Lucia’s POV

I had already said everything that needed to be said.

The suitcase was closed at my feet, my room stripped bare of anything that still carried a trace of me. I was ready to leave the Barsanti estate for good when the door suddenly slammed open with a violent crack.

Adriana stepped inside.

She wore sharp heels that clicked arrogantly against the marble, her posture straight and confident, as if this room already belonged to her. She carried herself the way the favored ones always did in this house, full of provocation and triumph. She looked at me the way a victor looks at prey that has already been cornered.

“Lucia,” she said slowly, her lips curling, “do you really think you’re special just because you’re the Don’s blood daughter?”

She took another step closer, eyes glittering.

“They love me now. Not you.”

Her words were deliberate, meant to sink in like a blade slid between ribs.

“I’ve known it from the start,” she continued, voice dripping with mockery. “You’re marrying that madman for me, aren’t you? The Don of the Lombardi Family. Isn’t the bride price just one billion?”

She laughed softly.

“After I stand beside Bruno as his Signora, do you know how much there’ll be? Far more than that. The Ferraro operation and the Barsanti operation already run the biggest pipelines in the territory. Once the two Families are joined, no one on the Commission will be able to touch us.”

She leaned close, her breath brushing my ear, her tone dropping into something vicious and intimate.

“And you?” she whispered. “You’re just trading one hell for another. The Lombardi Family is infamous. Brutal. Old blood. Once you walk into that estate, you might not survive three days.”

Her eyes shone with cruel delight.

“If you live, you get the money. If you die…” she shrugged lightly, “…it stays untouched.”

Something inside me snapped.

The rage I had been suppressing, all my own humiliation, finally burst free.

My hand rose before I even realized it.

Smack.

The sound echoed sharply through the room, like a gunshot. Adriana’s head snapped to the side as she staggered back, shock flashing across her face.

I smiled.

Not bitterly.

Coldly.

“Really?” I said, staring straight at her. “Then I hope you get exactly what you deserve.”

She covered her cheek, disbelief written all over her face. Her free hand drifted up to smooth a strand of hair that hadn’t moved at all, and her smile held a beat too long.

“You, you dare hit me?” she screamed. “Lucia, how dare you.”

I didn’t let her finish.

My hand came down again, harder than before.

This time, blood bloomed instantly at the corner of her mouth, a thin crimson line sliding down her pale chin.

At that exact moment, hurried footsteps thundered outside.

The door burst open.

Bruno stormed in.

The instant his eyes landed on the blood at Adriana’s lips, the temperature in the room dropped sharply. The men who had followed him in went still in the doorway, hands drifting toward their jackets, waiting for a word that hadn’t come yet.

“Lucia!” he roared. “Have you lost your mind? Who gave you the right to touch her?”

He rushed past me without a second glance, pulling Adriana into his arms as if she were something precious and fragile. His jaw worked silently as he wiped the blood from her lips, his fingers twisting the signet ring round and round.

Then, without warning.

Smack.

Pain exploded across my face.

My head snapped to the side, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. Something in my chest folded in on itself and went quiet.

I swallowed hard and slowly lifted my head.

I wasn’t angry.

I smiled.

“Bruno,” I said quietly, “I hope you won’t regret this.”

My parents arrived right after, their footsteps quick, their expressions full of outrage.

But not for me.

“Lucia, you ungrateful wretch!” my father shouted. “How could you hurt Adriana like this? What has she ever done to you?”

Adriana clung tightly to Bruno, crying softly. Her voice trembled as she spoke, gentle and pitiful.

“Bruno… Mamma… Papà… please don’t scold Lucia anymore. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have upset her.”

She sniffed, then added, voice thick with false sorrow,

“I’m leaving tomorrow. I won’t trouble this family again. I just don’t want her to be unhappy because of me…”

Her performance was flawless.

Bruno’s expression darkened further, his rage boiling over.

He turned sharply toward the doorway.

Two enforcers in black appeared instantly.

“Take her out to the yard,” Bruno ordered coldly. “String her up from the old oak.”

