The color drained from Bianca's face.

In the blink of an eye, she rushed forward, grabbing my hand and pleading in that innocent tone of hers.

"Sister, I know you're worried about me."

"But... I've been feeling much better lately. My allergies are gone."

"Please don't be angry, sister. I can have something else!"

Her act was so transparent it was almost laughable.

The first time I made mango scones, I didn't know she was allergic.

Back then, I adored my sweet, lovely little sister.

All she had to do was mention wanting some, and I stayed up for three days and nights just to perfect the flavor for her.

The result? Bianca collapsed from an allergic reaction.

When she woke up, the first thing she did was fling herself into our parents' arms, crying.

"Father, Mother, the scones were a gesture from my sister. She said one little bite would be fine."

"Please don't blame her. It's my own fault for being greedy!"

I stood helplessly by her hospital bed, facing my parents' icy glares.

"I didn't know she was allergic to mangoes. She never told me..."

But instead of trust, I was met with my father's slap.

I can still feel the sting on my cheek. He'd hit me with enough force to send me stumbling to the floor.

"Everyone in this family knows. How could you not know?"

"So that's it. You were just trying to hurt your sister!"

He locked me in the underground wine cellar for three full days.

It was cold and damp, with no food or water.

My fever spiked to 102 degrees. I nearly died in that godforsaken place.

When they finally let me out, I was so weak I could barely stand.

All the while, Bianca was upstairs, basking in the care and attention of the entire family.

A cold laugh escaped my lips. "You fainted three weeks ago just from the smell of a mango, and now you're suddenly cured?"

"Eleanor, let the past be the past."

My mother waved a dismissive hand. "Bianca wants your scones. Just make them. What's so difficult about that?"

The nightmare of that time played over and over in my mind, and the memory still made me tremble.

I refused coldly. "I'm not making them. If you want scones, buy them yourself."

A flash of malice crossed Bianca's eyes before her wounded expression returned.

"Sister, I know you don't like me."

She walked toward me, feigning a plea. "But tonight is so important to me. Please..."

As she got closer, she suddenly threw herself backward.

"CRASH!"

She stumbled back into the wine cabinet, sending a priceless bottle of 1947 vintage red wine crashing to the floor.

The bottle shattered, spattering crimson liquid everywhere.

It was a memento from Draven's maternal grandfather, worth a hundred thousand dollars.

"Oh my god!" my mother shrieked.

My father and Draven's faces turned ashen.

But in the next second, Bianca reached for the largest shard of glass, letting the sharp edge slice deeply into her palm.

Blood instantly gushed from the wound.

I thought I had seen all her tricks, but I never imagined she would go so far as to harm herself just to frame me.

Bianca looked at me, crying. "Sister, why did you push me?"

My mother moved like lightning, pulling Bianca into her arms and anxiously checking the wound.

Bianca leaned against my mother, whimpering softly. "Mom, it hurts..."

Draven's face was a mask of fury. He turned on me. "Eleanor! You're insane! Do you know what you've done?"

"I didn't push her." I replied quietly, my voice hollow with a grief so deep it had turned to numbness. "She did it herself."

"Enough!"

My father grabbed another wine glass from the table and hurled it at my feet.

The glass exploded, and a shard slashed my calf.

"Eleanor, you have no respect for this family's rules!"

"You were a vicious child who pushed Bianca down the stairs, and you're pulling the same stunts now?"

"When will you ever stop?"

The force of the throw seemed to drain him.

I could feel a deep, bloody gash on my calf.

My mother saw the blood on my leg, and a flicker of pity crossed her eyes.

But a moment later, when Bianca's crying grew louder, she looked away and went back to comforting her.

I wiped the blood from my leg.

It didn't matter. I only had a few days left to live anyway.

A little more blood loss meant nothing.

I turned and went upstairs, grabbing the small bag I had already packed.

It was barely luggage, just a small backpack.

There was very little here worth taking.

When they saw me coming downstairs with my bag, their taunts began anew.

"What's this, you've learned to run away from home now?"

