Once I became pregnant, I was hailed as the most precious woman in the underworld.

My husband, the new Don of the Jenkins family, shut down an entire private hospital wing for my check-ups, while my father, the Collins Don, summoned every Michelin-starred chef in New York to the estate, just so I could pick whatever I craved.

The baby I carried was destined to be the sole heir of the two most powerful mafia families.

But on the day we were to sign the papers securing my child's inheritance, they both vanished.

"An urgent family matter came up," my husband, Vincent, said, kissing my forehead.

"We can finalize the child's inheritance when we get back. There's no rush."

Shortly after they left, I received a link to an anonymous live stream.

My father's voice came from the video, colder than I had ever heard it.

"You're saying your marriage contract with Evangeline was never valid. Doesn't that make the child a bastard?"

Vincent, lounging in a club, blew a smoke ring. Cradled in his arms was my half sister, Sarah.

"Evangeline has always had all the love and affection. Her child will want for nothing."

"Sarah has been mocked for her status for years. I have to make things right for her, give our child a legitimate name."

In that moment, my heart seized, and I could barely breathe.

Then my phone vibrated again. It was a text message:

"Welcome home to the Gallo family, my queen."

"Just give the word, and the child you carry will bear the Gallo name and become the most powerful heir in the American underworld."

Once I became pregnant, I was hailed as the most precious woman in the underworld.

My husband, the new Don of the Jenkins family, shut down an entire private hospital wing for my check-ups, while my father, the Collins Don, summoned every Michelin-starred chef in New York to the estate, just so I could pick whatever I craved.

The baby I carried was destined to be the sole heir of the two most powerful mafia families.

But on the day we were to sign the papers securing my child's inheritance, they both vanished.

"An urgent family matter came up," my husband, Vincent, said, kissing my forehead.

"We can finalize the child's inheritance when we get back. There's no rush."

Shortly after they left, I received a link to an anonymous live stream.

My father's voice came from the video, colder than I had ever heard it.

"You're saying your marriage contract with Evangeline was never valid. Doesn't that make the child a bastard?"

Vincent, lounging in a club, blew a smoke ring. Cradled in his arms was my half sister, Sarah.

"Evangeline has always had all the love and affection. Her child will want for nothing."

"Sarah has been mocked for her status for years. I have to make things right for her, give our child a legitimate name."

In that moment, my heart seized, and I could barely breathe.

Then my phone vibrated again. It was a text message:

"Welcome home to the Gallo family, my queen."

"Just give the word, and the child you carry will bear the Gallo name and become the most powerful heir in the American underworld."

...

After leaving the family meeting, I wandered the streets, heartbroken.

A tattered tabloid lay soaked in a puddle in the gutter, trampled and ruined.

The headline was blurred by the rain, but I could still make out the famous photograph from three months ago.

My father, holding up a rare pink diamond for the cameras, a welcoming gift for the future heir of the Collins family.

"This is a symbol of the Collins family's commitment, for my daughter and the honor of our family."

And in the corner of the photo, Vincent was kissing my fingertips. I still remembered his words: "Evie, you are my one true faith."

Now, the headline mocked me: New York's Underworld Fairy Tale.

Rain struck my face, and I couldn't tell if the cold sting was the water or my own pain.

The phone in my pocket rang. It was Vincent's custom ringtone.

That sound used to be a thrill.

Now it felt like a death knell.

After a long hesitation, I answered on the last ring.

But all I heard was the raucous laughter of his drunken men.

"The Don's move was brilliant! That high and mighty Principessa Collins is probably still dreaming of being the Donna."

"Of course. You know our Don. He played the perfect gentleman for so long just to get his hands on the Collins' business. I heard the broad's a cold fish in bed, is that true?"

"Haha, what's the use of being prissy? Collins territory is about to become Jenkins territory! And the funniest part is the kid. It'll be a bastard the moment it's born!"

"Yeah, but today's show was the best part! Sisters fighting over one man, only our Don would dare pull a stunt like that!"

I gripped the phone so tightly my nails dug into my palm. Silent tears fell onto the muddy tabloid.

Suddenly, the men on the other end went quiet, and Vincent's voice came through.

"Who touched my phone?"

Before anyone could answer, his tone shifted, becoming impossibly gentle. "Baby, why aren't you saying anything? Are you not feeling well?"

