Lucia’s POV

When I finally reached the estate and pushed the heavy front door open, Adriana’s sobs poured out of the sitting room like a blade dragged across my nerves.

She was curled up on the sofa, trembling, her face buried against Bruno’s chest. His arms wrapped around her instinctively, protectively, as if she were something fragile that might shatter if he loosened his grip even slightly. The room smelled of her perfume, sweet, pitiful, carefully measured, so different from the sharp bitterness of iron and cold stone clinging to my own clothes.

“Bruno…” Adriana cried hoarsely. “I don’t want to go through with the alliance union. I don’t want to be handed to that madman. He’s cruel. Brutal. The women married off to seal his last two truces… they all ended up in the ground.” Her fingers clenched in his shirt. “Why does it have to be me? Why can’t it be Lucia instead?”

Her words landed with surgical precision.

Bruno’s hand moved slowly, soothing her back in steady circles, the way a man calmed something frightened. His voice dropped into that gentle register he only ever used for her.

“Don’t be afraid. With me here, no one forces you into anything.” He paused, then added with quiet certainty, “No matter whose name goes to the Commission, it won’t be yours.”

My parents echoed him at once, the weight of the Barsanti name wrapping around Adriana like armor.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” my mother said softly. “We would never send you to that Family.”

“We’ll protect you,” my father added. “No matter what.”

I stood in the doorway, half in shadow.

No one looked at me.

Not Bruno. Not my parents. Not even Adriana, who wept so convincingly in his arms. It was as if I were already invisible, already chosen as the unspoken price to be paid.

Without saying a word, I walked past them and went straight to my room.

The door clicked shut behind me, and the silence cracked something open inside my chest.

Memories flooded in without mercy.

I remembered the night I had mentioned, only in passing, that I wanted to watch the sun rise above the clouds. That same evening Bruno had a private plane fueled and waiting. By dawn we stood on a cliff on some remote island, an observation deck built overnight so I wouldn’t have to stand in the cold sea wind.

He had once burned through a fortune without blinking, just to make me smile.

He took me skiing through the Alps, held my hand while we chased the aurora across frozen plains, cooked for me when I was too tired to eat, carried me off to places most men in our world never see. He photographed every trip, every laugh, every quiet moment, as if he were afraid time would steal them from him.

Back then, I truly believed he was mine.

Now I understood the truth.

I wasn’t irreplaceable. I was just new.

A novelty. A distraction that had lasted longer than expected.

I wiped my tears away quickly, refusing myself the luxury of breaking down. My hands moved with practiced calm as I reached into my pocket and drew out a small recorder. I removed the memory card, then slid it into an envelope with a copy of the detention block’s security footage.

I sent everything to my contact with a single tap.

As the bar crawled across the screen, a bitter taste rose in my throat.

At first I had only meant to capture Adriana’s pitiful performance in front of Bruno and my parents. Insurance, nothing more. But fate had been cruelly efficient. I had also caught her ordering those men to “teach me a lesson.”

When the files finally went through, my screen dimmed.

Footsteps sounded outside my door.

My heart tightened.

The door opened quietly, and Bruno stepped inside. His tall frame filled the doorway, his presence as familiar as it was unbearable. Before I could react, he crossed the room in long strides and pulled me into his arms.

The scent of cedar and night air clung to him, the same scent that once made me feel safe. Now it only made me feel trapped.

He rested his chin against the top of my head, his grip firm, almost desperate.

“Forgive me, Lucia,” he whispered weakly.

I froze in his embrace.

My lips pressed together, every word lodged painfully in my throat. I didn’t answer. He didn’t seem to need me to.

“Don’t be so hard on Adriana,” he went on softly, as if soothing a child. “She’s different from you. You’re the Barsantis’ blood daughter. You already have everything.”

He hesitated, then added, “I’ll marry you one day.”

My fingers curled slowly. Somewhere behind me, I heard him twist the signet ring around and around his finger.

“But Adriana…” His voice gentled further. “She has nothing. It’s only natural for her to be sensitive. You should try to understand her. Be patient with her.”

“I have everything…”

The words slipped out of me in a whisper so bitter it made my stomach churn.

So this was his apology.

He hadn’t come to admit fault. He hadn’t come to acknowledge what had been done to me in that cell. He had come to excuse Adriana, and to remind me of my place.

Bruno truly believed that an embrace and a few soft words could erase everything. That no matter how deeply he cut me, I would forgive him the way I always had. Even though only yesterday he had sent me home bruised, broken, and bleeding.

In his eyes, he could strike me ninety-nine times, then toss me a single bone and expect me to crawl back, grateful.

I lifted my head and looked at his face.

My heart ached so fiercely it felt like it might splinter apart.

Slowly, I understood something that mattered.

Bruno was wrong.

And this time, I would not come back.

Lucia's POV

The next morning, I was dragged out of sleep by a burst of noise from the courtyard below.

Laughter. Music. Shouts layered with celebration, the kind that carried across the Ferraro estate like a warning.

My head was still heavy when I forced myself upright. Before I could fully wake, a maid knocked sharply on my door, her voice carefully neutral, the way everyone's voice went neutral inside these walls.

