Even so, the Mafiosi below the stage exploded.

"Damn traitor!"

"Go to hell! Pay with your life for the Godmother!"

On the big screen, my memories began to rewind crazily.

The first memory was one month after Elena’s death, my first night thrown into the maximum-security women's prison.

Because I bore the charge of "murdering the future Don's wife," I became the public enemy of the entire prison.

In the footage, seven or eight tattooed female prisoners dragged me into the shower room and pinned me against the slippery tiled floor.

They grabbed my hair and slammed my head against the wall over and over.

"You're the one who killed that angel of a girl?"

"Beat her! Beat her to death!"

Countless fists and feet fell like rain. My ribs were broken, my face was bruised and swollen, and I curled up into a ball, shivering.

But in my arms, I deathly protected a photo—the only photo of me, Alexander, and Elena together.

The scene shifted to a prison cell late at night.

Several inmates wanting to earn credit for a reduced sentence pinned my hands and feet, holding a sharpened toothbrush handle to my throat.

"Speak! Who is the killer! As long as you say it, the Don will spare your life!"

I was pushed to the brink.

To keep that secret, to ensure I wouldn't slip up when delirious.

In the memory, a look of absolute resolve flashed through my eyes.

I suddenly opened my mouth and fiercely bit off half my tongue!

Splurt—

Blood sprayed out, staining the gray prison uniform red.

I rolled on the ground in pain, letting out beast-like whimpers from my throat, yet I forcefully swallowed that name into my stomach.

That year, with no parents, I was only 19 years old.

Alexander stared fixedly at the big screen, watching the girl in the footage with a mouth full of blood, twitching in pain. The fingers holding his cigar trembled slightly.

But he quickly sneered aloud.

"Ivy, didn't you bring this on yourself?"

"If you hadn't covered for that bastard, would you have suffered like this? You think you're the victim?"

"You are the last person on earth entitled to complain! You chose this!"

The people around him chimed in.

"She's a total lunatic! So ruthless to herself!"

"Trying to use this sob story for sympathy? Laughable! Shielding a criminal makes you an accomplice! You deserve to be cut into a thousand pieces!"

"Miss Elena's family was destroyed; what is her little bit of suffering compared to that!"

Just then, the screen shook violently, and a burst of clear laughter rang out.

"Alexander! Ivy! Come catch me!"

Elena’s innocent, pure face appeared on the big screen.

It was a sunny afternoon in Sicily, the mountains full of lemon trees giving off a fresh scent.

The three of us, young and carefree, were running through the estate.

Elena wore a white dress, looking like an angel as she threw a lemon at me.

"Take that!"

"My Elena..."

Below the stage, Elena’s mother—the old maid who had gone mad in the estate for ten years—wailed and threw herself at the big screen.

Looking at her daughter smiling like a flower on the screen, she couldn't hold back her loud sobbing.

After Elena died ten years ago, her hair turned white overnight, and whenever she saw me, she would lunge like a mad dog to bite me.

Back then, the estate had no surveillance; that night, only Elena and I were together.

No one knew what happened that night.

Except me.

The footage continued to play.

After a bout of chasing and playing, we stopped in front of an ancient statue of the Virgin Mary.

At that time, my eyes were clear. I took out a dagger without hesitation and cut my finger.

Blood dripped onto the Bible.

With the most devout faith, I swore the blood oath that only core Mafia members would swear:

"I, Ivy, swear to the Holy Mother, to remain forever loyal to the Family, to forever protect Alexander and Elena... If I break this oath, may my soul fall into purgatory forever..."

Watching the once devout me making a vow, Alexander could no longer control his inner rage.

"Ivy, you lying hypocrite! You fake, ungrateful wretch!"

He rushed forward, pointing at me through the machine and cursing:

"You have the nerve to recall our childhood! Who are you trying to disgust?"

"Ten years! You haven't told the truth once! You betrayed your oath; you don't deserve to be our family!"

Sure enough, the memory jumped to the next scene.

Elena gave me an expensive diamond necklace, saying it was a birthday gift she had saved up for a long time to buy.

In the footage, however, I had a cold face. After Elena left, I stood on the cliff by the sea, tore the necklace off without hesitation, and threw it into the deep ocean.

The watching Family members exploded.

"What the fuck? Who does she think she is! Miss Elena was so good to her, and she threw the gift away?"

"This kind of person is just an ungrateful bitch, acting one way to your face and another behind your back!"

"I heard before that she was a snake. The Godmother treated her like a sister, but she threw her heartfelt gift into the sea out of jealousy!"

"Don Alexander, this bitch isn't worth any sympathy!"

Countless curses drilled into my ears.

Alexander stood on the high platform, watching this scene coldly.

Actually, he knew the truth better than anyone.

That necklace hid a high-precision bug installed by a rival family.

We discovered it together back then.

To prevent the timid Elena from feeling fear and guilt, I volunteered to play the villain, demanding the necklace in front of her to dispose of it.

Alexander was right there; he tacitly approved of my method.

But now, seeing everyone below condemning me, misunderstanding me as cold-blooded and heartless...