I opened my mouth, wanting to confront him about our marriage, but then I remembered: on that so-called family marriage contract, my signature held no legal weight.

I didn't even have the right, or the standing, to bring it up. We were never truly married.

Just then, Sarah's saccharine moans came through the phone.

"Vincent, the baby's kicking. Come feel..."

Vincent's breathing hitched. He paused, then said, "Evie, things with the Commission are complicated. I'll be back to see you tonight."

Before I could say a word, he hung up.

I walked home, soaked to the bone, and sat in the dark living room for God knows how long, until the fingerprint lock chimed.

My father and Vincent walked in, radiating success.

"Evie, I had a blessed charm brought from the Vatican for you," my father said with a benevolent smile.

Vincent casually took off his overcoat and knelt before me, his warm hands covering my cold ones, rubbing them gently.

"Why are you soaked? Did you get caught in the rain?"

"Should I have the family doctor take a look? How's the baby?"

They were completely absorbed in their performance. When I said nothing, they exchanged a look.

I pulled a document from behind my back and handed it to Vincent. "Sign it."

My father immediately joked, "So my daughter only recognizes her husband's signature now, not her father's?"

Vincent didn't even glance at the contents and picked up the pen with a smile.

"Evie, you're pregnant. Your health is what's important."

"Don't you worry your head about family business. Just tell me what you want, and I'll get it for you."

The fountain pen glided across the paper, his name signed with a confident flourish.

He had no idea it wasn't a routine shipping manifest.

As they were speaking, both of their private phones vibrated at the same time.

My father patted my shoulder. "A small problem at the docks. We need to handle it."

Vincent stood and gently kissed my hair. "I might have to pull an all-nighter to give you and the baby a better future. Be good. Go to sleep."

With that, they hurried out.

As Vincent turned, a necklace slipped from his pocket.

It was from Sarah's favorite brand, a global limited edition.

They were probably on their way to a romantic candlelit dinner, celebrating their imminent takeover of the Collins family.

I picked up the document. Emblazoned on it were the words: "The signatory voluntarily relinquishes all rights and claims to the child in the woman's womb."

A tearful laugh escaped me, and I fiercely wiped my eyes.

It was there in black and white. If he had cared just a little, if he had even glanced at it, he would have known something was wrong.

But now, with this, my child would have no connection to the Jenkins family, or to Vincent.

The purest mafia blood runs in my veins. We Collins women know when to hold on, and we know better than anyone when to let go.

Wiping away my last tear, I dialed Antonio, my family's most loyal Capo.

"Antonio, lock down all the Jenkins family's smuggling routes. Tonight, I want every one of their ships trapped in port."

"And one more thing. I'm activating the Bloodline Trust."

"Principessa Evangeline, the Bloodline Trust has been activated."

"According to the ironclad rule your mother established, once the Bloodline Trust is initiated, only someone with direct Collins blood can touch a single cent. Not even God himself can override it."

"Your father, Marco, is already frantically trying to bypass the controls."

I stroked my swollen belly, murmured an acknowledgment, and ended the encrypted call.

Marco thought he had a stranglehold on the Collins family's lifeline, but he forgot my mother had been guarding against him until the day she died.

I remember my mother's funeral. My father knelt before her casket, weeping inconsolably.

He repented for his drunken indiscretion, for falling into his mistress Caterina's bed, and swore he would live the rest of his life only for me.

I was too young then. I believed his tears.

And Vincent, then just a minor caporegime in the Jenkins family, stood by my mother's grave with me all night.

He gave me a shoulder to lean on when I had just lost the person closest to me, wiping away my tears.

"Evie, from now on, let me be the one to protect you."

That one sentence was all it took. I gave him my body and soul, and for his sake, I even began to step back from the family business, nearly losing everything.

I used the Collins influence to push Vincent to the position of Don.

I had completely forgotten my mother's final warning: never trust a man who starts with nothing and is too willing to bow.

Thinking back now, all that warmth had just been part of a cold, calculated plot.

My phone vibrated, pulling me from my thoughts.

Sarah had sent a string of photos.

The first was of our master bedroom, the large bed a complete mess.

The second was of Sarah in my silk nightgown, holding a glass of red wine, taking a selfie in the mirror.

The third was of her straddling Vincent's lap, the two of them about to kiss.

Each photo came with a taunting caption.

[Sister, this robe is so silky. No wonder Vincent says holding you feels so good.]

