After my father, the Syndicate's most respected Consigliere, died, I was sent to a brutal training camp. My arranged fiancé, Capo Luca, despised me and only wanted to swallow my family's assets.

One afternoon, Luca forced me to escort his lower-level mistress, Lucia, to the isolated washroom. Behind a locked stall, she delivered a stillborn baby, covered her hands in blood, and ran out screaming that I had just murdered my own hidden infant to protect my reputation.

The entire compound instantly turned against me. Dozens of armed soldiers surrounded me, racking their rifles and roaring for my immediate execution. Luca played the devastated fiancé perfectly, publicly condemning me to death for treason. He swore he had never touched me, using the dead child as proof of my sins so he could legally steal my inheritance.

He really thought I was just a helpless pawn. He believed his rank and his twisted lies would easily send me to my grave, allowing him to rule the compound with his mistress.

But he didn't know someone far more powerful had slipped me an anonymous warning and a hidden camera that morning.

As the Syndicate's legendary and ruthless Don Alessandro arrived to pass judgment, I didn't beg for mercy. I calmly held up the black device.

"I don't have to defend myself."

"Because the Don just watched your entire setup live on his encrypted server."

Chapter 1

Gianna POV

The heat in the training compound was a weight—iron roofs groaning, dust rising from every footstep. I sat on my cot, staring at a black folio that had appeared under my door. Crimson wax, Falcone crest. A chill crawled up my spine.

Inside, one typed line:

At 2:00 PM, your fiancé's pregnant mistress will fake a stillbirth in the washroom and frame you for murder. Let us see if you have fangs.

Only one man could bypass compound security and treat my life as a chess piece: Don Alessandro Falcone. The Boss who left rival heads on pikes. He was watching me.

I ran my finger under the card's lining and found a metallic wafer. A scrap of paper: Linked to Falcone server. Transmits live.

I didn't hesitate. I dropped the letter into the trash can and lit a match. The paper curled to ash.

Two o'clock.

A heavy knock. Luca filled my doorway, jaw tight. Beside him, Lucia leaned on his arm, pale, trembling.

"Gianna. Escort her to the washroom. Now."

I crossed my arms. "No."

Luca stepped in, chest nearly touching mine. "You will obey, or I'll strip your standing. Do not disrespect me."

I didn't flinch. "I said no, Luca."

His grip crushed my arm. "Take her to Dr. Romano if she's sick," I said, loud enough for the corridor to hear. "Her stomach's swollen—looks more than cramps."

Lucia gasped, knees buckling theatrically. "Why are you so cruel, Gianna? I just need help!"

Luca shoved me aside and caught her. Then he roared: "Everyone out! Two hours of planks—no water, no breaks! All because Gianna forgot Family!"

Dozens of soldiers dropped to the burning dirt. Their glares burned into my skin.

Luca crouched, grabbed my hair, yanked my head back. "You will take her. Refuse again, and these men bleed until nightfall—and they'll blame you."

I looked at their red, shaking faces. They would kill me in my sleep.

I couldn't avoid the trap. I had to walk in and burn it from inside.

"Fine." I wrenched free. "I'll take her."

Inside my quarters, I retrieved my leather satchel. My fingers found the cold metal device. I pressed the button—a tiny vibration confirmed transmission.

I stepped back into the sun, hand closed around a secret that could save me—or end me. The trap was set. Now I spring it.

Gianna POV

A dull, brick-red flush crept up from Luca's collar, suffusing his entire face. He squeezed my arm harder, the bones of his knuckles pressing white against my skin, trying to force a reaction out of me.

"Take her to Dr. Romano," I said, and though I did not raise my voice, I pitched it to carry, each syllable a hard, polished stone tossed into the corridor's silence. "Her stomach is swollen. It looks like a lot more than just stomach cramps."

Lucia gasped, her eyes widening in a pantomime of panic. She instinctively wrapped both of her arms around her belly and her knees buckled at an unnatural angle, her body slumping downwards like a puppet whose strings had been cut, until the hem of her dress was soiled by the dirt outside my door.

"Why are you targeting me, Gianna?" Lucia sobbed, thick, deliberate tears spilling down her cheeks. "I just need help. Why are you so cruel?"

Luca pushed me aside and caught Lucia before she hit the ground. He looked up at me, and I saw a flat, reptilian deadness in his eyes that promised violence. He wrapped his arm around her waist in a gesture of blatant protection, pulling her against his chest.

"Everyone out in the yard!" Luca roared.

Within seconds, dozens of Soldiers and Associates rushed into the dusty training yard under the blazing sun. They stood at attention, their bodies held in rigid formation, waiting for their Capo's command.

