Sofia wasn't my real sister.

In my previous life, less than a week after my Mama, Ottavia Vivaldi, was laid to rest, Papa brought his mistress, Bianca Malaspina, home. And, trailing behind her, was a girl about my age.

She was none other than Sofia.

Papa said he would treat us both fairly. But as the family business grew, the dividends Sofia received each quarter were enough to buy an entire arms-smuggling route. In contrast, I couldn't even buy myself a bottle of painkillers without filling out forms and waiting for finance to sign off.

Dante and Luca's parents died taking bullets for Papa in a shootout. Out of loyalty to the past, Papa brought the two brothers home, saying they would be raised separately to serve as trusted right-hand men for Sofia and me.

But from start to finish, both of them only ever had eyes for Sofia.

Thus, I decided not to rely on anyone anymore in this life. If I wanted to rewrite my fate, I'd have to take a seat at the table myself.

Having no interest in me, Uncle Vittorio threw me into a junior role at one of the family's investment firms and didn't even bother to give me a real desk.

I didn't kick up a fuss. Instead, I just kept my head down and worked hard.

In my previous life, I'd spent seven years in the venture capital circles of Mayview Street. Thus, I knew better than any analyst which funds were about to implode, which sectors were about to take off, and which companies had landmines buried in their financial reports.

Within three months, I had precisely executed two deals that no one else dared to touch and secured a merger agreement worth 100 billion dollars for the family.

For the first time, Uncle Vittorio invited me to dinner on his own initiative and brought me to a closed-door evening banquet reserved for only the inner circle.

When he introduced me to the family heads sitting around the table, this was what he said. "This is my brother Ettore's eldest daughter, Isabella."

Word traveled fast.

Within two weeks, the mafia circles were all talking about how the Moretti family's wheelchair-bound firstborn was ten times more capable than her spendthrift younger sister.

On the first night I returned to the family estate, before I could even make it to my room, Sofia cornered me at the end of the hallway.

Leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, she said nonchalantly, "Isabella, you've been making quite a splash lately."

I didn't stop wheeling, so she stepped forward and blocked my path.

"You're already crippled, so stop running around making trouble. You should just find someone to marry and seal a decent marriage alliance for the family. That would be the least you could do to repay Papa for raising you all these years."

I looked up at her. "Sofia, are you afraid I'm going to take your place?"

Her expression changed for a moment. But just as quickly, she smiled and said, "You're overthinking it. I'm just looking out for you."

"Looking out for me?" I locked eyes with her and said emphatically, "Back when the black sedan came barreling toward you at the docks, I was the one who yanked you behind me."

Her smile froze.

"But then the second truck came, you shoved me forward."

For three seconds, silence hung in the hallway.

Sofia's eyes reddened instantly, her voice trembling as she spoke.

"Isabella, I was only six years old back then. Not to mention, I was terrified. I didn't mean to shove you. How could you think that of me? I'm not that evil."

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She looked so pitiful and heartbreaking.

Dante had somehow already appeared behind her. He slipped an arm around her shoulder and wrapped her in his coat.

Luca rushed over too, standing beside Dante. He pointed at me and said in a voice tight with anger, "Isabella, you've gone too far. Apologize to Principessa Sofia right now!"

I took hold of his index finger and forcefully snapped it outward. His joint let out a sharp, clean crack.

Luca let out a muffled grunt, his knees nearly buckling.

I released my grip and turned to Sofia. "I'm telling you, Sofia—you'd better keep your lapdogs under control and teach them some manners."

Dante's head snapped up, a flash of menace in his eyes. He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, and something glinted under the hallway lights as he pulled it out.

It was a ruby ring.

My blood instantly ran cold.

Mamma had put that ring on my finger just before she died. It was the only thing she ever left me.

Later, Sofia set her sights on it. And one day, it disappeared from my jewelry box.

"Apologize to Principessa Sofia," Dante said, holding the ring high above his head as he towered above me. "Apologize, and I'll give the ring back to you. Otherwise, I'll smash it to pieces right now."

His thumb and forefinger clamped down on either side of the ring, squeezing it with just enough force to make the metal let out a faint, creaking whine.

My hands lost all control, seizing the armrests and wrenching the wheelchair forward. It jolted half a step, but the ring remained just out of reach.