Alexander just stood there indifferently.

A trace of hesitation flashed in his eyes, but he remained silent, allowing the filth to be poured onto me.

In his heart, the current me deserved to be spurned by thousands.

Accompanying the crowd's insults and urging, the memory on the big screen changed scenes again.

It was a night of thunderstorms.

In the memory, I was covered in blood, stumbling to my knees in the muddy ruins.

I held tight to a corpse that no longer looked human.

It was Elena.

Every bone in her body had been crushed, and she lay limp in my arms like a broken rag doll.

The scene was extremely gruesome; the entire hall went dead silent instantly.

In the memory, I went mad, pressing my face against hers, which was covered in blood and filth, crying my heart out:

"I'm sorry... Elena... I'm sorry..."

"Wake up! Please, don't leave me!"

"Ah—!!!"

I looked up at the sky and screamed. The despair and pain in that voice were suffocating, even through the screen.

I held her like that, crying until I fainted in the storm, my hands digging into the mud so hard my fingernails were torn back.

Seeing this, Elena’s brother—the burly man who had nearly choked me to death earlier—suddenly roared:

"Fake! She's faking it!"

He pointed at the screen, his eyes red:

"If she was really sad, why didn't she tell us who the killer is!"

"What's the use of crying over Elena? Those are crocodile tears! It's to cover up her guilt for protecting the killer!"

"Ivy, you drama queen! You make me sick!"

Alexander stared fixedly at the mutilated corpse on the screen.

That was the woman he loved.

Seeing Elena’s death so tragic, Alexander’s heart seized with pain, and his face went pale.

A trace of violent struggle and pain flashed in his eyes; he seemed touched by the extreme grief in my memory.

But the next second, Elena's brother's words reignited his anger.

Yes.

If I really loved her, why wouldn't I name the real killer?

Why would I rather go to prison than expose that person?

The only explanation was—I was an accomplice!

Intense hatred instantly crushed that tiny bit of wavering.

Alexander straightened up abruptly, the red in his eyes more terrifying than a demon's.

"Ivy, since you won't talk, let the machine talk for you!"

"Let's see how long you can pretend!"

He turned his head and roared at the terrified technician beside him:

"Increase the power! Expand the extraction range to the limit!"

"I want to see every detail clearly! I want to see how you watched her die!"

The technician pushed the lever up with trembling hands.

The red needle on the instrument slammed to the max, letting out a piercing alarm.

Longer probes in the helmet instantly stabbed deep into my brain, the sound of electric current buzzing.

"Ah—!"

In reality, my body suddenly went rigid, and I let out an inhuman scream.

Blood flowed from the corners of my eyes and nose.

（付费点）

"Ah—!"

I let out a gut-wrenching scream.

Violent electric currents swarmed like thousands of vipers, drilling into my cerebral cortex through the probes and gnawing frantically at my nerves.

My body convulsed, limbs thrashing desperately, clanging against the iron chains. Blood streamed from my seven orifices, dripping onto the cold torture chair.

Suddenly, a clear image stabilized on the screen.

It was a perspective shot from my own eyes. In the memory, I was holding a gun. My hands were steady, and the muzzle was pointed directly at a woman kneeling on the ground—Elena.

"Die," my voice in the memory was cold.

Bang! The gunshot rang out, and Elena fell into a pool of blood.

The torture chamber erupted into chaos instantly.

"She did it! We saw it!"

"This vicious woman executed the Godmother herself!"

Elena’s brother, Marco, roared like a beast. His eyes bulged with bloodlust, and he completely ignored the Don's presence. He vaulted onto the high platform, kicking the technician aside, and slammed the butt of his heavy pistol into my forehead.

"Bitch! I'll kill you!"

Blood blinded my left eye instantly. Marco grabbed my hair, slamming my head against the metal armrest of the chair again and again.

"You shot her! You shot my sister!"

"Marco! Stand down!" Alexander’s furious roar cut through the noise. He drew his gun and fired a warning shot into the ceiling.

Bang!

The gunshot echoed, momentarily stunning the crowd. Alexander strode over, kicked Marco in the chest, sending him flying off the platform, and pointed his gun at the unruly mob below.

"Anyone who touches her before I give the order dies!"

Alexander turned back, his handsome face so dark it looked like it could drip water. He grabbed my jaw, his fingers digging into my shattered cheekbones, forcing me to look at the frozen image of the gunshot on the screen.

"Is this what you were hiding? You pulled the trigger yourself? I thought you were just an accomplice, but you were the executioner!"

I gasped for air, blood bubbling from my mouth, a strange, broken smile appearing on my face.

"Yes... I killed her... I was jealous of her... Alexander, kill me... avenge her... hurry..." I provoked him desperately.

"I hated her perfection... I hated that you loved her..."

I wanted him to shoot. If I died, the secret would be buried forever.

Alexander’s hand shook. The betrayal was eating him alive. He slowly raised his gun, the muzzle pressing against the center of my forehead.

"Then go to hell."

His finger tightened on the trigger.

"Wait! Don! Stop!" The lead technician, who had crawled back to the console, suddenly screamed, his voice cracking with terror. "Don't shoot! That memory is fake!"

