The moment the acid hit my skin, I heard my own flesh sizzle.

In the last moments before my consciousness faded, my trembling fingers managed to dial my brother, the new Don of the Steele family.

To my relief, Farrow finally answered.

The sounds of expensive jazz and clinking glasses bled through the receiver. His voice was cold as ice.

"What is it this time, Grace?"

"Farrow... help me..."

He cut me off before I could finish.

"Listen, Betty's book launch is tomorrow night. If you dare cause a scene or embarrass the Family, I'll disown you. I'll ship you off to a convent in Sicily."

The line went dead.

A moment later, a second splash of acid hit my face, and the searing agony consumed me.

My eyes were gone, leaving nothing but hollow, bloody sockets.

You don't need to exile me, Farrow.

I'm already gone. Forever.

When the sulfuric acid hit my face, I spent my last ounce of strength calling my brother, the Don. He dismissed it as just another one of my tantrums.

"Grace, if you dare miss Betty's book launch tomorrow, I'll make you regret it."

The moment the call was disconnected, the burning pain stole my last breath.

You don't have to bother this time, my brother. I'll disappear for you. Forever.

Death is not the end, at least not for me.

My soul drifted above the abandoned chemical plant, the air thick with the stench of rust and chemicals, watching Farrow's men moving below.

The brazenness of the attack sent shockwaves through the underworld.

The man in charge of this whole messy affair was none other than the new Don of the Steele family: my brother, Farrow.

I watched as my own broken body was dragged from behind a pile of stinking industrial waste barrels.

The face was unrecognizable, the limbs twisted at unnatural angles.

Fate is a cruel bitch.

Even in death, I was still Farrow's problem.

Several black, armored cars were parked nearby. The doors opened, and Farrow stepped into the mud.

He approached, his face a cold mask, followed by the Family's consigliere, Uncle Zac.

"What's the situation?" Farrow's voice was low, laced with cold fury.

The capo in charge of the scene paled, bowing his head. "Don, the victim... is unidentifiable. The face was completely destroyed by acid, and the fingerprints have been filed off."

"The methods were brutal. This was a statement."

"We also believe... she was tortured extensively before she died."

A grim silence fell over the crew as they listened to the cruel details.

"These bastards!" someone growled through clenched teeth.

"Poor kid. Can't imagine what she went through."

Farrow narrowed his eyes at the black body bag. A body dumped on his turf, killed this way... it was a slap in the face to the Steele family.

"Find them."

"Whoever did this, I'll tear them limb from limb. I want them skinned alive and their hides hanging in Times Square."

Uncle Zac sighed and patted his shoulder. "Looks like this will keep you busy for a few days. You'll probably have to miss dinner with Grace."

Zac had been my father's right-hand man, a senior member of our family.

After my father's death, he had guided Farrow like a godfather, helping him take control of the family business.

At the mention of my name, Farrow's face twisted in disgust.

"Don't say her name in front of me! She's nothing but bad luck!"

"I don't give a damn about dinner with her. All I care about is making sure Betty's launch goes off without a hitch."

Uncle Zac tried to say something else, "But..."

His words were an invisible whip, lashing my ethereal soul.

Five years ago, a bomb was planted in our parents' car.

That inferno burned more than just the car; it turned the bond between Farrow and me to ash.

He was convinced that I had leaked their location, that I had gotten Mom and Dad killed.

From that day on, the brother who'd carry me on his back and run a whole block just to buy me ice cream was gone.

Later, he saved an orphan girl during a firefight.

After learning of her pitiful background, he brought her home and adopted her as his sister.

She was much better at charming him than I ever was, finding ways, subtle or not, to paint me as a useless screw-up.

Farrow believed her more and more. I was the true Steele heir, but from that day on, I was the outcast.

Before I died, he was furious that I might disrupt Betty's event.

If he knew that mangled corpse was me, he'd probably just turn and walk away in disgust.

After all, no one in this world wanted me to disappear more than he did.

I'm finally dead, brother. The Steele bloodline is pure again.

You should be happy, shouldn't you?

Just as Farrow reached for the car door, Uncle Zac grabbed his arm. The old man's knuckles were white from the force of his grip.

"That's your sister, Farrow!"

"How can you talk about her like that?"

Zac lowered his voice. "The intel on last month's shipment, Grace got that from the Mexicans, risking her life. She was chasing down leads day and night, just to help you secure your position."

"She's been busting her ass every day, trying to be the kind of sister a Don needs."

Farrow shook him off, adjusting the cuffs of his expensive suit, his eyes filled with scorn.

"Don't be naive, Zac. She'd say anything to get back on your good side."

