And Marian?

She’s not just my half-sister. She’s the daughter of my father’s mistress—the woman who destroyed my parents’ marriage. The woman my mother caught him with in their bed the night before she jumped off that tower.

They said she was crazy. That she had an affair with our driver. That she couldn’t handle the divorce.

But I remember the bruises she tried to hide with silk scarves. I remember the day she locked herself in her room and cried for hours after finding out about Marian.

Chris told me once, in a moment of guilt, that it wasn’t the fall that killed her—it was the years of betrayal that pushed her to the edge. But even he swallowed Matteo’s version of events in the end. They all did.

"Your mother was unstable," Matteo used to say, voice heavy with mock sorrow. "She couldn't live with the shame. I tried to help her."

No. He didn’t try to help her. He drove her mad and handed her the reason—Marian.

And now that same bastard-child was wearing my wedding dress. Claiming my future. Smiling like she hadn’t been born from a lie soaked in blood.

Chris sliced open the bloodied fabric of my pants with a scalpel, quick and clean, revealing deep bruises and torn skin stretched across my abdomen. His hands hesitated, trembled.

The damage was bad. Ribcage mottled in purple and green. Lacerations crusted over with dried blood. My breathing was shallow, ragged. Chris moved automatically—pressure, gauze, more pressure. Painkillers came next, sharp relief flooding my veins, dulling the edges but not enough to forget.

No one said it, but they were shaken. I could feel it in how Chris lingered over every step, in how Matteo paced like a caged animal behind him. Chris didn’t prep for surgery. Didn’t call anyone. Just kept me stable. Kept stalling.

Later, in the shadows of the ER room, I heard them whispering near the supply cabinet.

Chris lowered his voice. “Dad… she’s barely hanging on. Are we really going through with posting that footage?”

Matteo lit a cigarette, exhaled slowly. “Rupert’s still head over heels for her. The wounds alone won’t push him away. We need to make her look dirty, like a liability to the family’s reputation.”

Chris looked horrified. “You’re gonna frame your own daughter as bait?”

Matteo’s eyes were steel. “We leak it now, right before the wedding. Just enough to make her untouchable to the Kaufmans. And once Marian’s locked in, we’ll scrub it all. Clean her name later.”

I stared at the ceiling, biting back the scream in my throat.

They were burying me alive.

All I had done was go for a jog along the river last night. The Rosetti bastards snatched me up, dragging me behind an abandoned warehouse. Now my own blood was using that to kill my name.

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed weakly beside me. I winced, grabbed it with my unbandaged hand.

It was a message from Mela—my best friend.

“Ivanna. You need to see this. It’s blowing up.”

She sent a link. I tapped it.

A Facebook video opened. My face.

But it wasn’t me.

A girl who looked like me was laughing, leaning into the Rosetti men, whispering something into one of their ears before walking off with them into the dark.

The caption?

"Mafia heiress caught sneaking off with enemy thugs before wedding to Kaufman heir???"

My stomach twisted.

The comment section was a hellscape.

“Wow. That’s Ivanna Rossi? What a trashy move.”

“Rupert’s dodging a bullet. She belongs in the Rossi basement, not at a wedding.”

“If I were Rupert, I’d dump her and break her legs for good measure.”

“This is what happens when you let mafia princesses think they’re invincible.”

Tears stung my eyes. My body was already screaming in pain—but this? This was betrayal on another level.

Chris rushed over, yanked the phone from my hand. “Don’t look at that, Ivanna. I know it’s not you. I know.”

Matteo glanced at the screen. His eyes narrowed.

Then, in a dramatic show, he slammed the phone onto the ground, shattering it.

“This is disgusting!” he snarled. “Who the hell spread this garbage? I’m getting it taken down now!”

He marched out, muttering about lawyers and hacking contacts.

Chris stroked my hair gently. “Don’t worry. Dad’s got this. It’ll all disappear by tomorrow.”

