I was supposed to be the pampered youngest daughter of the Falcone crime family.

My fiancé was Lorenzo, the heir to the Caruso dynasty.

I had three brothers who were the most feared men on the streets.

But everything changed the moment my long-lost older sister returned.

"Isabella was kidnapped by our enemies when she was three. She went through hell until the family found her at eighteen. Why can’t you just cut her some slack?"

"Elena, if Isabella hadn't gone missing, the Don would never have had you just to fill the void. You owe her your life. What right do you have to compete with her?"

Time and again, I stepped back into the shadows for my sister.

But on the night before my wedding, Isabella called Lorenzo.

"Lorenzo... I’m at the Old Port docks. There’s a strange car here and three men just got out... I’m so scared..."

Lorenzo didn't even wait to hear the rest. He slammed on the brakes and kicked me out of the car in the middle of a torrential downpour.

I clung to the door of that black Maybach, begging him.

"Lorenzo, it’s the night before our wedding. This is rival turf."

"Just this once, for the sake of the family’s reputation, can’t you choose me?"

Lorenzo grabbed my wrists and shoved me away.

"If anything happens to Isabella, I swear I’ll send you to hell myself!"

But those "three men" Isabella mentioned? They were actually our three brothers, who were only there to watch the ocean and set off fireworks with her.

That night, my three brothers and my fiancé were at the seaside, showering her with affection.

And I died in an abandoned slaughterhouse on the edge of the city.

This time, I finally gave way to my sister completely.

But tell me—when you saw my corpse, why were you all crying?

I gripped the edge of the bulletproof window, my knuckles turning white from the strain as the icy rain lashed against my face.

Lorenzo looked at me like I was a stranger—an inconvenience. He peeled my fingers off the glass, one by one.

"Elena! Dammit, she’s your sister. Can you stop being so cold-hearted?"

"Isabella lived in the slums for years; she can't handle fear like this. If she gets hurt because I didn't go to her, I’ll never forgive myself."

My sister’s name is Isabella. We are the daughters of the most powerful Mafia family in the city.

And I was nothing more than her shadow.

With one final shove, my fingers slipped from the frame.

The heavy car door slammed shut with a sickening thud, cutting off the warmth of the heater and my last shred of hope.

The black sedan roared away, splashing me with mud as it disappeared into the storm.

Right then, my phone rang. It was my eldest brother, Luca.

"Elena, did you try to stop Lorenzo from coming?"

"How can you be so selfish? You’ve enjoyed the life of a Mafia princess for over a decade—a life you stole from her! Why do you always have to fight Isabella for everything?"

Before my brother could finish his lecture, I interrupted him, my voice hoarse.

"Lorenzo is already on his way."

He hung up without a second thought, leaving me with nothing but a dial tone.

I wiped the rain and tears from my face.

Just as I turned to leave this dangerous neighborhood, an unmarked white van suddenly flooded the street with high beams. Like a wild beast breaking its cage, it drove straight into me.

The impact sent me flying.

Beneath me, warm blood quickly pooled, mixing with the cold rainwater.

With trembling hands, I used the last of my strength to call Lorenzo.

"Lorenzo... I’ve been hit by a car... right where you dropped me off... I think it’s the Russians..."

Lorenzo’s impatient voice crackled through the speaker, accompanied by the sound of the ocean breeze. It was a death sentence.

"Elena! Why do you keep forcing me to choose? With a lie this pathetic?"

"Do you have any idea how much you look like a sickening clown right now, desperate for attention?"

The call went dead. When I tried to redial, his phone was already turned off.

Through my blurred vision, I saw several tattooed men jump out of the van. I recognized the ink—stars on the knees. They were Bratva. The rival Ivanov family.

As the Don’s daughter, I knew exactly what that meant.

I tried to crawl away, but my broken legs felt nothing.

The leader walked up to me, knelt down, and grabbed a handful of my soaked hair, yanking my head back.

"That bitch didn't lie to us. It really is the little Falcone girl."

"Enough talk. Bag her."

I was shoved brutally into the fishy-smelling van. After a bumpy ride, I was dragged into an abandoned slaughterhouse on the outskirts of town.

When I was thrown onto the dusty concrete floor, I felt more of my ribs snap.

I clutched my phone tight.

"Listen, I’m a Falcone. I have money. My family runs the West Side."

"Let me call them. They’ll pay whatever ransom you want. I’m the Don’s daughter, please."

The leader lit a cigarette and laughed, smoke curling over his yellow teeth.

"We grabbed you because you’re a Falcone. Go ahead, make the call."

"Our employer said to let you use the phone. That way, you’ll die knowing the truth—that nobody is coming to save you."

My hands, slick with blood, shook as I dialed my second brother, Matteo. He was the family’s Consigliere, the calm one. The rational one.