"You're getting old. Your emotions are clouding your judgment."

He turned to one of his men, his voice hard. "Any of our people reported missing in the last few days?"

"No, Don. No missing person reports in the territory for the last two days."

Farrow's brow furrowed.

"This girl's been dead for days and no one's looking for her? People put up flyers for a lost dog. They treated her worse than a stray."

As dinnertime arrived, Zac waited and waited, his expression growing more unsettled. "Something's not right. Grace hasn't checked in for days."

Farrow scoffed, his face a mask of contempt. "She's finally showing her true colors. It's in her nature. She can't follow through on anything."

Zac's temper flared at his indifferent attitude. "Impossible! For years, through blizzards and firefights, Grace has shown up every day with the latest information, just to win your approval!"

"There has to be something wrong. You need to contact her immediately!"

Farrow speared a piece of steak. "Forget that jinx. I've seen all her little tricks."

"She called me a couple of days ago, pulling God knows what kind of stunt. I told her to be at Betty's launch, and she blew me off. She's openly challenging my authority!"

Zac was about to argue, but the ringing of a phone cut him off.

It was the special ringtone he had set for Betty.

The ice on Farrow's face melted in an instant.

He answered the phone, his voice a low, magnetic hum, laced with affection.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

The pet names and privileges that once belonged to me were now all Betty's.

"Don't cry, tell me what happened..."

"I know. I'll be careful."

I don't know what Betty was crying about on the other end, but Farrow's tone suddenly turned cold.

"Don't worry, I'll handle the plagiarism issue. As for this original author, I'll have the Family's lawyers and the media make her disappear from the face of the earth! If she won't admit she's lying, I'll make sure she can never speak again!"

"There, there, don't be sad. It's not safe on the streets right now. You have to check in with me before you go anywhere."

My spirit form trembled.

That original author was me.

It was the story I had spent countless sleepless nights writing, stolen by Betty, who simply changed the name and passed it off as her masterpiece.

I had tried to tell him, but Farrow didn't believe me.

Or rather, he didn't care.

And you did it, Farrow. You backed the "original author" into a corner with your threats. Now she's lying in a body bag at your feet.

Betty's sickeningly sweet voice suddenly chirped on the other end of the line. "Thank you, brother... oh, and you have to come to the launch party on Sunday night. I have a big surprise for you."

An intense chill washed over me, and my senses went on high alert.

No! Don't go! Farrow, it's a trap for you!

I desperately tried to shake him awake.

I screamed until my non-existent throat was raw.

But I had forgotten. I was just a wisp of a soul in the air. How could he possibly see me?

"Of course, my little love. I'll wrap this up as fast as I can. Then I'll come home to you, baby."

He hung up, then noticed Zac's grim expression.

He waved a dismissive hand. "Enough, Consigliere. I'm going to take a look at the body myself, see if I can spot anything. Stop looking for trouble."

Zac didn't move, his gaze serious. "Wait. I just called Grace. No answer. You try. She never ignores your calls."

Farrow tugged at his tie in frustration. "Are you ever going to drop it?"

"I don't have time for this. Family business is waiting. I don't have time to deal with her."

Zac's persuasion failed. He could only let out a defeated sigh.

The air in the morgue was cold and thick with the stench of formaldehyde. The medical examiner nervously pulled open one of the large refrigerated drawers.

The thick, black body bag was laid out on the autopsy table, its zipper closed tight.

Farrow faced the tightly wrapped corpse once again.

Even through his mask, the mixed smell of chemicals and rotting flesh was pungent.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm, put on a pair of gloves, and reached for the zipper pull.

The zipper opened slowly. I floated behind him, hoping he might notice something.

The bag was halfway open.

The charred body, corroded by acid beyond recognition, was exposed under the bright lights.

It was a hideous sight.

If there had been any other way, I never would have let my brother see me like this.

Farrow frowned, ready to wave his hand and have this pile of "trash" disposed of.

Suddenly, he froze.

Farrow's eyes were glued to the corpse's clenched left hand. His pupils contracted violently, and for a moment, he stopped breathing altogether.

My soul tensed, stretched to its breaking point.

Brother, are you going to recognize me?

A hideous burn scar sliced across the palm of my left hand.

It was a souvenir from the nightmare of the car bomb five years ago.

Seeing Farrow stare at that scar, my soul screamed silently in mid-air.

"Do you see it, brother?"

"Back then, when Mom and Dad were trapped in the twisted wreck of the car, it was me who rushed forward like a madwoman, grabbing the red-hot door handle with my bare hands."

This scar was the proof that I had tried to snatch our parents back from the jaws of death.