"The family's rules are meant to protect you, Eleanor. Why can't you ever understand that we have your best interests at heart?"

"And you can forget about ever being my fiancée!" Draven's voice cut in.

I had been disappointed so many times that I was numb.

After hearing that threat for the thousandth time, I was no longer afraid of losing this so-called family.

Because this family had never truly accepted me.

As I walked out the door without a second glance, my father smashed a vase on the table. The sound of shattering porcelain followed me.

I stopped, forced back my tears, and turned to face them all.

"Since you regret letting me live in this world, then today, I am cutting all ties with the Rocci family for good."

"Whoever goes back on their word is a traitor to the Families."

I had just stepped out of the villa's main gate when Draven caught up to me.

He pulled a roll of cash from his suit pocket, his tone softening slightly. "Go find a place and cool off for a few days. Once everyone has calmed down, come back and apologize. This will all blow over."

A roll of cash.

For Bianca, it was pocket money for a single shopping trip.

They had long grown accustomed to the idea that this was all I was worth.

"I said it. Whoever goes back on their word is a traitor." I said nothing more and limped away into the night.

"Eleanor, don't be so goddamn ungrateful!"

Draven stormed back into the living room, fuming. Bianca snatched the cash from his hand and cooed at him with a smile.

"Darling, don't give her any money. Once she's hungry enough, she'll come crawling back to you, won't she?"

Draven looked at Bianca's delicate face and thought she had a point.

After all, in every fight they'd ever had, I was always the one to give in first, to beg for his forgiveness.

This time, he thought, would be no different.

As I walked, a random, searing pain shot through my body again.

Dragging my exhausted body, I walked for what felt like an eternity before I finally crossed the boundary of the Frost family's territory.

With the little cash I had left, I booked a room in a dilapidated motel on the outskirts of the city.

In the dead of night, I curled up on the small, grimy bed.

Two days left.

As my life slipped away, bit by bit, I waited for death to come.

Perhaps it was the clarity that comes before the end, but sleep eluded me that night. My mind drifted back.

I remembered a time before Bianca, when I was the apple of my parents' eye.

But they were busy dealing with a family crisis then, stretched too thin to care for me.

They sent me to live with relatives in Sicily when I was very young.

My mother kissed my cheek, her voice thick with emotion.

"My darling, as soon as Mama settles the Family's blood debts, I promise I'll come back for you."

Draven and I had known each other since childhood.

When we were separated at the age of seven, he cried and said he was going to marry me.

I waited for four years.

When my parents finally returned, they had another girl with them.

She was the child of a fallen ally, whose parents had been killed in a family feud.

My parents had adopted her.

At first, my younger self was overjoyed to have a sister to play games with.

I had truly treated her like my own flesh and blood.

But then came the important Family gathering. I was serving tea to a distinguished guest, just as my mother had instructed.

Suddenly, Bianca "accidentally" bumped my arm.

Scalding tea spilled all over her, and she screamed in pain.

She ran crying into our parents' arms, her body trembling.

"Father, Mother, please don't blame my sister! I know she didn't mean to humiliate me in front of our guests! Please don't be mad at her, it's all my fault for being so clumsy!"

Her words sealed my fate.

All the guests looked at me with contempt.

I demanded to know why she had framed me.

A flicker of a malicious smile touched her lips before she burst into sobs.

"Sister, why did you push me? I just wanted to help with the tea!"

From that day on, in their eyes, I was a traitor to the famiglia.

Another time, on Christmas Eve, I was helping prepare gifts according to family tradition.

Bianca secretly added allergenic nut powder to the pastries I was in charge of.

The son of another Don had a severe allergic reaction, nearly causing a diplomatic disaster.

As punishment, my parents confined me for three days, convinced I was trying to sabotage a family alliance.

Draven and I were childhood sweethearts, our engagement long settled.

From a young age, I had been learning how to best support a mafia heir.

On one occasion, I was entrusted with organizing and safeguarding a secret ledger detailing the family's most important transactions.