He paused, then added, his words cutting into me like claws,

“Let the sun burn the poison out of her. The Ferraro Family does not keep women this vile.”

Before I could react, the enforcers seized my arms.

“Bruno! Let me go!” I struggled. “You can’t do this to me!”

No one listened.

They dragged me into the yard, my resistance meaningless against their strength. Rough rope bit into my ankles as they bound me tightly. With a hard yank, they hoisted me upside down from the tall, ancient oak, the tree this family had always used to make its lessons stick.

Blood rushed to my head, dizziness crashing over me in waves.

The midday sun was merciless.

It burned my skin, scorched my lungs, and made my vision swim. My heartbeat thundered painfully in my ears as my chest tightened, breath coming in ragged gasps.

Through the haze, I tilted my head and looked toward the living room window.

Inside, Bruno was carefully cleaning the cut at the corner of Adriana’s mouth. My parents sat beside her, speaking softly, their faces full of concern.

They looked like a perfect family.

Tears streamed from my eyes, falling uselessly to the ground below, drying the moment they touched the scorching earth.

I went very still, and my thumb found the thin scar on my wrist, the only inheritance this family had ever given me. I touched it once.

Just one day.

I only need to endure one day.

When I get free, every single one of them will pay for what they’ve done.

Lucia’s POV

The sun climbed higher.

The heat became unbearable.

My vision blurred. The world spun violently around me.

And then—Everything went black.

When consciousness returned, it came slowly, like wading up from dark water.

I was lying in my own room.

A soft quilt covered me, its familiar scent failing to bring any comfort. My shoulder throbbed faintly beneath fresh bandages, the gauze clean and carefully wrapped. Someone had tended to my wounds with the practiced hand of a man who worked off the books, the kind the Family called when a hospital would ask too many questions. Almost reverently.

Footsteps sounded near the door.

“Miss…you’re awake?” the maid whispered in relief when she noticed my eyes open. “Don Ferraro was very distressed yesterday after he had you cut down from the cellar. He told us to take special care of you.”

Her words washed over me without leaving a ripple.

She gestured toward a large box placed beside the bed. It was sealed with silver clasps, engraved with the Ferraro crest.

“Don Ferraro had this delivered before dawn,” she continued cautiously. “It’s a bridal gown. It’s already been fitted to you. He said…he wants you to try it on. The union is sealed before the Commission the day after tomorrow.”

I turned my head.

The gown lay there quietly, pure white fabric folded with care, as sacred as an offering laid at a saint’s feet. Once, I had imagined wearing it into the church, binding my name to Bruno’s before God and the whole famiglia.

Now, my heart felt like a dead plain.

Without answering, I pushed the quilt aside and swung my legs over the bed. The sudden movement made my vision sway, but I steadied myself and stood. I didn’t spare the gown another glance as I walked straight for the door.

The hallway was quiet.

Halfway down the corridor, Adriana appeared.

She stopped when she saw me, her eyes flickering with surprise before settling into contempt. The air around her turned sharp, invasive, the way a room turns when someone dangerous decides to be cruel.

“Well, well,” she said, lips curving. “You’re impressive, Lucia. Strung up in the cellar yesterday, and now you’ve somehow made Bruno feel sorry for you again?”

She took a step closer, voice lowering.

“What’s your plan this time? Wear the gown and crawl back into his bed? Ruin my union before it’s even sealed?”

I didn’t slow.

“I don’t care about the dress,” I said calmly. “I’ll give it to you. I’m not fighting you for Bruno.”

She froze.

“You’ll be the one marrying him,” I continued, my tone flat and final. “Not me.”

For the first time, Adriana looked genuinely shaken. Her smile held a beat too long, and her hand drifted up to smooth a strand of hair that wasn’t out of place.

I brushed past her without another word. Each step down the stairs sent a dull ache through my body, but I forced myself onward and pushed open the front doors of the estate.

Cool air rushed over my face.