The smell of my own burning flesh was a memory I could recall with perfect clarity, even in death.

I remember when Farrow arrived and saw my bloody, mangled hand. His eyes filled with tears of pain as he held it gingerly and asked me, "Does it hurt?"

But I couldn't feel a thing back then. All I wanted was to save Mom and Dad.

I was certain that if Farrow saw this hand, he would recognize me.

Even if my face was ruined, he would never forget this scar.

For a year after that, he would hold this hand whenever I woke from nightmares, apologizing over and over for not protecting me.

But the pain I'm in now, brother, is so much worse.

At that moment, Farrow's fingers were clenched around the body bag's zipper.

The sound of the metal teeth was like a countdown.

My soul drew closer, as if I could feel the coldness of his fingertips.

Look, brother. Look at this hand again, I beg you.

Just as the zipper was about to slide down, the shrill ring of a phone shattered the silence.

Farrow let out an impatient sound, released the zipper, and answered the call.

The firm, anxious voice of our aunt, Sophia, came through the speaker.

"Farrow, where is Grace? Today is the family's prayer day. She never misses it."

Aunt Sophia was the most powerful elder in our family, and one of the few people who still cared about me after our parents died.

Hearing her voice, I almost wanted to cry. I wanted to hug my aunt and tell her that Grace was in so much pain.

Hearing my aunt mention my name, Farrow's expression darkened, his voice full of dismissive disgust.

"Aunt Sophia, don't waste your breath on her. She's probably holed up in some club, playing the big shot with the minor families, or slumming it with those wannabe writers."

"But..."

"It's nothing," Farrow cut her off coldly.

"She's just throwing a tantrum. It's her usual tactic. Hides for a few days so I have to search the whole world for her, just to satisfy her pathetic vanity."

"I've already sent people to look for her. She'll come crawling back once the money runs out."

"After Betty's book launch, once I'm done with this, I'll send her to a convent in Sicily to think about what she's done. That's all."

Hanging up, the frustration in Farrow's eyes was about to spill over.

That call had exhausted the last bit of patience he had for this corpse. He had no desire to look at it anymore.

"Get these samples to the lab. I want a rush on the DNA comparison."

He stripped off his gloves, tossed them into a bin with disgust, and turned to a capo behind him.

"I want definitive results, not a guessing game."

"And find out which unlucky family this stiff belongs to. Someone dumps a body on my turf, I'm going to skin the killer alive."

Just as he was turning to leave, the doors to the morgue were thrown open.

A young family soldier burst in, his face streaked with tears. He forgot all protocol, dropping to his knees right in front of Farrow.

"Don! Please! Help me!"

I recognized him. His name was Luca, one of Farrow's most trusted bodyguards.

Farrow stopped, frowning at his distraught subordinate.

"Stand up and speak. Steele men do not cry."

The young man choked back a sob, but his voice trembled. "My sister... she's been missing for two days. Her phone's off, and she's not at home. She just turned eighteen!"

"She's the only family I have left, Don. Please, use your resources to find her!"

Looking at the young soldier's desperate eyes, the hard lines of Farrow's face actually softened.

He must have been thinking of Betty in that moment. It certainly couldn't have been me.

He stepped forward and patted Luca's shoulder.

"Don't panic. She's your sister, which makes her one of the Steele family's own. I won't let anything happen to her."

"Mobilize everyone. Scour the entire city to find her. Use my car."

I watched this scene; it felt like my soul was being ripped apart.

This young soldier's sister was missing for just two days, and he felt like his world was ending, even daring to storm in and beg the Don for help.

I had been missing for four whole days.

My brother not only felt no concern, but also thought I was just "throwing a tantrum," complained to our elders about my "crimes," and was busy planning my exile.

That night, Luca's sister was found.

She had just gotten drunk at a friend's house and overslept.

When Farrow heard the news, he personally called to comfort her and sent a gift to calm her nerves.

I couldn't understand it. He could show such empathy for a subordinate's sister.

Why was there nothing left for me but harshness and suspicion?

Word spread through the Family, praising the new Don's mercy and loyalty.

Only Uncle Zac remained in his office, his face ashen as he stared at the pending DNA request.

Two days passed. The identity of the body was still unknown.

The investigation into the brutal murder had hit a dead end. No clues, destroyed security footage, a ruined face, and filed-off fingerprints.

Rumors began to spread that the new Don couldn't even catch a killer who operated on his own turf.

For Farrow, this was the ultimate humiliation.

In his office, he hurled an expensive whiskey tumbler against the wall, sending glass shards flying.

"Useless bastards! You still can't ID the victim?!"

"My patience has run out."