"Miss Lucia, Don Bruno has brought entertainers into the courtyard. He asks that you come down to watch."

Entertainers.

I let out a breath that tasted faintly of irony.

In the Ferraro house, nothing was ever only entertainment. Every display was a statement, a thing arranged to be witnessed by the whole family, soldiers and capos and cousins alike. Bruno understood that better than anyone.

And he also knew I hated crowds. Hated noise. Hated being made into spectacle.

Those things had always belonged to Adriana.

I pushed myself out of bed, my injuries protesting beneath my skin. The faint ache along my ribs reminded me that I was still healing, that I had not yet recovered from the cellar, from the fear, from the betrayal.

"I won't—" I began.

But before the words left my mouth, the door opened again.

Adriana walked in first.

She wore a pale dress that flowed like mist, her hair loose over her shoulders. Bruno stood beside her, his arm around her waist with the unconscious familiarity of a man who no longer thought about where his hands went. They looked harmonious. Like a pair the family was meant to see together.

Adriana's smile bloomed the moment she spotted me.

"Lucia," she said brightly, crossing the room in quick, light steps. She grabbed my hand, her grip warm and intimate, as though we had never been enemies. "Come on, don't sulk. Bruno arranged all of this just for you."

Her fingers tightened slightly, nails pressing into my skin. With her free hand she reached up and smoothed a strand of hair that hadn't moved at all.

"If you don't come down," she added softly, "he'll be disappointed."

Bruno stood behind her, his gaze fixed on my face. There was something in his eyes, expectation, maybe even hope, as if he truly believed this could erase everything that had happened.

"Just take a look," he said. "Alright?"

They were perfectly aligned.

I felt like prey cornered by two people who had already decided the outcome.

With Adriana pulling me forward and Bruno watching closely, I had no room to refuse. I was escorted downstairs, step by step, my feet heavy, my chest tight.

The courtyard had been transformed.

A raised stage stood at its center, family members gathered around it in excited clusters, wine glasses catching the morning light. A fire-breather stood atop the platform, flames bursting from his mouth in violent arcs that lit the air in blazing orange and red.

The heat washed over me in suffocating waves.

Something in me stirred uneasily beneath my skin.

Adriana clung to Bruno's arm as though frightened, whispering into his ear. Bruno leaned down, listening, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, wiping sweat from her brow with practiced tenderness.

They looked like the promised couple of the family.

I stood off to the side.

Invisible.

Unnecessary.

Bruno's phone rang suddenly. He murmured something to Adriana and stepped away to answer it, his back turning to the stage, the way a man does when the call matters more than the room.

That was when the unease sharpened into something lethal.

I stared at the flames, every instinct screaming. Fire had always meant something in this house. Purification. Judgment. Destruction. Nothing was ever set alight here without meaning.

Then I felt it.

Adriana's gaze.

I turned.

The sweet smile she had worn moments ago was gone. In its place was a twisted, chilling expression that made my blood run cold.

Before I could step back, she lunged.

Her hand clamped around my arm with shocking strength, far stronger than she ever pretended to be. She shoved me forward, straight toward the rope line that separated the guests from the roaring fire.

"Ah—!"

I screamed as the heat slammed into my face, my skin burning instantly. I struggled, but her grip was merciless.

Then, in a single smooth motion, she released me.

And threw herself even closer to the flames.

"Bruno!" she screamed, voice tearing through the courtyard. "Help me!"

Chaos erupted.

Bruno spun around, his phone hitting the ground as he charged forward without hesitation. He broke through the cordon, scooped Adriana into his arms, and staggered back, shielding her body with his own.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Soldiers near the wall went rigid, hands drifting toward their jackets before they understood there was no shooter, only fire.

The moment Bruno steadied himself, his expression hardened. He turned toward me, eyes blazing with fury.

Before I could speak, pain exploded across my face.

His palm struck my cheek with brutal force.

"Why did you push her?" he roared. "Are you trying to kill her?!"

My ears rang. The world tilted.

"I didn't—" I tried to say.

He didn't listen.

Bruno shoved me hard.

I stumbled backward and fell, my shoulder grazing the edge of the spreading flames. Searing pain tore through me, ripping a cry from my throat.

That sound made him freeze.

For a fraction of a second, something like hesitation flickered in his eyes. His hand rose halfway to the signet ring on his finger, and stopped.

But then Adriana clutched his chest weakly.

"Bruno… Lucia looks worse than I do," she whispered. "Take her to be looked at first…"

The hesitation vanished.

Bruno looked at me with open disgust, then turned back to Adriana as if I were nothing more than an inconvenience in his house.

"Bring her too," he ordered his men coldly. "Get the dottore."

He carried Adriana away like she was made of glass.

I lay on the ground, firelight flickering above me. The pain in my shoulder deepened, spreading through my body. My vision blurred as the enforcers rushed toward me.

The last thing I saw before darkness claimed me—

Was the flames still burning.

Lucia’s POV

Because my body had been broken again and again, it never had the chance to properly heal. The reckoning came fast and merciless.

I burned with fever.