Dante raised the ring even higher, a cold smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I'll count to three. Three, two…"

I was shaking all over, my nails biting into my palms until blood began to seep out.

"One."

"I'm sorry."

I forced those words out, as if I were tearing them out of my throat.

Dante smirked in satisfaction and dropped the ring.

Luca quickly caught it and hurried over to me. His eyes darted away as he handed the ring over.

Without looking at him, I took the ring and clenched it in my palm. Then, I turned my wheelchair around and left without so much as a backward glance.

After turning the corner at the end of the hallway, I pulled the encrypted phone from the side pocket of my wheelchair and dialed a number.

The call connected immediately.

"The game is over," I said. After a brief pause, I added, "And come get me. I've decided to marry you."

After hanging up, I went back to my room and packed my bags.

The next morning, I'd just snapped shut the locks on my suitcase when the door was kicked open.

Dante stormed in and immediately seized the armrests of my wheelchair. Then, he ripped me straight out of it.

"The Colombo family's Soldati has captured Principessa Sofia. You're coming with me now."

I took the opportunity to slip my right hand into the hidden compartment in the side panel of my wheelchair. My fingertips brushed against cold metal. By the time I pulled out the gun, the barrel was already pressed against Dante's chest.

"Don't move. What does Sofia being kidnapped have to do with me?"

Dante didn't let go. His eyes were bloodshot. Clearly, he had been up all night.

"That 100-billion-dollar merger you secured for Vittorio ate up three of the Colombo family's core business lines. They've lost nearly half their territory," he said hoarsely through gritted teeth. "This mess is your doing, so you're the one the Colombo family wants."

My finger remained on the trigger.

The sound of hurried footsteps came from outside the door. Luca rushed in, his face as pale as a sheet.

"Dante, the Colombos just called again. They're asking for Isabella. They said if they don't see her, they'll send one of Principessa Sofia's fingers in half an hour."

Without wasting another word, Dante reached out to snatch the gun from my hand.

But I was faster. I flipped the gun and slammed the butt of it hard into his jaw.

Dante's head snapped to the side. His lip split open, and blood dripped down his chin.

"Even if Papa doesn't give a damn about me," I said, fixing my eyes on him, "I am still a Moretti. And when does the eldest daughter of the Moretti family ever get pushed and pulled around by the likes of you two?"

Dante wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. His gaze was dark, as if he wanted to devour me alive.

"My apologies, Ms. Isabella. After we trade you for Principessa Sofia, Luca and I will personally go before Don Moretti to accept our punishment."

He shot Luca a look.

Luca moved in from the side so quickly that I had no time to react. He caught the barrel of my gun with surgical precision and pressed his thumb down. The magazine dropped out, clattering to the floor.

I swung the empty gun at his face, but Dante caught my arm from behind.

The two of them pinned my arms behind my back, one on each side, and hauled me out of the room. Then, they roughly shoved me into the back seat of a black sedan waiting in the backyard.

The moment the car door slammed shut, the bindings cut painfully into my wrists.

The engine started. Dante was driving, while Luca sat beside me.

For about two minutes, no one spoke. Then, Luca leaned over and brought his lips almost to my ear.

"You've been reborn too, haven't you?"

His voice was so impossibly low that Dante could never hear it from the front seat.

I turned to look at his scarred face, then raised my hand and slapped him.

The crack of the slap exploded inside the sealed car. Dante glanced at us in the rearview mirror but said nothing.

"Two lifetimes," I said, my voice cold. "And you're still this cruel to me."

Luca didn't dodge the slap, and the red mark layered over his old scar.

He was silent for a few seconds. When he spoke, his voice was very soft.

"We're just putting on a show for the Colombo family. Once we get there, I'll find a way to get you out."

I didn't respond.

He took my right hand and slipped a metal bangle, about the thickness of a thumb, around my wrist. Then, he pulled down my sleeve to cover it.

"It's a spring-loaded knife. Give it a twist, and it pops out. In case I can't get to you in time, use it to save yourself."

The car stopped at an abandoned dock. The air was thick with the briny smell of sea breeze and diesel.

A kidnapper shoved me out of the car at gunpoint, while Sofia was led out of a van on the opposite side.

Two groups of men pushed us toward the middle.

