By the seventh year of my cold war with my father, Don Leonardi Rossi, he finally found a way to win me over.

He introduced me to the most powerful Mafia Don in southern Ritalle—Riccardo Colombo. For my happiness, my father was willing to give me half of the family's empire as a gift.

I surrendered completely to Riccardo's love.

Four months later, I was pregnant.

Every prenatal check-up saw Bascily regions' two most influential Dons personally by my side. Everyone envied me for having two men who loved me so fiercely.

Yet, on the day of my amniocentesis, they were both absent.

"There's a new arms deal in the north," my father said, stroking my head.

Riccardo kissed my belly gently. "I'll bring you gifts when I return."

I smiled and watched them leave.

But as I lay on the examination table, my phone buzzed with an anonymous video. In it, my father wore a groom's suit, standing beside Rosa—the prostitute who had infuriated my mother to death. Their illegitimate daughter, Lina, cradled her swollen belly, proudly wearing the Colombo family crest, and clung to my husband's arm.

The announcer cried, "Congratulations to Don Rossi for reclaiming his one true love, and to Don Colombo for marrying his soulmate!"

At the video's end, my father laughed and clinked glasses with Riccardo.

"The fake crest and fake marriage certificate for Lia—you really outdid yourself. Aren't you worried she'll be heartbroken?"

Riccardo snorted. "She never let Rosa into the house, leaving Lina to grow up as a bastard. This was what she owed her."

So that was the truth.

But when I finally left with my child for the Massimo family, why did they still regret it?

I wandered aimlessly through the streets after leaving the hospital. My mind replayed the day of the engagement, when my father had lifted an auctioned antique dagger for all to see.

"This Blade of Glory is a gift for my future grandchild. In the Rossi family, bloodline is power."

Riccardo had pinned the Colombo crest onto my chest in front of everyone. "I will protect Lia and our heir with my life," he declared.

Everyone said I had forged the strongest Mafia alliance in Ritalle. I had believed the bond was love. It was all a lie.

My phone suddenly rang. Riccardo's gentle voice came through, "Baby? Have the test results come back…? Why aren't you saying anything? Don't worry. No matter what, he's my most precious child."

I let out a bitter laugh, about to demand a divorce, when a ridiculous thought struck me: The marriage certificate and crest he had given me—they were fake. I had no right to even speak.

From the background came a soft, teasing whine, "Honey… my back hurts…"

Riccardo panicked, clapping a hand over the phone.

"Lia, go home first. I'll have the doctor come over. I'll be back soon to be with you."

The call ended abruptly.

I sat in the villa's living room until late at night before they returned. Both men wore expressions of barely concealed joy, confetti still clinging to their shoulders. They froze when they saw me.

"Why aren't you asleep yet? Oh… Daddy got too busy and forgot to bring your gift. We'll make it up next time, okay?" My father's face was full of faux apology.

Riccardo pulled me into his arms, kissing the top of my head. "Baby, are you upset we didn't go with you? Tomorrow, I will take you for another check-up, okay?"

I smelled the cloying sweetness of his cologne and felt nauseated, unable to speak. I didn't want to listen to their lies any longer. I grabbed the contract and slammed it onto Riccardo's chest.

"Sign."

He instinctively reached to inspect it, and I sneered.

"What? Do I need an audit just to buy a set of jewelry?"

Riccardo smiled indulgently. "Of course not, my little princess. Whatever you want, I'll give you."

My father jumped in, trying to compete. "I'll buy it! I should make up for missing the prenatal visit. Give me a chance to make it right."

I shook my head. "No. Only he can buy this set."

Riccardo didn't look again. He signed, then winked at my father.

"Looks like the little princess thinks her husband is more important."

They both laughed like children putting on a show.

I stared blankly at their performance.

Suddenly, both their phones buzzed. Clearly, the mother-daughter pair were calling their husbands at the same time.

My father ignored it calmly, patting my shoulder.

"A shipment at the port was held up. You should get some sleep."

He hurried off. Riccardo carried me to the master bedroom upstairs before leaving.

"There's fabric you love in that shipment. I have to oversee it too. Don't be angry. Everything we do is for you."

I said nothing.

He sighed, rubbed my head, and left.

Their acting was truly terrible.

My father now wore a new ring, and Riccardo had a boutonniere in his pocket meant for a groom. They were off enjoying their honeymoon night.

I flipped through the contract in my hands and finally relaxed when I saw the clause assigning custody to the mother. With this, Riccardo would never lay a hand on my child.

Wiping the wetness from my eyes, I dialed the committee's direct line.

