I grew up fatherless, clawing my way through the Chicago underbelly with my mom.

She always said he loved us. That he just had to go far, far away.

Until she got terminally ill.

I dropped out of design school and rushed back, ready to drain our life savings to treat her.

But she put a pair of scissors to her own throat. She told me not to touch the cash. It was the only thing she had to leave me.

I pretended to agree. But the second I turned around, I took our fifty grand and ran to Mr. Sal, the neighborhood's back-alley doctor. I begged him to save her.

"Fifty grand? This buys her three months. Tops."

He lit a cigarette. Through the smoke, his eyes bored into me. Like he was looking at a ghost.

"Your mother... she was once the brightest jewel in Chicago. Gave it all up for a man. That man took her money and became the city's real estate king. He's Mob-connected. Maybe you should go ask him for help."

I took that poison home with me. And I didn't breathe a word.

When she found out I spent the money, she held me and cried. "My foolish girl, why are you so stubborn? I'm dying anyway. What about your school? How will you pay for it?"

But while I took care of her, I tore through all her old things, looking for proof of that bastard's betrayal.

On the night of his empire's 20th-anniversary gala, I crashed his party. I brought two things: a blood-stained marriage certificate, and a lawyer.

"I'm looking for Nico Russo. He can either honor a twenty-year-old marriage... or he can sign these divorce papers."

Twenty years. That's how long I waited to meet the father who abandoned me. And they wouldn't even let me through the goddamn door.

"Miss, you can't come in without an invitation."

The butler sized me up like I was something he'd scraped off his shoe. "This is the Russo Group's 20th-anniversary gala. It's strictly invite-only."

I glanced around the glamorous mansion.

Crystal chandeliers. Champagne towers. Guests in evening gowns clinking glasses.

How ironic.

And my mother's blood money paid for every last cent of it.

"I don't need an invitation." I held up the blood-stained papers. "I'm here to see my mother's husband."

The room went dead silent.

Hundreds of eyes locked onto me. People whispered. Some covered their mouths, sneering.

"Your mother's husband?" A woman dripping in diamonds shrieked with laughter. "Look at this stray cat! Is that a jacket from Goodwill?"

"Where's security? Throw this crazy bitch out!"

"Jesus, any stray dog thinks they can just walk in now."

I ignored the insults. My eyes locked on the man at the head table. Nico Russo.

Twenty years.

He went from a broke nobody to the king of Chicago real estate. Perfect suit, an aura of power. And at his side, his perfect wife and son.

The perfect family. The perfect success story.

All built on my mother's blood and sweat.

"Nico Russo," I said, my voice cutting through the noise. "Twenty years ago, you abandoned your pregnant wife. Did you lose any sleep over it?"

Dead silence.

Even the clinking of glasses stopped.

The man at the head table slowly stood up.

He was tall and imposing. Eyes sharp as a hawk. He had the suffocating presence of a man who owned everything in the room, including the air.

But someone moved faster than him.

"You dare slander my father, you bitch?"

A young man shot up from the table. Blond, blue-eyed, designer suit. Pure rage in his eyes. Matteo Russo. The media's golden boy. In reality? A spoiled little prick.

He pointed a finger in my face and roared, "I'll have you sleeping with the fishes at the bottom of Lake Michigan by sunrise. Try me."

I scoffed. "So that's the Russo way? Play dirty? No wonder it was so easy to dump a pregnant woman and never look back."

Matteo raised his hand to strike me.

"Sir, stop right there." My lawyer, Julian, raised his camera. "I am recording this. If you don't want to hear us out, we can take this straight to court."

"Enough, Matteo."

Nico Russo finally spoke. His voice was deep, steady. The voice of a titan.

"Stand down."

Matteo glared at me, furious, but he backed off.

Nico walked up to me, looking down from his height.

Up close, I could smell his expensive cologne.

Twenty years ago, my mother must have been held in these very arms.

"Miss, I don't know where you heard these rumors." His face was a mask of stone. "But let me be clear. I have no other wife. And I certainly don't have a daughter."

The crushing weight of his power filled the air.

The guests waited eagerly to see this reckless street girl get humiliated.

But I didn't flinch.

I took a step forward and looked right into his eyes.

"Is that so, Nico?"

My voice was soft, but crystal clear.

"Then what about twenty years ago? What about Chiara? Ring a bell?"

