“You’re fucking awake,” he said, walking closer. "Thank God!"

I took a step back, my heart racing. Why was he looking at me like that? Did he think I was someone else?

"I—what happened to me?" I asked, my voice trembling.

Matteo frowned, sitting on the edge of the bed like he owned the place. "You don’t remember? The accident. You’ve been in a coma for three months."

"Three months?" I whispered, disbelief crashing over me.

He nodded. "You had us all worried, Valentina."

Valentina.

My stomach flipped.

Matteo brushed a strand of hair behind my ear gently. "You’re safe now," his voice soft.

Safe? I didn’t know what that meant anymore.

I wasn’t Alessia. I wasn’t even me.

I was Valentina DeLuca—the heiress of the mafia family I had been trying to destroy. And I had no idea why—or how—I was supposed to survive this!

“Are you okay?”

I swallowed hard. “I— I don’t remember any accident. I was… I was working. I was—” My voice trailed off. Nothing made sense. The life I knew was slipping away, like sand between my fingers.

Matteo tilted his head, watching me carefully. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it yet.” He paused, looking like he was about to say more, but instead, he just gave me a small smile. “You’ve been through enough.”

I nodded numbly, my mind still whirling. This wasn’t just a bad dream. I was in deep now. Was this the mafia world I was supposed to be a part of now?

Before I could ask more, the door opened again, and a woman stepped inside. She was tall, blonde, and looked like she belonged in a fashion magazine. “Matteo, you’ve been gone too long. We need to—”

Her eyes snapped to me, narrowing. “Valentina? You awake?!”

I froze.

Matteo stepped between us, his voice hardening. “Watch your tone, Alessandra.”

Alessandra. Another name I wasn’t familiar with, but I could tell right away she wasn’t happy to see me awake. She looked pissed off, almost like she was annoyed I was still breathing.

I had to tread carefully.

"Is something wrong?"

Her eyes lingered on me for a second, and then she turned to Matteo. “You’ve got to be kidding. She’s been out for three months and now she’s acting like nothing happened?”

“I’m not acting like anything,” I snapped, suddenly feeling defensive. “I’m just trying to figure out what happened to me.”

Matteo held up a hand. “Enough, Alessandra. We’ll talk later.” He turned back to me, his expression softening slightly. “You should rest. We’ll have a full conversation soon. There’s a lot to explain.”

As Matteo walked out, Alessandra shot me one last look before leaving as well, slamming the door behind her.

I stood there, trying to piece together what little I knew about Valentina. She was part of the DeLuca mafia family, which was already a big enough mess. But from the way Matteo and Alessandra were acting, it seemed like things had been falling apart for them long before I woke up.

I was here now—stuck in Valentina’s world, pretending to be her. And if I was going to survive this, I had to learn the game fast.

I wasn’t just fighting to stay alive anymore. I was fighting to keep this family—and this life—from swallowing me whole.

But as I lay back in the bed, staring at the ceiling, one thing was clear: I was no longer just a lawyer trying to take down the DeLucas. This was no longer just about surviving the mafia world as Alessia Moretti. This was about pretending to be someone else, someone with an entirely different life—and it was dangerous.

The DeLuca family was one of the most powerful crime syndicates in the city, and I had been trying to take them down. But now, I was trapped in their world. I had no choice but to play their game, pretend to be Valentina, and try to figure out how I could survive long enough to get out of this nightmare.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Valentina’s life was a lot darker than I ever imagined.

In the few hours I’d been awake, I’d already seen signs that she wasn’t just another spoiled heiress.

From what I’d overheard from the few people who’d visited me, Valentina had been trying to leave the mafia world. She’d been trying to get away from the family, from the violence and corruption that surrounded them. And then… the accident.

Was it an accident? Or was someone trying to stop her?

The questions piled up, and I had no answers.

I had to be careful. If I wanted to survive, I needed to play my part—be Valentina. But I also needed to keep my eyes open.

Valentina had been planning to escape, but now, I was the one in her place.

And I had no idea who I could trust in this world of lies and betrayal.

Days passed, but the disbelief never left me. Every time I looked in the mirror, it hit me like a slap.

And I hated it.

I wandered the halls of DeLuca’s mansion, pretending to play the part, but my mind kept going back to the betrayal. Marco’s face haunted me—the cold way he’d turned on me, the sound of his voice when he said, “I’m sorry, kid.”

