When Matteo Ricci threatens to end our engagement for the 100th time unless I take Lydia Capone's place in the famiglia's drug trial, I don't cry or make a scene. I just sign my name on the engagement termination agreement and calmly hand over the man I've loved for eight years to my twin sister.

A few days later, Lydia storms the mafia summit like she owns the room, insulting the Pirelli family and daring anyone to stop her. I'm forced to step in and bear the full weight of her chaos.

And now they're saying Lydia's body can't handle the trial after all, so they want me, the older sister, to take her place.

The moment I agree, my parents smile at me for the first time in years.

Even Matteo, who barely notices me, hovers nearby and murmurs, "Don't be afraid. The trial isn't lethal. When you get out, I'll take you for your favorite spaghetti alla Napoletana."

But he has no idea that there's a late-stage stomach cancer diagnosis tucked inside my pocket. No matter what horrors the trial holds, he will never witness me walk out alive.

A burning-hot figure lunged out of the shadows and slammed me hard against the door.

I struggled on instinct.

"Don't move."

Matteo Ricci's voice came, deeper and raspier than usual. His chest pressed firmly against my back, and I could feel the hard, insistent pressure through the thin fabric.

"Turn around," he ordered.

I obeyed, facing him.

He grabbed my chin and forced my head up. Then he kissed me, hard and punishing, his lips crushing mine and stealing every last breath from me.

My body went liquid under him, barely held up by his grip.

The sound of tearing fabric cracked through the silent room.

He scooped me up without warning, carried me a few steps to the center of the room where that massive bed waited, and threw me onto it without a hint of gentleness.

I lay there, completely bare beneath his gaze.

He came over me, driving his burning, rigid length inside in one deep thrust without hesitation or mercy.

I grabbed his wrist, my voice cracking with frustration that I couldn't swallow. "Could you… slow down?"

What I really meant was, "Don't rush this. Don't end it so fast."

But the words tangled on my tongue before I could let them out.

I was afraid that saying it out loud would shatter this brief, pathetic illusion of closeness.

"Slow down? Tesoro, your face is begging me to go faster…"

His whisper burned along my ear, and then he drove into me with a furious rhythm.

My moans tangled with his heavy, ragged breathing.

All I knew was that he pinned me to that bed and took me apart, again and again, dragging me to the edge of pleasure every time.

…

"Camilla, I'm here because I have something important to tell you."

When I finally caught my breath, he was already fastening the buttons on his shirt efficiently, not even sparing me a glance, like the intimacy we had just shared existed only to pave the way for this conversation.

"Camilla, Lydia's getting weaker. She can't continue the drug trial.

"The famiglia has set a hard deadline. The final phase must be completed within a month. You and Lydia are twins, practically identical. The doctors say you're the ideal replacement.

"If you refuse, the engagement is off. Lydia has been through an inferno for three months already, and I won't let her face another day of it."

I listened quietly, watching him say these insane things with absolute seriousness.

My family struck a secret deal with the multinational pharmaceutical giant, Lidohen Pharma, serving as their cover. Every year, we took a 30-percent cut of their yearly profits, but that also meant handling the shady, legally and morally questionable trials that no one else would touch.

After Nonno died, the Capone family's influence in Idale declined quickly. To claw our way back, my papa accepted the job without hesitation.

Originally, my parents wanted me to do it.

But Lydia Capone cried and begged to contribute to the family, and my parents were instantly moved by her "devotion", agreeing on the spot to let her take the role.

But three months later, she suddenly backpedaled, spending her days clutching her face and moaning about nausea and constant vomiting after the trials.

My parents and Matteo took turns trying to persuade me. Though honestly, persuasion was just a polite word for threats.

My parents told me that if I didn't replace Lydia in the trial, I was out of the Capone residence.

And Matteo brought up breaking off the engagement nearly 100 times, shoving the agreement in front of me each time.

Back then, I didn't know I had cancer. I only knew exhaustion clung to me like a shadow, and my appetite had vanished. So I refused flatly.

The moment the words left my mouth, the air in the living room froze. Disappointment flickered across every face, and my parents pointed at me, calling me cold and ungrateful.

"Lydia endured three months for you! She's frail, and she still pushed through! You're healthy, so why can't you take over?" my mamma yelled, trembling.

"Exactly! She's suffered so much already. You only need to finish the last month, and you won't even do that? I'm disgusted. If you won't protect Lydia or support this famiglia, then you're no daughter of ours."

Even now, remembering those words still tightened something in my chest, but that was all behind me now. I was dying. Whether I was cast out by the family or died on a cold laboratory table didn't make a difference.