The moment the words left my mouth, all the color drained from Nico's face.

He grabbed my shoulders tight. Panic and disbelief flashed in his eyes.

"Where is Chiara?! Where is she?!"

Nico realized his mistake. He dropped his hands and stepped back, his cold mask of control slipping back into place.

"Chiara?" He forced a light laugh. "Oh, you mean an old acquaintance from years ago. We were just friends. She moved away."

"Get everyone out! Now!" Matteo sensed the shift in the room and roared at the butler. "This is a private party! No outsiders allowed!"

But I wasn't going to let them off the hook that easily.

"Old acquaintance? Just friends?" I pressed him. "Then care to explain why you abandoned your 'friend' and her daughter for twenty years without a single word?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Matteo stepped in front of me, sneering. "Watch it, or I'll sue you for slander!"

"Matteo is right."

An elegant female voice rang out.

Isolda Russo stood up slowly.

Draped in haute couture Chanel and glittering diamonds, she looked like a queen on her throne.

"You poor thing," she purred, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "You've been fed a terrible lie. It was Chiara who broke my husband's heart, not the other way around."

The guests started murmuring. The tide was turning in her favor.

"Makes sense. Just another gold digger."

"So many of them these days, targeting successful men."

"Look at her cheap clothes. Classic extortion."

Isolda saw the tide turning and drove the knife in deeper. "Let's be clear. The Russo Group was built with my family's money. As for the lies some people spin..."

She turned to me, a vicious glint in her eyes. "So, little girl, I suggest you walk away now. Before you find out what happens when you poke the bear."

The crowd echoed her.

"Yeah, kick out this trash!"

"They'll make up anything for cash!"

"Where's security? Throw her out!"

Facing a room full of insults and sneers, I suddenly laughed.

I started to clap. Slow. Deliberate. Each one echoing in the silence.

"Bravo. Truly a master class in betrayal." I looked at Nico, mocking him. "Building your empire on one woman's money, then hiding behind another's. Nico, you're not just a bastard. You're a coward."

"Enough!" Nico finally snapped and roared. "Security! Get this crazy bitch out of here!"

"Ladies and gentlemen, hold on a second."

Julian stepped forward, holding a thick stack of papers.

"Before you jump to conclusions, let's hear some facts." He cleared his throat and read aloud:

"March 15, 1995. A wire transfer from Chicago First Bank. Five hundred thousand dollars. From Chiara Vittori to Russo Real Estate. The memo reads: 'Seed money'."

The room went dead silent again.

"March 20 of the same year. A prenuptial agreement. Nico Russo swore under his own name: 'Chiara's investment will be treated as founding shares. She will forever be my partner and my wife.'"

The guests started whispering. Their eyes filled with doubt.

"It's all forged!" Nico's face turned livid. "I never signed any agreement!"

"Is that so?" Julian smiled and handed him a document. "Then please take a look at this signature."

Nico snatched the paper and ripped it to shreds.

The pieces fluttered to the floor, just like his shredded conscience.

"We'll settle this in private." He kept his voice low, but he couldn't hide his panic. "I can pay you off, but I absolutely do not have a daughter!"

"No daughter?" I sneered and pulled out my phone. "Then let's ask an old friend of yours."

Mr. Sal's voice, weary and rough, played from the speaker:

"This is Sal, the doc from the old neighborhood. I'll swear on my life—Alessia is Nico Russo's flesh and blood. I was there in November of '95. I watched with my own eyes as that son of a bitch walked out on Chiara when she was eight months pregnant..."

"Shut it off! Shut that damn recording off!" Matteo lunged forward to grab my phone.

But the recording was already done.

Dead silence.

Everyone stared at the perfect family of three with complicated looks.

Isolda was pale as a ghost. Matteo was shaking with rage.

And Nico... he looked like a clown stripped of his disguise, utterly pathetic.

"One last piece of evidence." Julian chimed in perfectly, pulling a yellowed document from his briefcase. "November 12, 1995. Birth certificate from St. Mary's Hospital, Chicago."

He held it up high:

"Father: Nico Russo. Signature: Nico Russo."

"You signed this yourself, at the hospital. This is ironclad. Alessia is your daughter."

The room erupted.

But the uproar only lasted seconds before a suffocating tension choked the banquet hall.

The air froze. The smart ones—the guests on the fringe—could smell the blood in the water. They were already slinking out the doors, hugging the walls.