"Fake?" Alexander’s hand froze, but he didn't lower the gun. His gaze shifted to the technician like a blade.

"Look at the waveform monitor!" The technician pointed frantically at the instrument panel where red warning lights were flashing violently. "The brainwaves are completely erratic. The beta waves are spiking abnormally. This isn't a retrieval of the hippocampus; it's a real-time fabrication from the frontal lobe!"

"She is forcing herself to imagine a scene of killing Miss Elena! She is hallucinating on purpose to trick you into killing her!"

The crowd below fell silent, confusion replacing their rage.

Alexander was stunned. He looked back at me, the intent to kill wavering.

"You... you fabricated a memory?" Alexander looked at me in disbelief, the anger in his eyes turning into a terrifying confusion. "Why? Why would you rather frame yourself as the murderer than let me see the truth?"

I felt a chill of despair.

"Inject her with the Neuro-Stimulant," Alexander ordered coldly, holstering his gun.

"But Don, her heart rate is already at 180..." the doctor warned weakly.

"Do it! I don't care if her heart explodes, I want her conscious! I want her brain wide open!"

The technician trembled as he injected a glowing blue liquid into my neck.

My body arched violently, veins bulging on my forehead.

The pain was magnified ten times, but my mind was forced into a state of terrifying clarity. My defenses crumbled.

"No..." I whimpered, tears mixing with blood.

"Let's see who you are really protecting," Alexander whispered in my ear, like a demon.

He shoved the technician aside. "Increase the power! Expand the extraction range to the limit!"

"I want to see every detail clearly! I want to see how you watched her die!"

The images on the big screen flickered wildly, filled with static snow.

One moment, it was us robbing a store on the streets of Sicily; the next, I was learning to shoot for the first time; then, the three of us drinking under the lemon trees.

But the night of Elena’s death was missing.

Alexander spun around, grabbed the lead technician by the collar, and pressed his gun directly against the man's temple.

"Explain this to me! Why can't I see the killer's face?"

The lead technician fell to his knees in terror, stammering:

"Don... it’s her... it’s her subconscious rejecting it to the extreme..."

"She is fighting the system... Even if she goes brain-dead, she refuses to let that memory be extracted!"

"Refuses extraction?"

Alexander shoved the technician aside and strode over to me.

His azure eyes were webbed with red blood vessels—a mix of rage and the hysteria of betrayal.

"Ivy! You're at this stage, and you're still putting up a fight?"

"What kind of man is worth you risking everything, risking your life to protect? That is the butcher who tortured Elena!"

I was already delirious, the intense pain causing hallucinations.

I couldn't hear what he was cursing about. I only felt that the blurry figure in front of me seemed to be the gentle foster brother who used to carry me on his back through the streets of Sicily ten years ago.

I convulsed uncontrollably, my lips trembling as I repeated the mantra carved into my bones:

"Can't say... can't say..."

"If I say it... Xander will die..."

"If I say it... Alexander will break..."

Although my voice was as weak as a mosquito's buzz, Alexander was too close. He heard it.

His body jolted, a trace of shock flashing through his eyes, immediately replaced by deeper fury.

"For that killer, you're still playing these games?"

"Ivy, your acting skills are getting better and better. Trying to garner sympathy even now?"

He suddenly pulled out the black-gold dagger from his waist. The cold blade pressed deadly against my windpipe; another inch forward, and it would slice my artery.

"Stop playing the fool! Crank up the stimulation! I want the truth!"

"Don! The machine is overheating! If we increase voltage again, it might short-circuit and fry her brain instantly!" the technician screamed.

"Burn it!" Alexander didn't even look back. "If she wants to take the secret to hell, I'll drag her back from the gates!"

He grabbed the voltage lever himself and slammed it to the absolute maximum.

Sparks flew from the console. Smoke began to rise from the helmet on my head.

"Urgh—!"

I let out a wretched wail again, my body taut as a bow pulled to its limit. The smell of burning flesh filled the air.

Watching my face twist in agony, the hand Alexander used to hold the dagger actually trembled uncontrollably.

He stared at the big screen, eyes bloodshot, roaring almost like a madman: "Ivy, who is it?! Who is worth you protecting like this? That was Elena!"

He suddenly broke down, rushing forward to grab my collar, burying his head in the crook of my neck, his voice hoarse: "We... we were your family..."

His shoulders shook violently.

A drop of warm liquid fell onto my face, scalding hot.

My body shuddered.

My brother was crying.

The arrogant Don was crying.

In that second, his face reflected in my dilated pupils.

In the extreme agony, my mental defenses finally burst.

Subconsciously, I reached out a hand covered in needle marks and blood and gently touched Alexander’s cold face.

With infinite attachment, I used my mutilated tongue to slur out a cry:

"Xander... don't cry..."

That long-lost childhood nickname hit Alexander’s heart like a sledgehammer.

He froze completely, a crack appearing in his mask of majestic authority.

In that split second of his distraction, my psychological defenses collapsed completely.

Zzzzt—

The screen flickered violently.