I feigned stupidity to survive. More than that, to bide my time for vengeance.

If my memory serves, within three days, Sofia herself would come begging me to go out.

Sure enough, as hunger threatened to rob me of consciousness, the cellar door creaked open.

"Sister..."

I lifted my head, feigning bewilderment. Silhouetted against the light, a corpulent figure entered—the butler.

"Bastard, who are you to call her sister? How dare you utter the young mistress's name?"

He advanced towards me with ill intent, his greasy grin sickening me.

Sophia decreed that no one in the household was permitted to address me as 'Miss'. I was to be called nothing but 'bastard'. She treated me like a dog, to be trampled upon by anyone.

I recognised that face. In my previous life, it was he who had burst into my room with several men the night before I was sent away...

"Bastard, you've got a decent enough face," he grinned savagely, rubbing his hands together as he drew nearer. "Why not keep me company for a bit of fun? I'll give you something to eat..."

I clenched the shard of glass hidden in my sleeve, aiming it at his throat.

Just then, the door burst open.

"What are you doing?!"

Sophia stormed in with her men. The butler fell to his knees in terror.

"Dare to disrespect the Second Young Miss? Drag him out and break his legs!"

The bodyguards behind her immediately pounced, hauling the butler away. Shrieks soon filled the air.

The butler, stunned, stammered, "Miss, but you said... that we could treat this bastard however we pleased?"

Sofia ignored him. She walked over, personally untied my bonds, and even had someone bring me a clean dress.

"From this day forth, Alessia shall resume her status as the Falconi family's Second Young Miss."

Everyone present, including my father who had rushed over upon hearing the news, wore expressions of utter disbelief.

Sophia smiled as she guided me before my father. "Father, Alessia has reached marriageable age. Since the Moretti family specifically requested a Falconi daughter... let Alessia be the one to wed into their house."

...

Father frowned at me, his eyes brimming with disgust and calculation.

"But Alessia is a simpleton. Marrying into the Moretti family—what if she makes a fool of herself before Don Antonio and angers that madman Vincenzo Moretti? Our entire family would be ruined!"

Sofia scoffed coldly. "Father, what are you fretting about? That Vincenzo Moretti is a dying man. He was gravely wounded in the family war three years ago and now spends his days in a wheelchair. They say he coughs up more blood than he drinks wine. He won't last much longer. The entire New York underworld is destined to be the Balzini family's domain!"

Her words brimmed with ambition and disdain. "If I marry, it will be to the future king, to become the queen. How could I wed a dying invalid?"

"Since the Moretti family only demands one Falconi daughter to settle that blood debt, isn't Alessia—foolish though she is—also a Falconi?"

Father sighed, turning to look at me. I was clutching a slice of tiramisu, stuffing it into my mouth with abandon, my face smeared with cream. A rare, feigned expression of "affection" stretched across his face.

"Alessia, would you be willing to marry Mr Vincenzo?"

Confused, I looked up at him before burying my face in the cake again, shaking my head indistinctly.

"No. If my sister doesn't want it, I don't want it either."

Father and daughter exchanged a knowing glance and smiled.

"But the Moretti estate has an endless supply of delicacies," Father gestured at the cake in my hand, "and the finest pastry chefs in the world. Every kind of cake imaginable, all you can eat."

My eyes lit up instantly. I nodded vigorously. "Marry! I'll go to the Moretti family!"

With my "consent" secured, Father and Sofia immediately began making arrangements.

The entire Falconi estate knew: Alessia, the dumb mute raised like a dog, was no longer a bastard child. She had transformed into the family's "second young miss," destined for a marriage alliance with the Moretti family.

The day before my departure, Sofia dragged me out for one final "distraction".

I was dumped in a corner of the dock. Spotting Marco approaching in the distance, Sofia rushed towards him, overcome with emotion.

"Marco! I've missed you terribly..."

Marco embraced her, his face etched with worry. "Sofia, I heard the Moretti family wanted a Falconi daughter. I feared Don Falconi would send you. I've been sleepless for nights."

Sofia snorted derisively. "Me marry Vincenzo? Of course that fool will go in my stead. She's nothing but debt collateral."

"Who in the underworld doesn't know Vincenzo's a sickly weakling? His father, Don Antonio, favours his illegitimate son back in Sicily. Vincenzo won't last long. Marrying him means living as a widow while waiting to be purged. It's suicide."

She stroked her belly coyly. "Besides, I'm carrying your child..."

Marco's eyes flashed with wild delight. "Really? Then your marriage to Leo Balzini must be arranged immediately. Once you're Mrs Balzini, don't forget about me..."

"As long as our child becomes the heir to the Balzini family, in time, all of New York will be ours!"

Hidden behind a shipping container, I polished off a bag of crisps, leaving only a trail of crumbs.

Every word of their conversation was crystal clear to me.

So that was it.

Marco’s target had never been the Falcone family—it was the Balzini. He and Sofia intended to use a bastard child to seize a vast Mafia empire.

What audacity.

Though I wonder if that audacity will be their undoing.

Early the next morning, I was shoved into a black Rolls-Royce.

Before getting in, Sofia handed me a glass of water in front of her father, containing a dissolved pill.

Her icy voice threatened in my ear.

"Alesia, remember this: keep your mouth shut about what you shouldn't say."

"Once we're at the Moretti residence, you're a mute, a simpleton. Dare betray the Falconi family, and the next dose of this will rot your guts to shreds. You'll die a more wretched death than a stray dog on the street."

I drank the water expressionlessly. The doors slammed shut, sealing out their hypocritical faces.

Immediately, I forced my fingers deep into my throat with all my strength. After a violent retching, I spat out a pool of bitter fluid, the pill mostly expelled.

Yet I felt a secret, burning ache in my lower abdomen.

This poison was fiercer than I’d imagined.

Half an hour later, the convoy slowly entered a vast estate encircled by forest and high walls. The car stopped before a villa resembling a palace.

A stifled cough sounded from outside.

A slender hand, pale as translucent porcelain, opened the carriage door for me.

I lifted my gaze to meet a handsome yet bloodless face. Seated in a wheelchair, his eyes were as deep and icy as a frozen lake.

Vincenzo Moretti.

"Miss Falconé, marrying me must be a hardship for you."

His voice was low, tinged with a sickly hoarseness, yet strangely pleasing.

As I stepped out, my legs buckled, and I nearly stumbled. He reached out, steadying my arm with surprising firmness.

My heart lurched.

That grip was steady and powerful—utterly unlike that of a long-suffering invalid.

It seemed the heir to the Moretti fortune was an actor too.

...

There was no wedding ceremony, no guests, not even a priest. I was led directly into a vast, empty bedroom. It felt less like a bridal chamber and more like a gilded cage.

The clamour outside held no sway over me. Late into the night, Vincenzo finally rolled in alone on his wheelchair.

The sound of its wheels echoed sharply through the silent room, each click pressing down on my heart. He halted before me, silently appraising me. His gaze was like a scalpel—sharp and cold, as if intent on dissecting me from the inside out.

After a moment, he reached out, attempting to touch my face.

I flinched away.

Then, meeting his eyes, I spoke in a voice rough and unfamiliar, as though unused for ages, enunciating each word deliberately:

"I... am... poison."

His hand froze mid-air, genuine surprise flickering in his eyes. Clearly, he hadn't expected a "fool" to speak, much less utter such words.

I lowered my head and continued in that halting tone, delivering the prepared speech in its entirety.

"My... family... does not favour you. They... wish to defect to the Balzini. They... poisoned me. If you... touch me, you will die."

Vincenzo studied me for an age, so long I thought he might order my execution outright.