"The agreement from back then is all here."

A thick stack of papers, every page drawn up by the lawyers my father had retained. Three of the Calloway family's shipping routes had been contributed as equity stakes, amounting to fifteen percent of the Hartley family's territorial holdings. In my last life, every bit of it had ended up in Marcus's pocket after the divorce.

"Get Garrett in here."

Garrett, the treasurer, arrived quickly and stood before me with his eyes shifting around the room. Five years managing the family accounts, and five years in Marcus's back pocket.

"My fifteen-percent stake, starting this quarter: I want all the returns deposited directly into my personal account."

His expression shifted. "The returns have always been pooled and managed collectively by the family."

"That stake came from my father's equity contribution. It's not a shared family asset. The returns are mine to direct, and it says so in the agreement, word for word."

He forced a smile. "I'd have trouble explaining that to the Don."

"I'm the Donna. These matters were always going to fall to me eventually."

He hesitated, still looking for an out. I met his eyes and let the silence sit.

"Garrett, if this is too much trouble for you, I can always bring in someone from outside to go through the books."

His expression changed immediately. Five years of accounts, and he knew better than anyone how many numbers in those ledgers couldn't see daylight. If outsiders came in to audit, he'd be the first one burned. In Sicily, betrayal was never punished with a pink slip.

"Donna, I wouldn't hear of it. This is entirely my responsibility."

After he left, Ryan murmured, "Are the accounts off? Should I find a trustworthy accountant?"

"No need." I picked up my coffee and took a sip. "Let's see how much they've already taken first."

I'd spent all of my last life fixated on Marcus, completely in the dark about the family's finances. Coming back, I wasn't going to live like that again.

That evening, Marcus came. He pushed open the door, face carrying its usual carefully measured warmth. The sun was going down outside, and the light caught the angles of his face. He was striking, and no wonder every woman in Sicily wanted a piece of him.

"Anna. Are you really not bothered by what happened today?"

"Do you think I should be?"

He reached for my hand. I lifted my coffee cup and shifted it out of reach without making a show of it. His hand hovered a moment in the air, then pulled back.

"You've matured."

He was quiet for a moment, then let out a slow breath. "Anna, I hope you understand. I'm the Don now, and every decision I make has to consider the family." He paused. "But don't worry. Selena and Vivian will move into the beach house. They won't be around to disturb us."

"Fine."

"You don't object?"

I looked at him and smiled. I could see it in his eyes: testing me, confused, and underneath that, disappointed. He needed an excuse, needed me to make a scene and give him something to use. I wasn't giving it to him.

"Marcus, before they move in, I'd like to sort through my own assets."

"Your assets?"

"Garrett mentioned the returns have always been managed by you collectively."

Marcus's expression shifted, just for a fraction of a second, and then he smiled.

"I've been handling those small things on your behalf. No need to trouble yourself. Focus on your own family affairs."

"Being Donna comes with its own responsibilities."

"That sounds exhausting." He stood, tone gentle but final. "I don't want you wearing yourself out."

I didn't push it. Marcus took it as a passing impulse, nothing more. But it wasn't.

After he left, I told Ryan, "First thing tomorrow morning, set up a meeting with the lawyer my father used back then."

Ryan frowned. "The letters you sent to your family previously were intercepted by Marcus’s men."

"I know."

I picked up the document from the desk and opened it to the first page. It was the offer letter Uncle Charlie had forwarded from London, signed in the lower right corner by an old friend of my father's, a legitimate businessman with no ties to Sicily and no reason to fear Marcus.

"This time, we go a different direction."

The message went out that night. Ryan registered an anonymous account, sent the documents to my father's old friend, and had him relay everything to my father on the other end.

The next morning, I went to Garrett's office to look at the ledgers. He wasn't there. But Selena was.

Her hand was still wrapped in gauze. She kept her eyes low, projecting the image of someone utterly fragile, until she saw me, and then the tears started.

"Anna, please don't blame me for what happened yesterday. I was devastated. I lost control."

"My husband is gone. Died in that fight. I've been a wreck, and all I want now is somewhere quiet to get through the rest of my life. If Marcus is making me his mistress because of some obligation to continue the bloodline, honestly, I'd rather not. That kind of talk gets out, and it makes your position as Donna impossible too."

I watched her twist and cringe through the whole speech while knowing exactly who she really was, the woman who'd had me destroyed in my last life. What a nauseating performance.

"Don't worry. I don't care what people say, and I don't blame you."

She looked up at me, eyes still glistening. "You really don't?"

"Blame you for what? You're doing this for the family."

She lowered her head. The corner of her mouth twitched upward. As she stood to leave, she steadied herself casually on the edge of the table, and her gaze swept across the asset documents I'd left open on the desk, pausing just half a beat.

"What are you working on?"

"Just looking through some things."

"That's what accountants are for. No need to do it yourself."

She left. Less than an hour later, Marcus walked in, face already set hard.

"Anna. Selena mentioned you're going through the accounts."