Bianca offered to help me organize my study.

She secretly photographed the ledger and leaked its contents to a rival family.

As a result, several of our underground casinos were raided by the police, and we suffered heavy losses.

I had no way to defend myself and became the traitor who had betrayed the Don's trust. The wine cellar always followed.

Over the years, I was no stranger to starvation and punishment. My already frail body grew weaker and weaker.

Then came the diagnosis from my doctor about my kidney dysfunction.

He prescribed me special medication for kidney health.

I took it diligently, every day for half a year.

But my condition didn't improve. In fact, it worsened.

What had been mild kidney dysfunction deteriorated into end-stage renal disease.

Even my own doctor couldn't explain the abnormal progression of the illness.

"Logically, with this medication, your kidney function should have stabilized, or even improved," he told me, bewildered.

It was only much later that I found out the truth.

The "lifesaving medicine" I had been taking so religiously had been replaced with a slow-acting poison designed to destroy my kidneys.

The pills that were supposed to heal me became the catalyst that accelerated my death.

And I had unknowingly ingested them for six months.

When I finally mustered the courage to tell my parents, I was cut off before I could even begin.

"Eleanor, every day it's one problem or another with you. How can someone so weak ever be fit to be an heir's wife?"

Fine. It didn't matter. No one would believe me anyway.

The sharp pain in my kidneys made me curl up on the bed.

To be honest, I could no longer tell if the pain was physical or emotional.

I suddenly longed for the spaghetti my grandfather used to make, a taste no expensive delicacy could ever replace.

But my body was exhausted, and I didn't have enough money for the fare.

Even a trip to his grave had become an impossible wish.

I ordered the cheapest spaghetti from a delivery service.

While I waited, I received a message from Draven.

[Eleanor, if you're hungry, just come back.]

[Give Bianca a proper apology.]

[We were all just angry. If you come back and admit you were wrong, you'll still be my fiancée, the eldest daughter of the Rocci family.]

Perhaps my silence since leaving had unsettled him, because for the first time ever, he was the one reaching out to me.

I wondered, could our decade-long history earn me even a shred of his genuine concern?

I didn't reply to his message.

The doorbell rang. I thought it was my food.

But when I opened the door, Bianca was standing there.

"What a dump," she said, wrinkling her nose as she surveyed the room.

"What are you doing here?" I asked weakly.

"Here to visit my poor, dear sister, of course."

She walked over to the takeout bag by the door and "accidentally" kicked it over.

The sauce spilled across the floor.

"Oops, my apologies," she said with a smirk.

"By the way, I have some good news for you."

She sat down in a chair, crossing her legs.

"I've already canceled your dialysis appointment for you."

"And that priest who was going to help you break off the engagement? He's been defrocked for violating church rules."

"There is no one left to help you."

Hearing this, I finally lost my composure.

"Why would you do all this?"

"Because I hate you. If you have to blame someone, blame yourself for being a jinx. You dragged the priest down with you."

"So you have kidney failure. Big deal. You can scream it to the whole world, but do Mom, Dad, and Draven believe you?"

"If you're going to die, do it somewhere far away. Why do you have to be such an eyesore here!"

Seeing her fly into a rage, I felt nothing.

Instead, I found a calm I didn't know I possessed.

"Sister, I have never done a single thing to harm you. Why are you doing this to me?"

Bianca let out a deeply sarcastic laugh.

It was a long time before she stopped.

"What can I say? An adopted child is never as good as a blood relative."

"No matter how hard they tried to hide it, I could always see their preference for you."

"So I had to find ways to secure my position in this Family."

"What else did you do?" I wanted to hear the answers from her own lips.

"A little 'special' medicine, and I could fake an allergy," Bianca said airily.

"I burned myself. I added the nut powder to the pastries. I stole the secret ledger."

"And your kidney medication? I replaced it all with a poison that attacks the kidneys."

"It took a lot of work to frame you, you know."

"What, are you angry?"

"In the state you're in, about to die, what can you possibly do to me?"

