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.

My back was still bleeding, but my parents didn't even give me enough time to recover.

At sunrise, my papa personally drove me to the drug trial center designated by the famiglia.

"Go in. And don't try anything," he said coldly.

I didn't look back. Dragging my battered body behind me, I walked into the building, a place that felt oppressive and sinister the moment I crossed the threshold.

The trial center's rooms were cramped, the air heavy with the biting scent of disinfectant and chemicals.

A man in a white lab coat came to meet me. His eyes were sharp and calculating. He was a researcher assigned by the pharmaceutical company named Valeri Silvestri.

"Ms. Capone, lie down on the table. We'll begin the injection."

I complied, stretching out on the narrow table. My arm was still dotted with needle marks from earlier blood draws.

Valeri pulled out a syringe filled with a deep blue liquid. The moment the needle pierced my skin, an icy pain spread along my veins.

"This is the final-stage trial drug. You may feel some discomfort. Bear with it."

Discomfort? It was a sheer inferno.

Less than half an hour after the drug entered my system, my stomach began to churn violently. The pain doubled me over on the table, forcing dry heaves from my throat.

Soon, my skin started to burn, as if thousands of ants were gnawing through my flesh. I clawed at my arms in a frenzy until blood streaked beneath my nails.

Valeri stood nearby, expressionless, jotting down notes as if I were nothing more than a lab rat. "Reaction is normal. Continue observation."

And the torture only escalated over the next few days.

I burned with relentless fevers. My consciousness drifted in and out. Blood appeared in my vomit. The whip wounds on my back, aggravated by fever and convulsions, festered and rotted.

I screamed for help, and I begged Valeri to stop.

He only watched with clinical detachment, continuing the injections on schedule even when I slipped into unconsciousness.

They didn't care if I lived or died. They just wanted data.

And somewhere far away, Matteo, my parents, and Lydia were probably sitting comfortably at home, celebrating, convinced I would soon finish this "mission" for her.

On the seventh morning, just as dawn barely touched the sky, I felt my breath growing faint, my heart gripped by an invisible hand, every beat tearing through my chest.

Darkness crept in at the edges of my vision. Valeri's data entries grew distant, then disappeared entirely into silence.

My body grew cold. My consciousness sank into an endless black, never to awaken again.

Valeri didn't notice anything was wrong until midday. He reached out to check my breathing, then glanced at the life monitor beside me and saw a flat line stretched across the screen.

He paused for a moment, then took out his phone and called Matteo.

"Don Ricci, Ms. Capone isn't breathing."

There was a long silence before Matteo's irritated voice came through. "Valeri, are you kidding me? Is she pulling another stunt to skip the trial?"

"I'm not joking!" Valeri's voice cracked with panic. "Her vitals are gone. You need to see this."

Even then, Matteo didn't believe him. It took him two hours to finally arrive at the testing center.

He pushed open the door and stopped dead in his tracks. The smirk of derision vanished in an instant.

I lay still on the exam table, my blood-soaked gown clinging to me, my face ashen, arms and back scarred and blistered. Not a flicker of life remained.

Matteo's pupils widened, disbelief etched on his face. "Camilla?" he whispered.

But there was no answer.

He stepped forward in a hurry and touched my cheek with trembling hands.

"No… No, no…" he murmured. Then he grabbed me, dragging my limp body into his arms. "Camilla! Wake up! I command you to wake!"

But I didn't move.

Valeri said in a low voice, "She's been dead for hours. The drug triggered multiple organ failure. There was nothing—"

"Shut up!" Matteo bellowed, eyes burning.

"What did you inject her with? I told you the trials weren't supposed to be lethal! What did you do to her?"

Valeri stumbled back, terrified. "The dosage… was adjusted per Ms. Lydia's request. She demanded a higher dose to ensure the data were accurate, regardless of the cost."