I didn’t say a word. My eyes were wide open now. They were playing both sides—releasing the video, then pretending to save me from it.

After ten minutes, Matteo returned with a triumphant look. “Gone. I’ve got my men scrubbing every trace. No one talks about my daughter like that.”

Chris chimed in, “You’re safe now, Ivanna. We’ve got your back.”

I almost laughed. My body trembled—not from fear, but from rage.

Too late. The video already had hundreds of thousands of views. It had spread into the Kaufman inner circles.

Even if Rupert had doubts, this… this sealed the deal. By tomorrow, Marian would be walking down the aisle. And I'd be rotting in this hospital bed.

Chris grew uneasy. He called in his assistant, who performed a full scan and handed him a sealed envelope afterward.

Chris opened it, skimmed, and his face darkened.

He pulled Matteo aside.

“Her internal bleeding’s worse than we thought,” he said quietly. “Her organs—some of them are ruptured. If we don’t operate tonight, she might not survive. And if she does… she’ll never be able to have kids again.”

I closed my eyes.

That was it. They had destroyed my body, my name, and my future.

But they made one mistake.

They didn’t kill me.

And now? I’d make them regret that.

I stared at the ceiling. My chest tightened, not from pain—but from the ice building inside me.

That was my family. That was love.

With trembling fingers, I grabbed my phone and dialed the only number that had ever mattered. Lothario. My ex lover.

When the line picked up, I whispered, “C-can you come? I need your help... I need you.”

There was silence on the other end, then a short reply:

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

I hung up just as Matteo and Chris came back into the room and Chris handed me pills. But I know... They weren’t painkillers.

They were sedatives.

Even with my organs failing, all they cared about was that damn wedding.

****

When I woke… The sun had already set. The day was over. So was the wedding.

Marian had married Rupert. The man who once swore he'd protect me until death.

Chris burst into the room, face flushed with urgency.

“Ivanna! We can start the surgery in ten minutes. Please, just hang on. We’ll fix everything, I promise.”

Matteo followed close behind, clearly in a good mood. I guess having Marian wear my ring had put him at peace.

I pushed myself up on the bed slowly, ignoring the pull in my abdomen, and looked them both dead in the eye.

“I’m not having the surgery.”

They froze.

Matteo’s voice shot up an octave. “What the hell do you mean you’re not having it?! You want to walk around broken? You want to be a sterile fucking cripple?”

Before I could respond, the door creaked open.

Matteo’s secretary rushed in, bending to whisper in his ear.

“Mr. Rossi… she’s here.”

Matteo’s expression lit up like Christmas had come early. “Marian’s here?” he asked, barely hiding his glee.

He turned to me, softening his voice like that made any of this forgivable.

“Just… think about it, okay? She just wants to see you.”

The door opened slowly, and there she was—Marian. Wearing my wedding dress.

That sickeningly smug smile curled on her lips the second she saw me lying in the hospital bed, bruised, bandaged, and broken.

But what really made my stomach churn? My father—Don Rossi—and Chris, my brother, standing behind her… without a shred of resentment in their eyes. Not even a flicker of guilt.

Marian let out a breathy gasp like she was heartbroken. "Oh, Ivanna… what happened to you? Are the rumors true? You and those two lowlifes… was it mutual? If it was, why would they hurt you like that?"

"Marian," Chris snapped, frowning.

She threw up her hands, feigning innocence. "I'm sorry! That came out wrong. I shouldn’t have said that. I completely forgot—Ivanna, I didn’t mean to upset you."

Her voice was sweet enough to rot teeth, but her eyes were sharp. She wasn’t sorry. She was savoring every second.

I gritted my teeth, forced myself to sit upright despite the searing pain, and asked, "How dare you wear my wedding dress!"

Marian’s eyes instantly welled with tears. She looked down, trembling like a wounded dove.