The wind carried the faint scent of pine and cold stone, clearing my head far better than any medicine off Dottore Alberti’s tray. Bruno’s guilt, his hollow gestures of concern, meant nothing now.

I didn’t need his pity.

I needed time.

Two days.

Two days to leave.

Two days to prepare.

And two days to ensure that everyone who had torn me apart paid in full.

I pulled out my phone with steady fingers and sent a message to the few people I still trusted. In that stillness I touched the thin scar on my wrist once, the only inheritance my family ever gave me.

[In two days, release every recording, every ledger, to all the major outlets.

Immediately choke off all laundering pipelines and hidden accounts feeding the Barsanti and the Ferraro operations.]

I stared at the screen as the message sent.

To the Barsantis. To the Ferraros.

I will make you pay.

I had barely lowered my phone when a hand suddenly clamped over my mouth and nose from behind. A sharp, chemical scent flooded my senses. Instinct surged, my body straining to fight, but the wounds and the sleepless night betrayed me.

The world tilted.

Darkness swallowed everything.

When I woke again, cold iron pressed against my spine.

My wrists were bound. My ankles chained. I was tied to a heavy iron chair in a damp, lightless room. The air reeked of rust and stagnant water.

In the corner, Adriana was there too.

She was tied up, her head bowed as she sobbed softly, shoulders shaking. The sight didn’t bring relief. It made my stomach twist.

Footsteps approached.

A tall man emerged from the shadows, a jagged scar cutting down his cheek. He moved like a man who had done this many times and had never once lost sleep over it, loyal to nothing but the number at the end of a job.

He picked up a phone, dialed, and turned on the speaker.

“Don Ferraro,” he said lazily. “Come quickly if you want to save your woman.”

Ten minutes later, the door burst open.

Bruno rushed in, and for a moment the whole room seemed to tilt toward him the way it does when a made man walks in wearing his rage on the outside. His gaze snapped to Adriana, and then to me. Panic flickered across his face before Salvatore Greco stepped forward, twirling a dagger between his fingers, dragging his thumb slow along the scar on his cheek.

“I hear one of them is your promised bride,” Salvatore said. “Let’s play a game. Choose one.”

Bruno froze.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Somewhere water dripped, and the sound of it was impossibly loud.

“I…” his voice faltered. His jaw worked, and his fingers found the signet ring on his hand, twisting it round and round.

“Stop wasting my time!” Salvatore barked.

He grabbed both of us by the neck, cutting off our air. My chest burned as my breath came in frantic gasps.

“Bruno!” Adriana screamed, her voice shrill with terror. “I’m scared! It hurts! Please—save me!”

Bruno’s fists clenched until his knuckles whitened. His eyes darted between us, his jaw trembling, the ring turning faster.

Finally, he spoke.

“I choose Adriana.”

The words struck deeper than any blade.

Salvatore laughed.

He yanked me forward by my hair and shoved me toward a dark pool beside the room. The icy water swallowed me whole. My lungs screamed, my body convulsing as I fought desperately for air.

Once.

Twice.

I was dragged up only to be forced back under again.

When they finally pulled me out and dumped me onto the cold floor, I coughed violently, gasping like a dying animal.

“Decisive choice, Don Ferraro,” the man mocked.

Before I could recover, rough hands seized us both.

They dragged Adriana and me toward two massive iron cages.

The doors slammed shut.

And the darkness closed in once more.

Lucia’s POV

The damp cellar swallowed the slow scrape of boots against concrete.

Salvatore Greco stopped in front of the cages, running his thumb slowly along the old scar down his cheek, twirling the blade between his fingers as if this were nothing more than a way to pass a dull evening. His presence pressed down on the room, thick with cruelty, the stink of gun oil and mildew hanging in the dark.

“Don Ferraro,” he drawled, tilting his head. “Time to choose again. Who do we pick this round?”

Bruno stiffened.

His eyes flicked toward Adriana on instinct.

She was pale, trembling in the iron cage across from mine, her fingers wrapped around the bars as if they were her last lifeline. When she looked at him, her eyes shone with desperate hope, glossy with unshed tears. She had made herself small, fragile, pitiful, every inch of it laid out for him to see.