"Matteo, I’ve been kidnapped. I’m at the slaughterhouse in the outskirts. Bring men, hurry, I’m at—"

Matteo’s voice was thick with suppressed rage. I could hear the waves crashing in the background.

"Elena! You know damn well we’re out here helping Isabella clear her head. Is it really that fun to stage a scene like this right now?"

Just then, I heard Isabella’s soft, fragile voice in the background.

"Forget it, Lorenzo, brothers... you should go back. Tomorrow is Elena’s wedding. I shouldn't have been so selfish, asking you to watch the fireworks with me."

Then came Lorenzo’s voice, so tender it shattered what was left of my heart—a world away from the coldness he showed me on the street.

"It’s not your fault. Elena is just being immature."

Isabella’s voice instantly turned cheerful.

"I knew it. Lorenzo and my brothers love me the most..."

Beep— Beep—

The call was cut off mercilessly. My world collapsed with it.

Seeing my hollow, hopeless expression, the Russian leader’s face twisted into a grin as he crushed his cigarette butt under his boot.

"See that, Miss Falcone? In this city, nobody gives a damn about you."

The men approached me, knives glinting in the dim light.

I struggled desperately, my fingernails digging into the concrete until they bled.

In that filthy slaughterhouse, my screams and pleas were met only with their frantic laughter.

The honor of the Falcone family meant nothing on this rainy night.

The world was too cold.

In the next life, I don't want to be anyone's sister. And I don't want to be anyone's wife.

The process of dying was long and agonizing.

But being dead felt surprisingly light.

Once I became a corpse, my soul drifted upward, untethered.

On the other side of the city, my three brothers and Lorenzo were escorting Isabella back to the estate.

Isabella was draped in Lorenzo’s suit jacket, a look of pure innocence on her face.

"The sun isn't even up yet. If it weren't for Elena’s wedding today, I wouldn't let you guys leave me so soon."

The man who was supposed to swear his life to me in a church just a few hours from now was currently stroking Isabella’s hair, his eyes full of affection.

"Alright, alright, we’re the ones at fault. After the wedding is over, I’ll take you to Sicily for a vacation, okay? Anywhere you want to go."

Watching this, I felt as if an invisible hand had violently crushed my heart.

Even as a ghost, the sharp pain of being discarded was terrifyingly real.

The luxury cars rolled slowly through the iron gates of the Falcone compound.

As soon as they entered the grand foyer, the brothers saw the house was packed with people.

The family’s personal stylists, wedding dress designers flown in from Paris, and the bridesmaids were all there, waiting.

Everyone was looking at each other in confusion—because the bride was missing.

Luca, the eldest, frowned. His face, a mask of command and authority, tightened with irritation.

"Where the hell is Elena? Look at the time. Why hasn't she started her makeup yet?"

The old butler stepped forward, trembling as he removed his hat.

"Master Luca... the young mistress didn't return last night. We haven't been able to reach her, and—"

Lorenzo’s face darkened instantly. He pulled out his phone and dialed my number.

The ringtone echoed through the void over and over.

It rang until it timed out. No answer.

After several failed attempts, Lorenzo slammed his phone onto the sofa, his jaw clenched in rage.

Isabella’s eyes welled up immediately, her tears falling like broken pearls.

"It’s all my fault. Elena must be angry with me. She blames me for taking up your time last night..."

Dante, the third brother and the family’s most hot-headed enforcer, gently patted Isabella’s back.

"It’s not your fault. Elena is just being a brat."

Dante turned, roaring at Luca and Lorenzo:

"We’ve spoiled her too much! We’ve let her forget her place. This is a family alliance, a merger between two dynasties, and she just disappears?"

"We just took Isabella to see the ocean. It’s not like we ruined the wedding. Does she really need to pull a vanishing act over this? Isabella is her sister—can she really not stand to share the spotlight for one night?"

Lorenzo said nothing, his eyes fixed on his phone screen as if he wanted to burn a hole through it.

A moment later, his fingers flew across the screen as he sent me a text.

“Since you want to play games and don't give a damn about family interests, the wedding is canceled.”

After sending the message, Lorenzo looked up and spoke coldly to everyone in the hall.

"Everyone out. Tell the Caruso elders the wedding is postponed."

I hovered near the crystal chandelier, taking it all in.

I was "spoiled"? I "didn't care about family interests"?

What a sick joke.

Just then, Luca’s private encrypted cell phone rang. It was a number known only to high-ranking police officials and major business partners.

The moment he answered, Luca’s face went deathly pale. The hand holding the phone began to shake.

The voice of the NYPD Major Crimes Captain came through the receiver:

"Mr. Falcone, we found a female body in an abandoned meatpacking plant on the outskirts of the city."

"Based on items found at the scene and preliminary DNA, the victim is likely your sister, Miss Elena Falcone."

