Julia was Marco's childhood friend. After discovering my fatal childhood allergy to a rare shellfish extract, she slipped it into my seafood risotto.

The moment I swallowed, a burning tightness seized my throat. My breathing grew ragged as the allergic reaction tore through me, every nerve screaming.

In a panic, I reached for the life-saving epinephrine in my handbag—a special auto-injector my father had prepared for me years ago, just in case.

But the medication inside had been replaced with a useless saline solution.

The color drained from my face, and all strength fled my body. I collapsed, clutching desperately at my fiancé Marco’s leg.

"Please—I'm having a reaction. That shellfish extract… you have to help me—"

Marco hesitated.

But Julia just crossed her arms and purred. "Marco, your fiancée is such a drama queen. It's just risotto. I've been around this family for years; no one reacts to a meal like that."

The other family members chimed in. "Stop making a scene! It's just a bite of food." "She's just jealous of Julia, trying to ruin Marco's big night."

Marco's expression hardened. "Julia grew up with me. If there were something wrong with the food, she would know. You'll be fine."

I stopped begging. With the last of my strength, I shakily pressed the emergency call button on my phone—a direct line to my father, the Don of Chicago, Alessandro Volkov.

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1

"What the hell is she doing?"

"Her fingers are moving—look at her phone! She's calling for backup!"

The moment I connected with my father, Julia's best friend shrieked.

They seized me, pinning me to the floor to stop me from calling for help.

Marco, my fiancé and a Soldato in the Gallo family, strode over, his face a mask of cold disappointment.

But I couldn't care about any of that. My vision tunneled, the edges blurring to black. I clutched my chest and fell to my knees before him.

"I didn't do anything! Marco, it’s the shellfish toxin… from when I was a child. It’s happening again. Please, take me to the hospital!"

Marco finally noticed my agony. He reached out to help me up, but Julia pulled him away.

"Marco, your fiancée is so thoughtless. The entire family is here to celebrate you becoming a Made Man, and she's trying to ruin it all out of jealousy."

Julia pouted, her voice trembling with feigned hurt. "I know Anya has never liked me. I only invited her to try and mend our relationship. I never thought she'd be so ungrateful. I should have just invited you alone."

Her words turned the crowd against me. Taunts and accusations flew from all directions.

"Anya, you're really something else. Next time, save the drama for the stage at your design school."

"You're only targeting Julia because she's kind—accusing her of poisoning you!"

Breathing was becoming more and more difficult.

I could hear my own ragged gasps. It felt like something was squeezing my chest, wringing out the last bit of air.

I knew this family had never accepted me. To them, I was an outsider—unworthy of being the fiancée of their most promising Soldato.

Julia was the one they wanted him to marry.

Their resentment peaked when Marco insisted I was the only woman he wanted.

Julia took every opportunity to come between us.

I had warned him about her so many times, but he never took me seriously.

"Julia is like a sister to me. You're overthinking this."

When Marco and I were on a date, Julia would show up uninvited, inserting herself into our lives and openly criticizing my lifestyle.

Whenever I showed the slightest bit of displeasure, Julia would mock me for being petty and jealous. And because of it, Marco grew increasingly impatient with me.

A wave of pain pulled me back to the present.

Julia stared at my agonized face, one eyebrow arched in triumph.

"I get it now, Anya. You're used to being the center of attention at your design school. Today the spotlight is on Marco, and you can't stand it—so you're faking an allergic reaction to get sympathy."

The family members at the dinner sneered. They laughed at my suffering. Someone even took out their phone to record me.

Marco's cold expression hardened.

"Anya, I know you don't like Julia. I've kept my distance, haven't I? For you. It's one dinner. Can't you just put up with it for a few hours? For me?"

The pain in my chest became unbearable.

I couldn't even answer him. I bit my lip, using the sharp sting and the taste of blood to stay conscious.

I started crawling toward the restaurant's exit.

Maybe someone outside would help me.

Julia's cold laughter echoed behind me.

"What's wrong? Your little trick was exposed, and now that Marco isn't protecting you, you're trying to run?"

The room erupted in laughter.

Marco's expression grew even darker.

Just as I reached the doorway, Julia grabbed my hair and yanked me back.

Already weak, I slammed into a serving cart. It tipped over, drenching me in hot, sticky risotto.

Julia pinched her nose in disgust, savoring the moment.

"Always the victim, aren't you, Anya?" she sneered. "Look at you—so pathetic. You're a disgrace to our family's Soldato!"

Marco glared at me. "Anya, that's enough! Stop the act and get up!"

Then he froze.

My face was as white as a sheet. My clothes were soaked with risotto and sweat. The scalding liquid was blistering my skin.

And I was too weak to make a sound.

"How is she so weak? Hot food doesn't do that… unless… she’s really having a reaction?"

Marco stared at me, frozen in shock.

"Anya, what's wrong with you?"

"Move—everyone, move!"

Marco pushed through the crowd, his eyes wide with panic as he lunged toward me.

But Julia blocked his path with a smile.

She shot me a contemptuous glance. "Anya, your next design project must be about an allergy victim, right? No wonder you're so convincing. You almost had us all fooled."