My father stepped forward with a thunderous expression. “What do you think, Ivanna? You dishonored our name, fooled around with scum from the streets. The Fiore famiglia would’ve called off the alliance if Marian didn’t step in!”

Chris folded his arms across his chest, voice cold. “You think just because you're hurt, you can throw accusations around? Marian cleaned up the mess you made. Show some damn gratitude.”

Their words hit harder than bullets. They said it like they weren’t the ones who staged the entire thing. Like they didn’t pay those men to ruin me.

I tried to laugh, but even the corners of my mouth cracking open made fresh pain ripple through me.

Marian took a step closer. Her lips barely moved, but her voice slithered like a viper, just low enough for me to hear.

“You were once the Rossi princess. Untouchable. But now? Just a broken little girl no one wants. Hideous. Infertile. Powerless.”

She smirked, then added, “Rupert’s mine now. I wore your dress, walked your aisle, signed your future. He kissed me in front of the Five Families. He’ll never even look at you again.”

My hands clenched under the blanket.

Marian leaned in closer. “And guess who made it all happen? I asked our father to hire those dogs. And Chris, your brother, he made sure you didn’t get to the OR in time.”

I looked at her, eyes burning. “You—”

Suddenly, Marian gasped and threw herself backward, like I’d shoved her. She hit the floor with a practiced thud, her eyes wide and innocent.

“Ivanna!” she cried out dramatically. “I know you hate me. I know I took your spot. If it’ll make you happy, I’ll give him back! I’ll walk away, I’ll die if I have to! Just… stop hating me!”

Before I could react, Don Rossi’s face twisted in rage. He stormed over and slapped me across the face—right over the bandages.

"How dare you!" he roared. "You're nothing but a disabled now. Marian stepped up when you shamed our name, and this is how you repay her?"

The sting of his hand echoed louder than his voice. But worse than the pain was the way Chris kicked my bed. Hard.

The wheels rolled, and I crashed to the floor with a sickening thump.

But he didn’t even look at me. No. He knelt down beside Marian, brushing the hair from her face.

"Are you okay? She didn’t hurt you, did she?"

Marian sniffled and shook her head, like some noble victim. Chris glared at me over his shoulder.

“If you so much as breathe wrong around her again, Ivanna, I’ll cut you out of my life. Blood or not.”

I wanted to scream, to claw, to burn the entire damn world down. But all I felt was cold.

Numb.

They walked away, arms around Marian like she was the wounded one. My father, the Don, called for a doctor to check Marian’s nonexistent injuries and ordered someone to bring her imported gelato from Milan—her favorite. I smiled bitterly.

I don’t remember when they took me into surgery even when I clearly told Chris I'm not having surgery. It was like my body gave up but my mind refused to shut down. I was floating—adrift in a cold place, somewhere between life and something worse.

The drugs dulled everything. But in the middle of it, just before I blacked out, I remember one face leaning over me. A stranger. Kind eyes. Not Chris. Not anyone from the hospital staff I knew. He whispered softly as the anesthesia crept up my spine.

“Hang in there, Ivanna. Lothario sent me. He's coming now. My name’s Sam. We’re not letting them win.”

And then I was gone. When I opened my eyes again, I was still alive.

Barely.

My chest felt like it had been caved in, every breath jagged and raw. My body screamed with pain, but I was breathing. My fingers twitched. My ribs hurt like hell, but they moved when I told them to.

That meant one thing.

The surgery worked.

Hope.

I blinked slowly, trying to focus on the blurry figure beside me. It was him—the doctor. Sam. Younger than I expected. Tired eyes. No coat. Just a hoodie, gloves, and stress lines that looked like they’d been carved into his face.

“You’re awake,” he said, voice low. “But not for long. You need to fake it. They can’t know yet. Just lay still. I’ll take care of the rest.”

I tried to speak, but my throat was sandpaper. He handed me a straw and held it steady while I drank a few sips of water.