"The deceased suffered... extreme, brutal torture before she died. We need you to come to the morgue for identification immediately."

Before Luca could even find his voice, Matteo, the second brother, snatched the phone away. As the family’s Consigliere, he was naturally suspicious and an expert at sniffing out lies.

"Don't listen to this 'cop's' bullshit, Luca. This is ridiculous. If she’s hiring actors, she’s doing a piss-poor job. Everyone knows the Falcone and Caruso families are merging. No one would be stupid enough to touch her today."

Matteo let out a cold laugh, hung up, and tossed the phone back on the table.

"Elena is just trying to make us panic. She’s using this extreme stunt to compete with Isabella for attention. She’s mimicking Isabella’s 'disappearance' from back then, fishing for a reaction. Luca, ignore her."

Dante sat nearby, cleaning his Glock. He nodded in agreement; he trusted Matteo’s judgment implicitly.

Watching their cold, indifferent faces from the air, I felt as if my heart was being pierced by a Siberian wind.

Isabella was their precious jewel, but wasn't I Falcone blood too?

Years ago, Isabella had been snatched by enemies during a chaotic family gathering.

My mother was devastated. During those dark years, she sought comfort and, two years later, gave birth to me.

It wasn't until Isabella was eighteen that the family used every resource they had to find her and bring her back from the slums.

In their eyes, my birth was just a replacement—an error meant to fill a void.

Until I was thirteen, I was the only princess of the family.

But everyone, from my parents to the bodyguards, constantly reminded me: Everything you have was supposed to be Isabella’s. If she hadn't been lost, you wouldn't even be here.

When Isabella returned, she always wore old clothes and told stories of the abuse and hunger she suffered in foster care.

Those stories were like whips against the hearts of my parents and brothers, compounding their guilt over my existence.

From then on, every rule in the Falcone house was rewritten to favor Isabella.

Isabella stood to the side with red-rimmed eyes, looking like a frightened fawn.

Lorenzo stepped forward and gently took her hand.

"Don't blame yourself, Bella. This has nothing to do with you."

"My engagement to Elena was always a forced business arrangement. This gives me and her a chance to re-evaluate whether this relationship even needs to exist."

And Lorenzo’s idea of "re-evaluating" was spending this storm-tossed weekend indulging Isabella.

I drifted there, watching Lorenzo pamper her with tender devotion.

In the past, every time Lorenzo ditched me for Isabella, I would scream and demand answers like a madwoman.

I could handle my brothers being biased, but Lorenzo was my fiancé—my only anchor in this cold family.

Why did he always put me second?

Back then, Lorenzo would just light a cigarette and look at me with boredom. "Elena, she’s your sister. She suffered out there. Being good to her is how I make up for what you were given while she had nothing. Do you get it?"

It wasn't until evening, when the sunset stained the estate a bloody red, that Lorenzo’s private phone finally rang.

His brow relaxed, and a mocking smirk played on his lips.

"What? Finally remembered me? You hid all day, and now you’re finally crawling back to apologize?"

But it wasn't me on the other end. It was his lead soldato, sounding frantic.

"Boss, we’ve searched the whole city. Miss Elena didn't go back to the Falcone estate, and she’s not at your penthouse... There’s no word of a kidnapping or ransom on the black market either..."

Lorenzo cut him off angrily.

"If you haven't found her, why the hell are you calling me? You’re all useless!"

He slammed the phone down. Isabella, who had clearly overheard, swirled her red wine and gave a soft, mocking laugh.

"My sister never really had any 'respectable' friends. She’s a bride-to-be who didn't go home or to your place last night... where do you think she could have gone?"

Isabella lowered her voice, her tone laced with poison:

"She couldn't be at one of those... filthy nightclubs, could she? I heard she’s been under a lot of stress... It would be so immature of her to do something that brings shame to the family name."

Lorenzo’s handsome features twisted into a deep scowl. Family honor was everything to him.

"Enough. Elena might be bratty, but she wouldn't stoop that low."

Seeing Lorenzo’s bad mood, Isabella immediately retracted her claws, tears flowing on command.

"It’s my fault. I was just so worried about her that my mind started racing."

"I’m always so stupid, I’ve upset you again..."

As soon as Isabella started crying, the three brothers turned into killing machines, their eyes snapping toward Lorenzo with lethal intent.

"That’s enough, Lorenzo. Isabella didn't say anything wrong. Why are you snapping at her?"

"You can't even keep your own fiancée in line. Why are you taking it out on Bella?"

Isabella quickly stepped between them and Lorenzo, looking pathetic and fragile.

"Don't blame Lorenzo, brothers, I was the one who spoke out of turn..."

Before she could finish, her eyes fluttered shut, and her body went limp.

Lorenzo’s pupils dilated as he caught her in his arms.

"Bella!"