No one cared either way.

Matteo's brows were still furrowed, like he wanted to throw more threats at me.

But I suddenly smiled and said softly, "Fine. I'll take Lydia's place."

He froze for a moment. Shock flickered through his eyes before giving way to pure relief. "Really? Great! Lydia won't have to suffer another day."

Watching his ecstatic expression, a bitter, faint smile tugged at my lips.

He looked like he wanted to say something else.

I turned away and pulled on my clothes in silence. "Take me home."

On the drive home, he asked about my day-to-day life as if he actually cared.

But I knew better. This wasn't care. He was just making sure I stayed alive long enough to finish the trial.

After all, I was now the only one in the Capone family who could take Lydia's place.

The moment I opened the front door, I heard my parents talking excitedly.

My mamma was clutching Lydia with bright eyes. "Lydia, tesoro, it's over. You don't have to suffer anymore. Camilla's agreed to take your place…"

My papa, terrified I might change my mind, immediately yanked a consent form out of a drawer and handed it to me. "Sign it. The lab's waiting on confirmation."

Only when they saw my name on the dotted line did they finally relax, their faces glowing with real happiness.

"Brava, Camilla! You finally understand what's best for the family. I always knew you were my good daughter," my mamma said, patting my arm with a sweetness that felt painfully fake.

"But we won't shortchange you," my papa added, his tone patronizing. "Once the trial succeeds, your share of the profits will be exactly what you deserve."

I shook my head, swallowing down the bitter taste rising in my throat. "Give it all to Lydia. I won't be needing it."

In the days that followed, my parents only doted on Lydia more.

The Mafia summit arrived right on schedule. It was the biggest gathering in the Mafia world, where the leaders of every prominent famiglia showed up.

The ballroom glittered with crystal chandeliers, elegant guests mingled, and glasses clinked in a lively exchange of toasts.

Matteo walked in holding Lydia's hand as they weaved through the crowd.

People glanced at them, then at me, standing alone in the corner. The looks in their eyes were sharp, full of mockery and disdain.

I could feel those probing, contemptuous stares burning into me. I lowered my head and swirled the wine in my glass, pretending not to notice.

Suddenly, a sharp scream ripped through the room. "Who do you think you are? How dare you touch my necklace?"

I looked up to see Lydia yanking a woman's hair with one hand while slapping her repeatedly with the other.

The woman wore a red evening gown, exuding a seductive elegance, but her diamond necklace had been torn from her neck, scattering stones across the marble floor.

When I saw her face, my stomach dropped.

It was Sofia Amato, the favorite mistress of Don Marco Pirelli.

Marco was vicious, volatile, the kind of man no one in the Mafia world dared to cross, much less lay a hand on the woman he kept at his side like a prized jewel.

Lydia had been sheltered her whole life, kept far away from famiglia business, so of course she had no idea who Sofia was.

I moved to intervene, but it was already far too late.

Sofia's bodyguards stormed through the crowd and surrounded Lydia in seconds.

Marco arrived soon after. The moment he saw the handprint on Sofia's cheek and the diamonds littering the floor, his face darkened and looked carved from stone.

He grabbed Lydia's wrist in a crushing grip and hissed coldly, "You dare lay a hand on my woman? The Capone family has grown bold."

My parents went pale and rushed forward to plead, but Marco didn't budge. In front of every guest, he declared, "From this moment on, the Pirelli and Capone families are at war. And anyone who stands with the Capones stands against us."

We were "escorted" out of the ballroom, if getting shoved out counts as being escorted.

Back home, Lydia collapsed onto the couch, sobbing and throwing a tantrum, ranting that Sofia was rude and deserved it, never once acknowledging her own fault.

My parents were shaking with anger, but they still couldn't bring themselves to scold her.

They groveled, visiting old allies, offering to give up 30% of the profits just to salvage partnerships. But everyone feared the Pirellis too much. One by one, they refused.

Just when the family was spiraling, a message came from the Pirellis. "We're willing to let it go, but the one who started the fight has to apologize in person and accept punishment."

Hearing this, my parents didn't look relieved. How could they? They would never allow Lydia to suffer even a scratch.

I watched the three of them panic, then turned to head upstairs. But Matteo stepped in front of me.

"Camilla, you'll take Lydia's place," he said calmly, as if he'd already decided for me.

"You're twins and look almost identical. The Pirellis won't know the difference. It's just a minor reckoning. For the sake of the famiglia, you won't refuse, right?"

A minor reckoning? A cold laugh twisted through my chest.

