ask me, the kid had it coming."

The accusations followed me everywhere.

A mob appeared out of nowhere, trashing the memorial hall. They spray-painted the most vile, insulting words imaginable on my daughter's tombstone.

I clung to her urn for dear life, but I was no match for them.

The gunshot wound in my abdomen ripped open, fresh blood soaking through the gauze.

The urn was torn from my grasp and smashed against the ground. Her ashes spilled across the dirt, immediately trampled into a slurry of mud and footprints.

Throughout it all, the Moretti family bodyguards stood and watched. They had their orders from Vincent. They watched with cold indifference as I fought and failed alone.

A gust of wind scattered what was left.

The last trace of my daughter in this world was gone.

I collapsed, every ounce of strength drained from my body.

The day of the accident, she had gone to buy my favorite cake.

"Mamma," she'd said, "I'm going to buy you a little cake. You'll feel all better after you eat it."

Her small face was so serious. "And if Mamma is happy, Papa will come home to us more. He won't go see that bad auntie anymore."

Her voice echoed in the ruins of my mind.

God, how I hated them.

"Have you learned your lesson?"

Vincent approached, his custom Italian leather shoes leaving fresh prints in the soil that held my daughter's ashes.

"Tomorrow, I'm hosting a reception for Sofia. I'm officially recognizing her as my sworn sister."

"You, as the Donna of the Moretti family, will attend and offer a formal apology to Sofia and your future 'brother-in-law.' You will promise to never speak of this again."

My nails dug into my palms, drawing blood.

"And if I refuse?"

Vincent smiled, a calm, condescending look as he gazed down at me.

"Elena, we came out of Sicily together. You know what I'm capable of. If I recall, our old godfather, Marco, is still in that nursing home out in the suburbs, isn't he?"