As we passed each other, I saw Dante quickly stride over to Sofia and untie the rope around her wrists. Luca followed close behind, pulling Sofia into his arms and pressing his chin to the top of her head.

I had long stopped expecting anything. But a bitter ache still spread through my chest, as if someone had gripped my heart.

The next second, someone looped a coarse rope around me from behind. It cut into the flesh between my neck and arms. Then, they slapped ice-cold tape over my mouth, sealing it tight.

Two men dragged me into a shipping container deep inside the dock, and the iron door was locked from the outside.

I was locked inside that dark shipping container for 48 hours.

Their methods weren't complicated, but they were brutal. They used fists, belt buckles, cigarette butts, and cold water.

There wasn't a single patch of unbroken skin left on my body. Blood seeped into my clothes, and after they dried, fresh blood soaked them soft all over again.

On the third day, the rival family's Capo kicked the door open and walked in. He crouched down in front of me and grabbed my hair, yanking my face up.

Looking at me, he said with genuine confusion in his voice, "It's been two days, and not a single person from your family has even called to negotiate. Are you really the Moretti family's Principessa?"

I licked my split lips and tasted blood.

"My family does have a Principessa, but it's not me."

He stood up and pulled a syringe from his pocket. Then, he flicked the barrel, eyeing the clear liquid inside.

"This shot will amplify your pain ten times over." He pressed the needle against my arm. "If your family doesn't give back the business they took, I'll saw off both your useless legs right below the knee. And you'll feel every second of it, clear as day."

I pressed my right thumb against the metal bangle on the inside of my wrist and twisted hard.

But nothing happened.

The spring-loaded knife didn't pop out.

I twisted it again, but all I felt on my fingertips was an empty slot.

That little move pissed off the rival family's Capo. He grabbed my wrist and jammed the needle in.

The moment the solution entered my veins, I felt as if my entire body had been plunged into boiling oil. My muscles began to spasm uncontrollably, my teeth clenched together with a grinding sound, and cold sweat poured from every pore.

It hurt, even more than the pain of poison burning through my organs in my previous life.

I didn't know how long had passed before the Capo threw a phone at my feet.

"Make the call. If no one picks up, don't blame me for what happens next."

I called Papa, but no one answered. I dialed Uncle Vittorio's number next, and he didn't pick up as well. The third call went to Luca. It rang six times before connecting.

"Isabella." He sounded tired. In the background, I could hear the murmur of voices and the beeping of machines.

"Where are you?" My voice was shaking, though I couldn't tell if it was from rage or the lingering effects of the drug.

"The hospital. Sofia had quite the scare, so she's been emotionally unstable. Don Moretti brought the whole family here to keep her company." After a pause, he added, "Just hold on a little longer. I'll figure some—"

"You said you would keep me safe," I said, cutting him off. "You also said the spring-loaded knife would save my life in a critical moment, but why was it empty?"

The line went silent for three seconds.

"Sofia said she was scared, so I gave her the backup set first. I forgot that the blades in yours were already used up."

I closed my eyes, my blood running cold from the top of my head all the way down to my feet.

He'd given the backup set to Sofia and forgotten that the blades in mine were already used up.

Two lifetimes, and here he was giving me the same excuse.

I hung up without saying another word.

The rival family's Capo had finally run out of patience. He pulled out a serrated knife from behind his waist. Then, he crouched down and pressed the blade just below my left knee.

"Since no one wants you—"

A deafening engine roar exploded from above, and the shipping container's iron door dented inward with a hollow boom. The next strike tore the door from its frame.

A figure walked in, silhouetted against the light.

It was Leonardo Castro!

The killing intent radiating from him was so thick it almost took physical form. The men behind him had already taken down all the guards outside before he even stepped through the door.

His eyes swept over my split lip, the burn marks from cigarette stubs, the blood seeping through my clothes, and my still-convulsing limbs.

His pupils contracted sharply, and his usually stoic face was overtaken by pure, naked fury.

"Cecilia," he shouted.

He was the only person who called me by my middle name.

In three strides, he was at my side. Without a care for the blood and filth on the ground, he dropped to one knee.

He shrugged off his suit jacket, still warm from his body, and draped it around my shaking shoulders. Then, he gathered me into his arms, his chin resting on top of my head.

"I'm sorry for being late," he whispered in a voice thick with anguish.