“I don’t have much time,” he said. “Your vitals are stable, but you need to play dead. Lothario’s handling the rest. They’re planning something big—Marian and Rupert. It’s not just about the wedding. It’s a full takeover. You were in the way.”

I nodded slowly. I didn’t even have to ask why he was helping me. If he was Lothario’s friend, that was enough. And if he’d seen even half the things they’d done to me, maybe that was the rest.

---

I stopped responding to the nurses the next morning…No blinking. No eye movement. No reflexes and Sam played his part perfectly.

“She’s slipping,” he said, looking grim for the benefit of the cameras in the hallway. “Might not last the night.”

I let them poke and prod and whisper around me like I wasn’t even there. My own family barely came to check. Matteo popped in once to mutter something about lawyers and PR statements. Chris came to make sure my face wasn’t recognizable anymore. Marian never bothered. She didn’t need to. She’d already won.

But I listened.

God, I listened.

At night, when they thought I was unconscious, they spoke freely.

I heard Matteo telling Chris that Rupert was already negotiating with the De Lucas now that he had Marian on his arm. That they’d be expanding into the docks, pushing out the Montellis.

I heard Marian’s voice—sharp, confident, like she belonged in the room now. “We need to secure the Chicago pipeline. Ivanna was too soft. Too careful. I’m not.”

Even Chris sounded proud. “You were the better choice all along.”

I wanted to scream. But I stayed still. Silent. Empty.

---

On the third night, Sam came back.

He pulled the curtain shut and turned off the monitor. “It’s time.”

He slipped something cold and metallic onto my chest—an electrode patch hacked to mimic a flatline.

The monitor let out one long, piercing beep.

Sam whispered, “You’ll only have a few minutes. Don’t move until I say.”

The nurse rushed in seconds later. Her face went white. Sam was already calling the code.

“She’s gone,” he said loudly. “No pulse. We lost her.”

There were footsteps. Shouts. People I didn’t know trying to resuscitate me while Sam stood over me, shouting medical jargon and barking orders.

I could feel my body being jostled, but I stayed limp.

Dead.

---

Matteo showed up not long after.

I couldn’t see him, but I recognized his voice.

“What happened? What the hell happened?”

“I warned you,” Sam said coldly. “She needed the surgery earlier. You waited too long. She didn’t make it through recovery.”

Silence.

Then Matteo let out this dry, wheezing sob.

Fake as hell.

“She… she’s dead? My daughter…”

God, I wanted to laugh. Or maybe cry. My body didn’t know the difference anymore.

“She’s gone,” Sam repeated. “Her injuries were too severe. And given the state of the body… I suggest a closed casket.”

Matteo didn’t even question it. Of course he didn’t.

It fit his narrative too perfectly.

---

They gave me two hours.

Sam slipped me out through the back hallway in a wheelchair, draped in a hospital sheet. Lothario was waiting in the alley in a black van, face half-covered, eyes burning with something fierce and desperate.

He helped me into the back and didn’t say a word until we were miles out of the city.

Then, finally, he spoke. “You scared the hell out of me.”

I looked at him, voice barely above a whisper. “You saved me.”

His jaw clenched. “No. I just did what they should’ve done. What they never did.”

I leaned my head back against the seat, tears slipping down my cheeks. “They buried me. And the worst part? They were happy to do it.”

Lothario didn’t respond right away. He just stared ahead, knuckles white on the wheel.

“We’re going to a place no one knows about,” he said quietly. “Old underground clinic. Off the grid. No records. You’ll be safe there. Heal. Plan. Do whatever the hell you need to do.”

I nodded slowly. “What... what about the body in the casket?”

His mouth twisted. “Some Jane Doe from the morgue. Unclaimed. Burn marks, facial trauma. No one will check. No one will question.”

I closed my eyes. It was done.

Ivanna Rossi was dead. And whoever I was now?

She was just getting started.