For three full days, I drifted in and out of consciousness, trapped between pain and dreams. My body lay helpless on the safe-house cot, but something deeper in me was dragged far away, into memories I had long tried to bury.

The dream was warm.

Too warm.

Golden light spilled everywhere, gentle and forgiving. In it, I was never abandoned.

My parents had never taken Adriana into the Family. In this world, there was only me, their blood-daughter, their pride, the future Signora of the Barsanti name. My mother smiled at me the way she used to when I was little, smoothing my hair and telling me I was precious. My father’s hand rested on my shoulder, steady and protective, as if no enemy in the world could ever touch me.

And Bruno…

Bruno was still the boy who used to wait outside my door every morning, patient, so he could walk me to school. He had always stayed close back then, guarding me on instinct long before either of us understood what an arranged alliance was meant to become.

In the dream, he made his promise beneath an old rose arbor, the kind kept for the vows that bound two Families. He said he would make me his, his Signora, his forever. Our union was sealed in the garden, moonlight pouring down as the old men of the Commission gave their blessing.

Later, we had a child.

A small, warm bundle with Bruno’s eyes and my quiet.

We were happy. Whole.

Then the light went out.

Without warning, the warmth shattered. The smiles on my parents’ faces twisted into something cold and unfamiliar. Bruno’s hand, once so warm, turned icy, slipping from mine as though I had never mattered.

They stood together at the edge of a cliff.

Laughing.

And then they pushed me.

I fell into endless darkness, something inside me howling in terror as the bond snapped, the pain ripping through me like claws tearing flesh.

I woke with a sharp gasp, my chest heaving violently.

My eyes flew open to an empty room.

White walls. A monitor beeping somewhere near my head. No familiar scent. No one keeping watch over me.

My body felt unbearably heavy, as though my bones had been filled with lead. Pain throbbed through my shoulder, deep and relentless. When I tried to sit up, my arm trembled violently, numb and useless.

Gritting my teeth, I tore the needle from the back of my hand and slid off the cot.

The floor felt cold beneath my bare feet.

As I stepped into the hallway, faint voices drifted toward me from the desk where the off-the-books physician’s people kept their vigil.

“Did you see the two Barsanti girls?”

“Of course. Their situations couldn’t be more different.”

“Adriana barely had a scratch on her, but the Don and the Signora sat with her day and night. And Bruno Ferraro never left her side.”

There was a pause.

“Meanwhile, Lucia was half-dead. Three days out cold. Not a single visitor.”

Their words were quiet, but painfully clear.

Each syllable cut into my chest like a blade.

My knees weakened, but I braced myself against the wall. Something in me stirred faintly, wounded but awake, as if reminding me not to collapse here.

Without hesitation, I walked to the desk, signed myself out against every objection, and left.

No one tried to stop me.

When I returned to the Barsanti estate, the silence was unnatural. The house that once smelled of Sunday dinner and shared blood felt hollow, empty of warmth.

I went straight to my room and began packing.

There wasn’t much.

Just one small suitcase.

That was everything I owned in this house.

After finishing, I went downstairs for water. Before I reached the sitting room, laughter drifted in from the front hall.

They were back.

My parents came in first, carefully steadying Adriana as she limped inside like a fragile porcelain doll. Bruno followed close behind, his eyes filled with unmistakable tenderness as he watched her every step.

They talked and laughed, their voices light, as if nothing had happened.

As if I hadn’t almost died.

When they saw me, Bruno froze. For a brief moment, something like heartache flickered in his eyes as he took in my pale face and the way I held myself upright by will alone.

But before he could speak, my mother crossed the floor toward me, her expression sharp and accusing.

“Lucia, what is wrong with you?” she snapped. “Why didn’t you send word you were discharging yourself? Do you have any idea how worried we were?”

My father joined in at once. “Adriana already explained everything. She said she lost her footing and dragged you toward the flames by accident. Out of guilt, she pushed you clear to save you!”

“And you. Walking out of there alone like this. Making a scene again?”

Adriana lowered her head, looking weak and pitiful.

But I saw it.

The faint, triumphant curve of her lips. And then, so smooth I almost missed it, her hand rose to tuck back a strand of hair that had never fallen out of place.

She was looking at me the way a victor surveys the battlefield.

Something inside me finally broke.

I laughed. Soft at first. Then bitter.

“Worried about me?” I asked quietly. “So worried that in three days of my lying there half-dead, not one of you came to see me even once?”

My gaze shifted to Adriana, cold and unblinking.

“Lost your footing again?” I said flatly. “You really do come up with new stories quickly.”

For the first time, I didn’t lower my head.

I looked at them like strangers.

The room had gone very quiet. My fingers found the thin scar on my wrist and pressed it once, the only inheritance this family had ever given me.

“Watch your precious daughter carefully,” I warned, my voice calm but sharp. “If she lays a hand on me again, I won’t hold back. If I am unhappy, she won’t be happy either.”

Their faces twisted with shock and fury. I didn’t care.

I turned and walked upstairs without looking back.

This house. This name. These people.

They were no longer worth even a single heartbeat of my life.