"This is Lia, first in line to inherit the Rossi family. Don Colombo has voluntarily terminated the agreement. Effective immediately, all arms shipments to the Colombo family are suspended."

"Very well, Miss Rossi. One more thing—should the documents your mother left be put into effect?"

When my mother was gravely ill, she quietly told me she had arranged an escape route for me.

Perhaps even then, she had foreseen today.

"Put them into effect."

"Understood. Seventy-two percent of your family assets will be transferred to your name within three days."

I hung up the phone, my chest heavy, as if stuffed with a wet sponge. Half-awake, half-dreaming, I recalled the year my mother died.

Father had cried until he vomited blood. He said that after being injured in that shootout, he accidentally took hallucinogens and ended up in bed with a prostitute. He claimed she ran off before he woke, and he didn't know she had a daughter. He certainly didn't imagine that the child would find her mother's hospital room and beg for a way out.

My mother had just undergone major surgery. The shock alone caused her to hemorrhage—she died from the stress. I had returned home excitedly, holding flowers to celebrate her discharge. Instead, I found only a coffin.

I had gone completely mad that day.

It was Riccardo who healed me, again and again. "Lia, your mother is in heaven. She would never want to see you like this."

His words had been my lifeline.

Looking back now, I realize it was all part of the scheme from the start.

My phone kept buzzing, shaking me awake. Anonymous photos appeared, one after another.

In each, Riccardo held Lina in his arms, kissing her passionately while his friends cheered behind them. They were playing cards in a casino. Lina, dressed in a bunny costume, straddled his lap.

"Lia, you know why he always likes to take you from behind? Because he said it himself. From the front, you're only seventy percent like me. From the back… ninety percent. You're a pathetic substitute."

I think I knew who the mysterious sender was. Lina's disgusting words churned my stomach, and I bent over the sink, retching.

Riccardo, just arriving home, heard me and rushed in.

"Lia! Take deep breaths. Why is it so bad? You didn't eat last night, did you?"

I nodded weakly.

He helped me back onto the bed, rubbing my head. "Wait here."

Soon, he returned with a bowl of seafood soup.

"Drink a little, hmm?" He blew on a spoonful and held it toward me, eyes bright with expectation.

It was the same dish he had once prepared for me, the one he knew I would always drink a few spoonfuls of.

Seeing my indifference, he was uncharacteristically at a loss.

A surge of irritation rose in me. Both he and my father—after everything they had done to hurt me—still acted like they were indulging me, like they were sacrificing for me!

"Riccardo," I said suddenly, "tell me… is there something you've been hiding from me?"

Panic flickered in Riccardo's eyes.

"What? That's nonsense! You are the love of my life."

He said it so naturally.

Seeing the change in my expression, he leaned closer, scrutinizing me. Then, as if realizing something, he laughed.

"Ah… my little wildcat is throwing a tantrum again? Just say you want me to comfort you," he teased, moving in for a kiss.

I turned my head instinctively. "Don't touch me!"

Even someone as oblivious as him could sense something was wrong. He straightened slowly, staring at me.

"Lia… you've been off since yesterday…"

A rapid knock at the door cut him off.

"Don… Li… uh, there's trouble up north!"

"Leave! Don't you see the Madre needs me?" he barked at his assistant, though his eyes flickered constantly toward his lit phone.

I spoke coldly, "Go ahead. Don't let it delay your… serious matters."

"There's nothing more important than keeping you calm. Sleep, I'll stay with you."

But once he confirmed I was "asleep," he was gone in a flash.

Two hours later, my phone lit up.

Last time, Lina had sent memories. This time, she sent evidence of what had already happened: photos of Riccardo's scarred, muscular abdomen, and a leather whip on the sheets.

Her voice message was full of triumph.

"Sis… since you got pregnant, he hasn't touched you, right? Afraid of hurting the baby? Well, guess what? I'm pregnant too, and the moment he saw me, he started stripping me. Now he's exhausted and asleep. Oh, and we're naming our child Alexander—the firstborn name set by the Colombo family."

She even sent a photo of their hands intertwined—a tattoo on their wrists: two lilies that only completed the full flower when joined. Below it, in flowing script: 'My beloved Lily.'

At last, I understood. The night of our wedding, when I kissed that line over and over, moved to tears, that flicker of guilt in his eyes—it wasn't for me. For the past three years, every tender "Lily" he whispered had been for another.

I had been living a colossal lie, a cruel joke.

I opened my phone and found the message from someone I hadn't contacted in ages.

[I agree to your proposal. But can you do one thing for me?]

He replied instantly, as if he had been waiting a long time: [Of course, my queen.]