Bianca began to sob uncontrollably, her voice trembling. "Alessia... I was just trying to polish the locket for you... Why would you do this?"

Lorenzo and Giovanni burst into the infirmary.

"Bianca!" Lorenzo's eyes instantly turned bloodshot, and a terrifying authority—the kind only a Don could project—suffocated the room.

Before I could utter a word, he shoved me. The force sent me staggering back against the stone wall, and I felt my organs jolt.

"Cough..." I spat out a mouthful of blood.

For a split second, Lorenzo looked at my pale face, a flicker of hesitation and panic in his eyes. He took half a step toward me, his fingers trembling, as if to reach out.

But Bianca let out a timely, feeble whimper. "Papa... Lorenzo, please don't be angry with her. She was just upset about me taking over the studio and wanted to teach me a lesson."

Giovanni, trembling with rage, pointed at my face. "You ungrateful bitch! How could you strike your own sister over a title?"

The flicker of guilt in Lorenzo's eyes vanished, replaced by an icy fury. He averted his gaze, refusing to look at the blood on my lips, his voice cold enough to freeze the room. "Alessia, I've had enough of you."

"From now on, you are stripped of your title as Chief Restorer. Bianca will take over all art-related 'investments' for the family. Her inauguration ceremony will be in three days."

He paused. "As for our engagement, it is postponed indefinitely. A woman as vicious as you is not worthy of being the Donna of the Argento family. Don't even mention the ceremony to me again until you've learned some humility and admitted what you've done."

Leaning against the wall, I wiped the blood from my mouth and laughed. I looked at these two men I was once willing to die for—one disgusted, the other enraged. The last embers in my heart died out.

"Fine," I said softly.

Lorenzo seemed shocked that I agreed so easily. Just then, my hidden communicator vibrated. It was a message from Julian Sterling: [My team has reached the border. Also, I've found some intelligence you might find interesting. If you change your mind about leaving, let me know anytime.]

I opened the report Julian had sent.

Bianca wasn't Lorenzo's savior. She wasn't even my father's daughter. The Russian mob, the Bratva, had killed my father's real illegitimate daughter years ago and replaced her with Bianca. The entire story of her saving Lorenzo in the gunfight was an elaborately staged performance.

I stared at the report and laughed until tears streamed down my face. Lorenzo, Father—the woman you're so desperately protecting is the very person sent to destroy you. How ironic.

I returned to the manor and packed my final restoration notes—the preliminary concepts for cracking the "Financial Virus." Just as I closed my suitcase, the door was pushed open.

Lorenzo stood there, looking tense. He held a bottle of the family's best medicinal ointment. He walked toward me, and seeing my pale skin, a hint of guilt flickered in his eyes.

"This is the best wound medication on the market," he said softly, reaching out to apply it for me. "I let my anger get the better of me. I never meant to hurt you that badly."

I recoiled, avoiding his touch. Lorenzo's hand froze in mid-air. He finally noticed the suitcase at my feet, and his pupils contracted. For the first time, his voice held a trace of panic. "What's with the suitcase? Where are you planning to go?"

I looked at him calmly. "Too much has happened. I'm tired. I'm going to Europe for a while to clear my head and attend a few art exhibitions."

Hearing the words "clear my head," Lorenzo seemed to relax. He reached out to embrace me, his hands hovering over my shoulders.

"I know you've been upset lately, Alessia," he said, his tone almost condescending. "Go and get some air. When you come back, we'll have the grandest wedding Chicago has ever seen. No one can take your place."

Hearing the promise I had waited five years for, I felt nothing. Now, it only made me sick.

"Alright," I nodded. "I understand."

Lorenzo's phone began to ring frantically. It was Bianca.

The moment he saw the caller ID, his expression tensed. I could hear Bianca's delicate voice on the other end, complaining that her wound hurt or that she couldn't understand a certain investment project.

Lorenzo didn't even have time to say another word to me. He shoved the ointment into my hand and rushed out. "Use the medicine. Bianca needs me. I have to go, but I'll come see you tonight."

I watched him run off and let out a dry laugh. I looked at the priceless ointment in my hand and tossed it into the trash.

I took out a lighter. Click. The flame ignited the photos I had torn from an album. Photos of me and Giovanni, photos of every moment with Lorenzo over the past five years. The fire consumed the false memories until only ashes remained.

I walked out to find the butler, Arthur, crying at the end of the hall. He was the only person in this house who had ever been kind to me. I handed him a check for one hundred thousand dollars.

"Take this and retire to the countryside," I said softly, pressing a black USB drive into his hand. "Three days from now, after Bianca's ceremony is over, make sure Lorenzo gets this."

I picked up my bag and headed for the border. Just as I was nearing the airport, a text from Giovanni popped up: [You'd better show up at the ceremony in three days. You will publicly apologize to Bianca and tell everyone you gave up the studio voluntarily. Don't push your luck!]

I stared at the screen, then pulled out the SIM card and tossed it into the wind.

Up ahead, a black, armored sedan was parked on the side of the road.

Julian Sterling stepped out. He was striking in a sharply tailored suit, radiating an aura of command. Yet when his powerful gaze met mine, I saw only respect.

He opened the car door for me.

"Welcome aboard, my brilliant restorer," he said.

I looked up at him, my gaze firm. "Let's go, sir."