[Vincent said the soundproofing in here is excellent. You should have heard how I screamed for him on his office desk.]

A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. I rushed to the bathroom and retched violently.

I didn't even hear Vincent return.

The bedroom door was thrown open. "Evie? What's wrong? I tried calling you, but the line was busy. Are you not feeling well?"

He strode over, his eyes filled with practiced anxiety, and expertly lifted me onto the bed.

Then he handed me a slice of strawberry cake, my favorite.

"I even had our pastry chef teach me how to make this. It's not as rich this way. Want to try some?"

I'd heard he had canceled an important territory negotiation just to finish this cake by hand.

The man's deep eyes were brimming with feigned heartache. I had been fooled by this act for years.

Seeing my blank expression, he froze for a second.

Then his expression softened, and he placed a hand on my lower abdomen, stroking it gently.

"Vincent," I said, looking him in the eye. "Is there anything you need to confess?"

"You still have one last chance."

For the sake of the night he'd dragged me from a burning warehouse, scorching his own arm to save me, I would give him this one last chance to be honest.

"Baby, what are you talking about?"

He laughed, a helpless, doting sound, and leaned in, his nose brushing against mine.

"You and our baby are my entire world. I have no secrets from you."

I looked at his handsome face and felt a bone-deep chill.

It was true. The devil really does wear an angel's face.

Seeing no reaction from me, Vincent let out a soft laugh and placed a kiss on my eyelid.

"Thinking too much again? Is it because I've been too busy to be with you lately?"

As he spoke, his hand slid to my waist, trying to soothe me with familiar intimacy.

A sudden flash of lightning lit up the room, bathing it in a ghastly white light.

I flinched instinctively.

The night my mother was assassinated, there was a storm just like this.

But after Vincent came into my life, I was never afraid of them again.

Now, he still held me tight, his chin resting on top of my head.

"Don't be afraid. I'm here. Nothing can hurt you."

His embrace was as warm as ever, but my heart was ice.

Gradually, thinking I had fallen asleep, he glanced at a message on his phone, his expression shifting slightly.

After confirming my eyes were closed and that I was "asleep," he left the room in such a hurry he didn't even fix his tie.

Soon, my own phone lit up.

Sarah's messages, perfectly timed, came flooding in.

Each one more explicit than the last.

I scrolled through them, numb, thinking I was already dead inside, until I reached the final one.

It was a video.

Vincent was shirtless, kissing the small red mole on Sarah's left shoulder.

"Sarah, this mole is beautiful. It's my lucky star."

My world went blank.

Because in the exact same spot on my own left shoulder, there was a bullet scar.

It was from three years ago, during a firefight at the docks. I had thrown myself in front of him, taking a bullet meant for him.

After that, the scar had become our most "sacred" mark.

Every time we made love, Vincent would kiss it, almost pathologically.

"Evie, this is the proof of your love for me. When I see it, I remember you gave me my life."

I once thought it was reverence, a love for me carved into his very bones.

Sarah's final voice message arrived, her voice a soft, triumphant laugh:

[He insists on taking me from behind, licking this mole on my shoulder over and over. He says it makes him incredibly excited.]

[Isn't that strange? Hahahaha.]

[He also said he wants to give our baby a name connected to a 'lucky star.']

The phone slipped from my hand, thudding onto the carpet.

Humiliation, rage, and disgust coiled in my gut.

They had not only trampled on my dignity but had turned the scar I took for him into a prop for their sordid little game.

What I had mistaken for love and a sacred debt was now the cruelest joke in the world.

I sat in the darkness until the first light of dawn.

Picking up my phone, I scrolled back to the old message and replied:

[I agree. Let my child bear your name.]

The next day, I was awakened by the discordant sounds of an orchestra downstairs, thinking I was still in a nightmare.

I pushed open the window. The manor's lawn was already covered in flowers and red carpets.

They were holding a celebration for the anniversary of my mother's charitable foundation.

I was confused. No one had bothered with the charity for years after my mother died.

I had been managing it myself, but never with such a public spectacle.

Through the floor-to-ceiling window, I saw my mother's favorite rose garden. Caterina stood where my mother used to.

The woman was dressed in a couture white gown, arm in arm with my father, accepting toasts from guests.

The butler stood at the door, his eyes avoiding mine. "This was the Don's idea. He said he wanted to continue the Collins's charitable work."