She held up her phone—it showed several of my more dramatic fashion illustrations from design school.

Marco glanced at it. His concern soured into anger.

Julia smirked down at me, triumphant. "But your act has a flaw, Anya. There's nothing in my risotto. If there were, why are you the only one on the floor?"

The others immediately agreed.

"Exactly! I ate the risotto too—if it was poisoned, how come I'm fine?"

"She's just trying to frame Julia!"

The dose was trace, I realized. Just enough to trigger my specific, long-dormant allergy, but not enough to affect anyone else.

But the burning and suffocation left me no strength to explain.

Marco looked down at me, his voice as cold as ice. "Anya, this is my celebration dinner, not your stage. Get up. Now. Or else…"

The pain was so intense I didn't even hear the rest of his threat. My face was a mask of pain.

The family members stared down at me, curled up on the floor, their disgust plain on their faces.

"She still won't give up. Marco, teach her a lesson. You just got made—how can you let her ruin the dinner, slander Julia, and humiliate herself like this?"

Marco said nothing. His eyes were like chips of ice.

Julia's friends grabbed my hair, forcing my head up.

"Listen up. Marco is the star tonight. Whether you like it or not, you're going to apologize, eat another bite of the risotto, and prove Julia's innocence."

Marco speared a piece of seafood with a fork and held it in front of me.

"Get up. Eat this. And I'll forget what you did today."

Tears streamed down my face—not from sorrow, but from sheer physical pain.

I looked at that cold, unforgiving face and forced out a single word: "No."

Julia ate the piece of seafood herself, then turned to me with a practiced look of sympathy. "See, I ate it. I'm fine. You're so petty, Anya. Poor Marco—always going out of his way to defend you."

"But since you love acting so much, let me help you with another scene."

Julia grabbed a fork.

Her friends took the cue. They pried open my jaw and pinched my nose shut.

"No—"

I struggled, but I could only watch helplessly as they forced the deadly piece of seafood down my throat.

My body could barely handle the allergic reaction. The toxin tore through me again, every nerve screaming.

I clutched my chest, my hand trembling as I reached for Marco. "Help me—please—I can't take any more—"

Marco slapped my hand away.

"Stop pretending, Anya. It's just seafood. It can't hurt you. I’ve known you for years, and you’ve never mentioned a fatal allergy. You’d need a miracle to survive something like that, and miracles don't happen."

Despair washed over me. A miracle had saved me once, when my father pulled every string to find a cure for my childhood affliction. But I had thrown that protection away. Three years ago, I’d fled my family, unwilling to take over the business, desperate to be a designer.

One day, a rival family had me cornered—and Marco appeared out of nowhere to save me.

We fell in love instantly.

To be with him, I hid my past and my identity, pretending to be an ordinary design student.

Later, I learned that Marco's mentor had been killed by poison from a rival family.

So I kept my past a secret, not wanting to cause him pain.

I never imagined that keeping this secret would one day nearly cost me my life.

Marco turned away, unwilling to look at me anymore.

Julia's smile deepened.

She leaned close to my face, her voice a venomous whisper. "Marco is young, powerful—the most promising Soldato in the family. It took me eleven years to get this close to him. What makes a stray like you think you deserve to be his fiancée?"

She pushed me to the ground.

"A girl who came from nowhere?" A bitter, cold smile touched my lips.

My father would be heartbroken if he knew what I had suffered since leaving home.

And I was afraid I would never see him again.

Then, through the fog in my mind, a single name echoed: Papa. I clung to the image of him, my powerful father, tearing the world apart to find me.

If I could just crawl to the door, my father and his men might be able to find me.

The instinct to survive overrode everything else.

Gritting my teeth, I used the last of my strength to crawl toward the door.

Just as I saw the light from the doorway, a foot stomped down hard on my hand.

The sharp pain nearly made me pass out.

"Well, look at that. You crawl pretty fast for someone who's supposed to be dying!"

Julia ground her heel into my hand and shouted to the crowd. "Anya can't help but pull these pathetic little tricks! So much for her acting skills!"

She raised her voice, making sure everyone could hear.

Marco glanced at me, then looked away with even more impatience.

Julia crouched down, her voice a mocking whisper. "Your body must be in so much pain. Dying, hmm? Don't worry—it gets worse."

Under the cover of the dining table, she grabbed a sharp steak knife—and dragged it across my outstretched arm.

The sharp blade tore through my skin.

The cut gaped open, blood streaming across the floor tiles to pool at their feet.

I was numb. I couldn't even scream.

Then a family member shrieked, "Blood! She's bleeding—there's blood everywhere!"

Everyone turned.

Marco's gaze snapped to me. The color drained from his face as he saw the waxy pallor of my skin.

"Anya! Are you hurt?"

He started toward me without hesitation.

A flicker of panic crossed Julia’s face before she quickly stepped between us.

"It's just the sauce from the steak, Marco!"

"Anya, I know you're upset. But lying here on this cold, dirty floor isn't good for you. Come on—let's go somewhere warm and dry and have a nice talk."

"You have to stop this self-pitying act. Stop using Marco's feelings to manipulate him—I feel so sorry for him!"