But the real power in the room hadn't moved. An old man in the shadows, tapping a silver wolf's-head cane against the floor. He hadn't said a word. He didn't have to. He was the Don.

He watched the messy drama at the head table through half-closed eyes, looking down from on high.

Nico stood there in silence for a solid minute.

His face cycled through rage, shock, and helplessness, finally settling into a bitter defeat.

"Fine," he finally choked out, his voice raw. "I admit it. You're my daughter."

Silence fell again.

But I felt zero joy.

"Too late," I said, my voice ice. "I don't want a father. I'm here to collect what my mother is owed."

"Take back what?" Isolda jumped in instantly. "We paid off that money years ago! I can even cut you an extra check as compensation."

She raised her chin haughtily. "Name your price. This is a buyout. A clean break from the Russo family."

"Where's the proof?" I snapped back. "You say you paid it off? Prove it."

"You—"

"And another thing, Ms. Isolda." I cut her off, my voice dropping to a chill.

I pulled the blood-stained marriage certificate from my bag and held it up high.

"There's something everyone needs to know. Nico and my mother were legally married. And they never filed for divorce."

I glared at Isolda like a knife. "Which means, legally speaking, this so-called 'noble wife' is nothing more than a home-wrecking mistress."

I locked eyes with Matteo, who was grinding his teeth. "And you? You're not the heir. You're just the bastard born on the side."

"You bitch—" Matteo roared, lunging at me.

"Enough." Nico waved him off exhaustedly and let out a heavy sigh. "How much money do you want?"

Julian stood up, adjusting his suit.

"It's simple math, Mr. Russo." He smiled. "According to our investigation, even after multiple rounds of equity dilution, fifty percent of the Russo Group still belongs to Ms. Chiara."

"What?!" Nico's eyes went wide. "Fifty percent? Are you insane?"

"Based on the original agreement, Ms. Chiara's half-million was treated as a founding investment." Julian explained calmly. "Factoring in inflation and the empire's growth, today's value is roughly—"

"Cut the crap!" Nico barked. "You're greedy, little girl. But you have to be alive to spend the money."

I was about to fire back when a harsh slap cracked across my face.

Smack!

Matteo's handprint burned onto my cheek. The stinging pain spread instantly.

"You ungrateful bitch!" he threatened viciously. "I will shut your mouth for good right here, right now. Try me."

I tasted the blood in my mouth and smiled. A cold, sharp smile.

"What? Losing your temper?" My voice was raspy but clear. "Is this how you handled my mother back then? Dumping an eight-month pregnant woman in some nowhere town in Wisconsin?"

"You—" Isolda was deathly pale, her hands shaking as she reached for her phone. "I'm calling the cops!"

But she was shaking so badly she couldn't even dial.

A few major shareholders shook their heads and walked out. Tonight's circus was more than enough to ruin the Russo Group's reputation.

"Look at what you've done!" Nico raged. "This little stunt just wiped billions off the company!"

He took a deep breath, fighting to suppress his anger. "Fine. I'll pay. Name your price. Then get the hell out of Chicago and never come back."

Matteo grudgingly pulled a checkbook from his inside pocket. He violently scribbled down a number, ripped it out, and threw it at my feet.

"A hundred grand! Take it and get lost!"

I bent down, picked up the check, glanced at the number, and handed it to Julian.

"Mr. Julian, here's your legal fee."

Julian smiled, taking it and looking closely. "A hundred grand? Just enough to cover my appearance fee for tonight."

He pocketed the check, then pulled out his phone and pulled up a screen.

"Ladies and gentlemen, one last thing." Julian's voice was suddenly cold steel. "Before we entered, we opened a live audio feed. Everything said in this room... has been streamed directly to a few 'interested parties'. The real money behind the Russo Group."

Julian looked at Nico, his eyes freezing over.

"Also, Mr. Russo. Since you never legally ended your marriage with my client, yet married Ms. Isolda... under North American law, that makes you guilty of bigamy."

"The second charges are filed, the FBI has the right to freeze every single Russo Group account and initiate a full liquidation."

Julian stepped closer, relentless. "You know what the Feds do with a bigamy charge? They freeze assets. They investigate everything. Do you think the Don who backs you will tolerate that kind of heat? A man who brings federal agents to his doorstep, threatening his entire money-laundering operation? You'd be a liability. And liabilities get erased."