Sorry? Sorry that he damn buried me alive?

The anger burned in my chest, twisting into something darker. I needed answers!

That’s how I found myself at the docks a week later.

I knew it was risky sneaking out, but I couldn’t sit still any longer. I needed to see Marco. I needed to know how he was doing, what his life was like after selling me out. Did he regret it? Did he even care?

The docks were quiet, the smell of salt and oil as sharp as ever. Memories rushed back, hitting me like a freight train. My fists clenched as I walked to the spot where we’d met for the last time.

But Marco wasn’t there.

Instead, I found an old dock worker smoking a cigarette. He looked up as I approached, squinting like he was trying to place me.

“You lost, lady?” he asked, his voice rough.

“I’m looking for Marco,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Marco Russo. He used to work around here.”

The man’s face changed. He looked uncomfortable, almost nervous.

“Marco? He’s gone,” he said, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Gone?” My stomach dropped. “What do you mean, gone?”

The man hesitated, then sighed. “Got himself shot a few weeks back. Right here at the docks.”

The world spun. Marco was dead?

“Who did it?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

The man shrugged. “Who knows? Guy like that probably had enemies everywhere. Word is, he crossed the wrong people. Mafia types.”

I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. I should’ve been furious, but all I felt was emptiness. Marco was gone. I’d never get the chance to confront him, to ask him why he did it.

But the hits didn’t stop there.

As I stumbled away from the docks, trying to make sense of everything, I overheard a group of men talking nearby.

“Sad about the Morettis,” one of them said, shaking his head.

“Whole family wiped out,” another added. “That fire wasn’t an accident.”

“I know. They do that to silence the family.”

I froze.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, my voice sharp as I stepped closer to them.

The men looked at me in surprise, exchanging glances.

“You don’t know?” one of them asked. “The Moretti family. The father was a lawyer—big name. Held a press conference when his daughter disappeared. Made a lot of noise about the mafia. Two days later, their house went up in flames. Everyone inside was killed.”

My heart stopped.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “That’s not true.”

“Afraid it is,” the man said. “Happened right around the time you—” He stopped himself, frowning. “Hey, wait. You look kinda familiar… you're DeLuca’s…”

I didn’t stick around to hear the rest.

I stumbled away, my legs feeling like they were made of lead. My father. My mother. My little brother and sister.

Gone.

All because of me!

They killed my family because my father spoke out, trying to find me. And I was buried alive, powerless to stop it.

I collapsed against a wall, my chest heaving as the weight of it all crushed me. My family. My real family. They were gone, and it was my fault.

“Marco,” I muttered through gritted teeth. “You did this. You left me, and now they’re all dead.”

But Marco was gone too. There was no one left to blame but the people who put us here in the first place.

The DeLuca family.

My fists clenched, rage boiling inside me. They thought they’d won, but they had no idea. I wasn’t dead. I wasn’t buried anymore.

If the DeLuca family wanted a fight, I was ready to give them one.

Back in the room that wasn’t mine, in the mansion I didn’t belong to, I couldn’t stop shaking. My heart raced as I pulled out the laptop on the desk. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know the password—my fingers moved instinctively.

Matteo’s money bought the best, but I was better.

Within minutes, I was online. The cold glow of the screen illuminated my face as I typed in the name that had been haunting me all night: Moretti Family Fire.

The search results hit me like a freight train.

News articles. Photos. Headlines screaming about tragedy.

"House Fire Claims Entire Moretti Family—Arson Suspected."

"Family of Prominent Lawyer Perishes in Blaze."

"No Survivors in Moretti Mansion Inferno."

My hands trembled as I clicked through each article, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The pictures were the worst—my family’s home reduced to blackened ruins, smoke still curling in the air.

And then I saw it.

A photo of my father, standing in front of reporters just two days before the fire. His face was grim, his eyes determined. I could almost hear his voice as I read the caption: "Lawyer Felipe Moretti vows to bring the DeLuca family to justice after his daughter, Lawyer Alessia Moretti's disappearance."

Tears blurred my vision as I scrolled further.

There it was—my family’s grave.

A polished marble headstone engraved with their names. My father. My mother. My little brother, Luca. My baby sister, Sofia.

I covered my mouth, choking back a sob. They were gone. All of them.

But then I saw the final photo. And when I saw it, my blood ran cold.