"Drop!" Luca yelled, pointing at the dirt. "Two hours of physical conditioning. Planks and pushups. No water. No breaks. All because Gianna forgot what it means to be a Family. She thinks she is above the bond."

A collective groan passed through the ranks as the men fell to the baked earth. I felt their glares, a hundred points of heat on my skin. They would see me bled for this.

I walked out into the searing sun, dropped to the dirt, and held a plank position.

The scorching heat baked my skin, and sweat stung my eyes. My muscles screamed in agony, but I kept my mouth shut. I endured the pain in total silence.

Luca stood in the border of shade, watching me with a thin, cruel line of amusement that did not reach his eyes.

"Please, Luca," Lucia cried out, her voice a piercing, theatrical wail that scraped against the silence. She leaned against the wall, a carefully composed portrait of fragile innocence. "Please spare them. It is my fault. Do not punish the others because Gianna hates me."

"Shut up, you manipulative bitch," a Soldier hissed under his breath. His words were directed at me, not her. "Just take her to the damn washroom, Gianna!"

Luca walked over to me. He crouched down, grabbed a handful of my hair, and forced my head back.

"Listen to me very carefully," he whispered, his hot breath hitting my face. "You are going to escort her to the washroom right now. If you refuse again, I will keep these men out here until nightfall. They will bleed, and they will blame you."

I looked at the men. Their faces were red, their arms shaking. They would kill me in my sleep tonight if I kept this up.

I realized I could not avoid the trap. I had to walk right into it and find a way to burn it down from the inside.

"Fine," I gasped, wrenching my hair out of his grip. "I will take her."

Gianna POV:

I rose from the ground and brushed the dirt off my knees.

Inside my spartan quarters, I sluiced the sweat and grime from my face. Before stepping back out into the harsh daylight, I retrieved my black leather satchel from the foot of my cot. It was a stark contrast to the grim, blood-stained concrete of the compound, but it was the only piece of my old life I had left.

"Stand down," Luca ordered the men.

The men collapsed in the dirt, gasping for air, their hatred a palpable thing that followed me as I moved past them.

I went to Lucia and took her arm, my touch a deliberate, calculated gesture of support.

"I have some pain medication in my bag," I lied. "Let us go."

Lucia leaned her weight against me with theatrical force.

As we walked toward the isolated washroom at the edge of the compound, I paid close attention to her body. She made a great show of her distress, her gait a slow, ponderous shuffle meant to display a burden she did not carry.

I glanced down at her open tote bag. A bottle of prenatal vitamins sat right on top of her makeup bag, a detail too perfectly staged to be accidental.

A knot of cold dread tightened in my gut. The dossier was right.

I slipped my hand into the front pocket of my satchel, letting my fingers close around the cold, smooth metal of the recording device.

The note's chilling promise returned to me: it was linked directly to the Syndicate's encrypted communication server. Every Capo, and the Don himself, would bear witness to what it captured.

I pressed the small button on the side, and a tiny vibration confirmed it was recording.

We stepped into the damp, poorly lit washroom. The caustic smell of bleach and corroding pipes hit my nose.

"Stay by the door," Lucia ordered.

Her voice was suddenly sharp, stripped of its tremulous fragility, like splintered glass.

She rushed into the large handicap stall and slammed the metal door shut. I heard the lock click.

A second later, she turned on the sink faucet to its highest pressure. The loud rush of water echoed off the tile walls, a crude attempt to muffle any other sound.

But it was not loud enough to hide her abrupt, agonizing groans.

"Lucia?" I called out, my voice pitched with false concern. "You sound terrible. I am going to call Dr. Romano."

"No!" she screamed over the running water. "Do not call anyone! I am fine!"

A sharp, blood-curdling cry of pain ripped through the humid air. It was followed by a heavy, wet thud on the tile floor.

My own heart hammered against my ribs. I beat my fists on the metal stall door.

"Lucia! Open this door right now or I am calling the guards!"

The lock clicked, and the door violently swung open.

Lucia stood there, her face the color of ash. Her hands were covered in dark red blood.

In her arms, she held a tiny, lifeless infant. The baby was entirely still, covered in blood and fluid.

A sour, metallic taste flooded the back of my mouth, and I had to clench my jaw to keep from gagging. I took a step back, my hands trembling with a revulsion that was not feigned.

Lucia dropped her fragile facade completely. A wicked, triumphant smile spread across her pale, blood-spattered face.

"Look what you did, Gianna," she whispered, her eyes wide and manic. "You killed your own baby."

I stared at the dead infant. I forced myself to look terrified, to play the role of the speechless victim.

But deep down, a cold, calculated smirk tugged at the corner of my own mouth.

I had her.