The pain in my body mingled with a cold fury, and I began to tremble.

I tried to get up, but she pushed me back down to the floor.

"Don't get too excited, sister."

"You know, Mom and Dad don't love you anymore."

"They love me. It's always been me."

"And Draven, too. He'll marry me eventually. Once he inherits the Frost family, I'll be the most honored Donna."

"Watching you get weaker day by day has been so much fun."

She kicked me in the ribs before turning to leave, a satisfied smirk on her face.

"Enjoy what little time you have left, dear sister."

The door slammed shut.

I lay on the floor, blood trickling from the corner of my mouth.

In the corner of the room, my old phone was recording.

I dragged my broken body over and stopped the recording.

Then, I opened my email and attached the file.

The recipients were my father, Marco; my mother, Jane; my fiancé, Draven; and his father, the patriarch, Don Frost.

The clock struck midnight. One day left.

I hit "Schedule Send."

With what little strength I had left, I forced myself onward, relying on fragmented memories to find the shop of my grandfather's old friend, the tailor Antonio.

It was tucked away on one of the oldest streets in Little Italy.

Antonio's shop was small, with a few handmade suits hanging in the window.

I pushed the door open, and a bell chimed softly.

It had been a long time. Seeing the state I was in, more a ghost than a person, it took him a moment to recognize me.

I licked my chapped lips and got straight to the point.

"Antonio, I have end-stage renal disease."

"I don't think I'll make it through tomorrow."

"I have one last thing to ask of you," I said, summoning my final reserves of strength. "Can I spend my last moments here?"

"I don't want to die in that cold motel room."

"I've already contacted the crematorium. When I'm gone, just call them for the simplest cremation."

The old man's eyes reddened, his voice trembling. "My dear, foolish child, don't say such things."

"Your grandfather saved my life. That's a debt I can never forget."

He carefully helped me to a small room behind the shop.

"It's not much, but it's warm."

Antonio laid a clean sheet on the bed and lit the fireplace.

The orange flames danced, chasing the chill from the room.

He even went out to buy fresh ingredients and made me a warm vegetable soup.

"This is the old Sicilian recipe. Your grandfather's favorite."

A large bowl of hot soup settled in my stomach, and even the pain in my body seemed to lessen.

The aroma reminded me of my grandfather's embrace when I was a child.

"Slowly, child, drink slowly."

He pulled a white dress from a wardrobe. "This was my granddaughter's favorite."

"But she never got to wear it much."

"You are both so beautiful, so kind."

Antonio sat by my bed, his eyes glistening as he looked at me.

"Eleanor, let me take you to the hospital. I still have some old connections…"

I shook my head weakly, already changing into the dress. "Tell me about her."

"She was a girl who loved to smile."

"She would leave food for the stray cats on the corner and read the newspaper to the old grandmother next door."

"I remember on her tenth birthday, I made her a dress for the first time. It was red."

"She twirled in front of the mirror, saying she was the happiest princess in the world."

I closed my eyes, picturing the girl I had never met.

"Did she have a lot of friends?"

"Of course," Antonio smiled. "Everyone who knew her loved her."

"So many people came to her birthday parties every year, you could hear the laughter all the way down the block."

Listening to him, I felt a warmth I had never experienced, as if I were living those moments myself.

So this is what it felt like to be truly loved.

My consciousness began to fade, but I felt no fear.

Instead, a sense of peace I had never known washed over me.

"Grandpa Antonio," I whispered. "Thank you for showing me that this kind of happiness exists in the world."

The old man held my hand, his voice choked with emotion. "Eleanor, I should be thanking you. You've let me feel the happiness my granddaughter brought me one more time."

"Remember, child, you are loved too."

But I could no longer make a sound.

My breaths grew shallower.

The last time I opened my eyes, I saw Antonio tucking the blankets around me.

Just like my grandfather used to.

In the final moments of my life, what I felt was a long-lost, simple happiness.

I closed my eyes peacefully.

The next morning, the chime of an email notification echoed through Marco Rocci's study.