"I'm just reviewing some old documents. What's the problem?"

"When you start looking at things like that, people in the family get nervous."

"Why would they be nervous?"

"Anna." He kept his voice low and pointed. "You suddenly want to get involved in family business. What exactly are you after?"

I blinked, the picture of innocence. "Marcus, I'm just trying to get a handle on my own assets. There’s no need to label me like that, is there?"

He didn't answer. He just watched me for a long moment. Then his hand shot out and closed around my throat, not hard enough to cut off air, but not gentle either.

"You never cared about this stuff before."

"But I'm going to be the Donna. Getting it straight seems like the responsible thing to do, for the family."

He let go. His thumb brushed over the red mark he'd left on my neck, as though he'd just noticed how much force he'd used. He didn't apologize.

"None of this matters. Stay home, rest, and don’t stir up any trouble for me."

That afternoon, Vivian came. Where Selena played fragile and tearful, Vivian cut straight to it.

"Anna, don't try to get word out behind our backs."

My fingers went still.

Vivian sat down across from me and pulled out her phone, scrolling to a page, and there it was: the email I'd sent to my father's contact. I'd taken every precaution, used an anonymous account with an address that had no connection to me whatsoever. It hadn't mattered.

"Don't think we don't know what you're doing." She slid the phone across the coffee table toward me. "We're not trying to cut you off from the outside world. But the family is in crisis, and outside interference only puts everyone at risk."

That was exactly how it had gone last time. They'd severed every thread connecting me to the world, and by the time I was thrown out of the estate, my father hadn't heard a word from me in months.

"Vivian, you're efficient. I'll give you that."

"I'm looking out for you." She was already at the door. She glanced back once. "Anna, stay out of family business."

Then she was gone.

I stared at the email on the table, and a chill moved through me.

Ryan came out from the adjoining room, jaw tight. "That was my fault. I failed you."

"It's not your fault." I closed my eyes.

Last time I'd thought they only started moving against me after the funeral. But they'd been ready long before that. From the moment those alliance papers landed on the table, they’d been plotting against me.

It rained on the day of the burial.

The two caskets were carried out. Selena and Vivian followed behind, weeping. Marcus led the procession with an attendant holding a black umbrella over him. I walked at the back of the line. Nobody had given me an umbrella, and I stood in the rain until I was soaked through.

When we got back to the estate, I was drenched to the bone. Ryan went to the kitchen to get me something warm to drink and was turned away at the door.

That night Marcus came by, didn't come in, and just stood on the other side of the door. "Tomorrow the family is convening. The alliance agreement needs to go through. Just sign it."

"What about my assets?"

Silence on the other side of the door. Then: "What's yours stays yours."

"I want to take back control and manage them myself."

"Anna." His voice went cold. "Do as you're told."

Through the gap in the door I could see Selena at the far end of the hallway, a gray coat draped over her shoulders, watching quietly. Marcus caught her look and gave a short nod.

Selena said, "I've drawn you a hot bath. Go warm up."

He made a sound of agreement, and their voices faded together down the hall.

I heard them through the door and felt something inside me go ice cold. It hit me then: this was never really about mistresses. From the very beginning, Marcus and Selena had been involved. This was personal.

The next morning, the document sat in front of me unsigned. Garrett came to collect it and I sent him away. He was back within the hour with two men in black suits flanking him, positioned on either side of my door like they intended to drag me out.

"The Don requests your presence."

I didn't move. They grabbed me and hauled me down the corridor. I hadn't had time to put my shoes on. My feet hit the cold marble floor and the chill shot straight through me.

The conference room was full. The family elders packed the seats in a sea of black. Selena and Vivian sat on opposite sides of the long table. Marcus sat at the head with a document and a pen laid out in front of him, and every eye in the room turned to me.

Marcus glanced at me, then held out the pen. "Sign it."

"No."

His expression darkened.

Selena spoke up, her voice honey-soft. "Anna, we're all family. Whether you sign or not, it really makes no difference."

Vivian added quickly, "Exactly. You think we'd ever do anything to hurt you?"

One of the elders, gray-haired with a face like curdled milk, spoke up in a thin, oily voice. "A Donna this selfish, and word gets out it reflects poorly on your family too, you know."

My fingers curled tight in my lap. Since last night, my heart had turned colder, inch by inch.

Marcus stepped toward me, pressed the pen into my fingers, then closed his hand over mine the same way he'd once taught me to grip a steering wheel. "Anna. Be good."

I looked up at him. I was trying to work out how to stall, how to play this—

And then the conference room doors blew open from the outside.

Cold air and rain swept in. A broad-shouldered silhouette stood in the doorway, coat whipping in the wind, with twenty-odd men behind him, all in body armor, weapons leveled at the room.

The man in front pulled off his sunglasses. It was my father. A few strands of silver-streaked hair were plastered to his face by the rain.

"Marcus." His voice was low and even. "What exactly are you making my daughter sign?"