"He also said... he wants to rename the foundation for Caterina."

I opened my door, just in time to hear the gossip drifting up from downstairs.

"Did you hear? Management of the famous Collins charity trust has been handed over to Caterina."

"And the mistress's illegitimate daughter, Sarah, has taken the Collins name. Looks like she's about to become the new lady of the house."

Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, Caterina wore a wronged expression.

"Although Evangeline might have some misunderstandings about me, I swear to God I will protect this family in her mother's place."

"As long as I can take care of Marco and the children in her stead, and look after the charity, a little misunderstanding is nothing."

I gripped the railing so hard my knuckles turned white.

She had positioned herself as the matriarch, showing no respect for my mother.

At that moment, Vincent walked over with Sarah on his arm. The instant he saw me, he dropped Sarah's arm and strode toward me.

"You're awake, my princess."

He cut me off before I could speak, dropping to one knee, his eyes full of the practiced devotion of a movie star.

He opened a red velvet box. Inside lay a massive, rare blue diamond.

"Oh my God! It's 'The Heart of True Love'!" someone exclaimed. "The one that sold for a fortune last week!"

Vincent kissed the back of my hand, his voice gentle enough to melt steel.

"This is to make it up to you, Evie, for being so busy last night."

In the past, every time I threw a tantrum, he would appease me with a rare diamond.

My vault was now filled with rings of every color.

But now, looking at the cold stone, I felt nothing.

Priceless treasures, a devoted husband.

It was all just sugar-coated poison.

Vincent put the ring on my finger, then leaned close to my ear. "Smile, Evie. The press is here. Don't embarrass the family."

I forced a stiff smile, but my gaze went past his shoulder, locking onto Sarah's hands.

She was toying with a string of pearls.

Those were wild pearls my mother and I had gathered, one by one, on a beach in Sicily.

They weren't valuable, but they were my last tangible connection to her.

"Give them back." I pushed Vincent away and walked toward Sarah.

Vincent's expression changed, and he tried to grab me, but I shook off his hand and rushed at Sarah.

"Give. Them. Back."

Sarah feigned alarm, taking a step back. "Sister, why are you being so aggressive?"

She blinked her wide, innocent eyes, but her voice dropped to a whisper only I could hear.

"This piece of junk looks as cheap as your dead mother. Not fit for polite company."

"You bitch!" Blood rushed to my head, and I lunged for the necklace.

Vincent grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight I thought he would crush the bone.

"Evangeline! Are you out of your mind!"

He lowered his voice, his tone laced with impatience.

"This is an important event. Don't embarrass me."

"'The Heart of True Love' isn't enough for you? Why are you making a scene over some worthless pearls?"

"They were from my mother!"

Tears streamed down my face. I completely missed the cruel smile that touched Sarah's lips.

"Sister, don't be angry, I just..."

As she spoke, she pretended to hand me the necklace.

The moment I reached for it, her finger deliberately snagged the string.

Snap. The string broke.

Dozens of pearls scattered across the marble floor.

As if terribly shocked, Sarah dropped to her knees with a thud.

In front of everyone, ignoring her expensive gown, she crawled on the floor, picking up the pearls one by one.

A moment later, she held out the pearls in her cupped hands, looking at me timidly.

"Sister, I'm so sorry. It was all my fault. I didn't know they were from your mother. I picked up every single one. Please, don't be mad at me..."

The guests around us began to whisper, their eyes painting me as some overbearing bully.

"That's just too much."

"Poor Sarah. She's so pitiful."

I knew this was her specialty: playing the victim.

I reached out to help her up, but the moment I touched her, Sarah's body jerked backward, knocking over a tower of champagne glasses.

But as she fell, using the chaos for cover, she gave me a vicious shove.

The champagne glasses toppled. She ended up on the floor looking disheveled but was otherwise unharmed.

But I lost my balance, falling backward toward the sharp corner of the marble fireplace.

An excruciating pain shot through my back, as if someone had shattered my spine with a sledgehammer.

Through a haze of pain, I heard Sarah sobbing. "Sister, I know you look down on me for being illegitimate, but I humbled myself, I begged you to forgive me. Why would you still push me?"

Vincent took off his suit jacket. He paused, his eyes flicking to me on the floor for a second, before he rushed to wrap it around Sarah.

Then, for the first time in public, he rounded on me. "Evangeline. Apologize."