“I choose Adriana!” Bruno shouted without hesitation.

His voice rang through the cellar, sharp and resolute.

The answer landed like a blade to my chest.

Salvatore chuckled, plainly entertained. He unlocked one of the cages, but not hers. Rough hands seized me and shoved me deeper into the other cage. The iron door slammed shut with a deafening clang, sealing me inside a narrow, suffocating space.

The darkness closed in instantly.

Cold metal pressed against my back, my knees drawn tightly to my chest as my breathing turned shallow and uneven. Panic surged as the cramped space triggered the familiar terror clawing up my throat.

I curled into the corner, my entire body trembling.

“Bruno…” My voice broke as I whispered his name, barely louder than a breath.

But outside, he didn’t hear me.

All I could hear was Adriana’s sobbing, her soft cries filling the cellar while Bruno murmured reassurances to her. His tone was gentle, soothing, nothing like the cold command he had used on me.

Time stretched.

Only after what felt like an eternity did he finally remember I existed.

“Name your price,” Bruno said impatiently, his voice hardening. “Don’t hurt Lucia again.”

Salvatore burst out laughing.

“One hundred million,” he said cheerfully. “Enough to buy one life. So, Don Ferraro, which one do you want to walk out of here?”

The question lingered for less than a second.

“Buy Adriana back,” Bruno replied sharply. “Don’t touch her.”

He almost barked the words, as if even a moment’s delay might cost her.

I leaned weakly against the cold bars as Adriana’s cage was unlocked. The ropes fell away from her wrists, and she collapsed forward, dramatic to the last. Bruno rushed to catch her, pulling her into his arms as though she were made of glass.

She clung to him, sobbing into his chest.

I was too exhausted even to laugh.

Bruno lifted her carefully, then finally looked toward me. His expression was complicated, a mixture of guilt and obligation, as if he were granting me some kind of mercy.

“Lucia,” he said stiffly. “Your sister is fragile. I’ll take her first. Wait here. I’ll wire the money and come back for you.”

Wait here.

As if this cellar weren’t already a grave.

He didn’t wait for my answer. Without another glance he carried Adriana out, her arms locked around his neck.

The sound of their footsteps faded into the dark.

Salvatore crouched in front of my cage and kicked my leg lightly through the bars, the way a man tests a trapped animal.

“Your man’s real devoted to her,” he sneered. “Guess blood don’t count for much with him.”

My chest burned as I coughed, the metallic taste of blood flooding my mouth. I wiped it away with the back of my hand and forced myself to sit straighter, meeting his gaze without flinching.

“How much,” I asked calmly, “would it cost to save my life?”

The man paused.

“I’ll pay double whatever she offered,” I continued evenly. “Name your price.”

His eyes gleamed. His thumb drifted back to the scar, slower now.

For a moment the pretense dropped. The act was no longer worth keeping.

“Your sister wants you dead,” he admitted bluntly. “But we don’t care about that. We care about money.”

I already knew.

My hands trembled as I pulled out my cracked phone. The screen flickered, but it still worked. I dialed a number from memory and spoke quietly, every word steady despite the chaos raging inside me.

“Move two hundred million. Now.”

Minutes later the freelancers checked their accounts. Satisfied, they unlocked the cage and cut the restraints from my wrists.

I walked out without looking back.

Outside, the night air filled my lungs, sharp and cold, grounding me. I flagged the first cab I saw and gave the airport address without hesitation.

I didn’t stop shaking until I reached the terminal.

Right before boarding, my phone buzzed.

One billion appeared in my account.

A message followed.

[Ferraro took the bait. Two days from now their cash chain freezes. Every laundering artery they run gets cut.]

I stared at the screen for a long moment.

Then, slowly, a faint smile curved my lips. Beneath it, I pressed my thumb once to the thin scar on my wrist, the only inheritance my family ever gave me.

Under the cold glow of the terminal lights, I finally lifted my head.

My revenge had officially begun.