Everyone knew Marco's revenge was brutal. People who crossed him never walked away.

Matteo had spent years navigating the Mafia world. He knew exactly what this "punishment" meant, yet he shoved me toward it without blinking.

To him, I was nothing but a tool to be sacrificed, so long as Lydia and the Capone family's interests were protected, my life didn't matter.

My parents immediately chimed in, faces lighting with relief, "Exactly, Camilla! Lydia can't endure that.

"But you're strong. You'll handle it just fine. And you'll finish the trial for her. You can't let anything go wrong."

I swallowed down the rising despair and nodded softly. "Fine. I'll go."

The car rolled slowly into Pirelli Manor, and the heavy iron gates slammed shut behind us like a verdict.

The moment I stepped into the courtyard, two bodyguards in black came forward and shoved me hard to the ground.

My knees cracked against the cold stone, and pain shot straight up my legs. I tried to push myself up, but one bodyguard planted his boot squarely between my shoulder blades.

"On your knees," he barked, voice cold as steel.

Marco lounged in a wicker chair not far away, idly turning a sharp dagger between his fingers. His eyes landed on me with the indifference someone might have for trash on the street.

The courtyard was packed with representatives from every influential famiglia. It was obvious that he wanted to humiliate me in front of everyone.

"You dare lay a hand on my woman, so you'll pay the price." He didn't raise his voice, but the weight of his words sliced through the air.

"Strip her and whip her 30 times right here in the courtyard. Let everyone see. This is what happens to those who cross me."

My stomach dropped.

Did Marco just tell them to strip me bare and whip me in front of all these people?

This wasn't just punishment. It was a public execution of my dignity.

I struggled, trying to resist, but the two bodyguards pinned my shoulders with terrifying strength. I couldn't move. Rough hands grabbed my skirt and yanked sharply. The ripping fabric sounded deafening in the silent courtyard.

One piece of clothing after another was torn away. Cold air hit my bare skin, while whispers and malicious stares circled me.

I bit down hard on my lip and refused to let a single tear fall.

Crying would only make them laugh harder.

"Begin."

Marco's voice held no emotion at all.

A bodyguard lifted a soaked bullwhip, letting it slice through the air before it landed with a heavy crack against my back.

Pain shot through me like molten fire, making me grunt involuntarily as my body shook violently.

Blow after blow landed with ruthless precision. My back quickly turned into a bloody mess.

I could hear the crowd whispering, jeering, and lamenting—all of it stabbing at my heart like a thousand needles.

My vision blurred, my body growing heavier with each strike, as if I might collapse at any moment.

Then, through the haze, I saw a familiar figure in the crowd.

It was Matteo.

He stood not far off, expressionless, neither pity nor guilt in his eyes, just watching me endure the lashes as if the woman on the ground weren't his fiancee but a stranger.

So that was it. He didn't care at all.

By the 30th lash, I couldn't hold on any longer. Darkness swallowed me as I crumpled to the ground.

I didn't know how long I was out before a bucket of ice water crashed over me, jolting me awake. The water stung the torn flesh on my back so sharply that I convulsed.

"Get out. Tell the Capones this is the last warning." Marco's voice sounded from above, edged with impatience.

The two bodyguards grabbed me like dead weight and dragged me toward the gate before tossing me onto the gravel outside.

Matteo approached, frowning as he saw me battered and in tatters. He pulled a coat from the car and tossed it over me.

"Put it on. Don't let people see you like that."

I didn't reach for it. Instead, I lifted my head with what little strength I had left and put on a bitter smile. "Are you happy now, Matteo?"

He froze for a second. His gaze flickered, but he didn't answer. He simply turned, opened the car door, and gestured for me to get in.

I dragged my broken body into the seat. The heater was blasting, yet I felt colder than I did under that scorching gaze in the courtyard.

…

When we got home, my parents took one look at my injuries. Panic flickered in their eyes, then faded, replaced with the usual mask of composure.

"It's good that you're back," my papa said flatly, as if I'd just come home from a grocery run. "Go treat your wounds. Don't delay the drug trial the day after tomorrow."

My mamma pressed a clean set of clothes into my hands, avoiding my gaze. "Hurry and change. Lydia will get scared if she sees you like this."

I took the clothes without responding and walked into the bathroom.

Hot water slammed against my torn back, and pain shot through me. I gasped, clutching the sink to keep from collapsing.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Torn flesh, bruises, and a face drained of all color. Exhaustion and despair etched into every line.

And then I laughed. I laughed until tears spilled down my face.

The drug trial would begin.