"Secret ledgers?" Finn's breathing hitched.

"The problem is..." I paused, sighing with feigned disappointment. "They're locked behind a bloodline seal. You know my papa—he was old-school. Before he died, he decreed that his resting place must not be disturbed unless a direct blood relative guards his grave for three years. Otherwise, the seal will backfire and destroy everything inside."

A glint of avarice flashed in Finn's eyes.

Guard a dead man's grave for three years to gain the power to rule Chicago.

He looked at me as if I were the biggest fool in the world. I was sitting on a gold mine and practically handing it to him on a platter.

I lowered my eyes, my voice soft. "I'm about to marry Seraphina. Who knows what will happen to me in the Marino family?"

My tone grew heavy. "It's not safe for me to hold onto that legacy. We're brothers... so consider it my wedding gift to you."

The last of his caution vanished, replaced by pure, unadulterated greed.

"Don't worry, Julian," he said, patting my shoulder with false sincerity. "I'll take good care of those ledgers for you. And when you get to the Marino estate... learn to endure."

That afternoon, Finn took a few of his men and headed for the abandoned church, claiming he was going to guard my father's grave.

Carmela and Silas were confused but couldn't change his mind, so they let him go. After all, what could possibly be valuable in a crypt in some remote church?

I stood at an upstairs window, watching Finn's car disappear down the road, a cold smile playing on my lips.

There was indeed something in that safe—but not secret ledgers.

It was proof of my Valeriano identity and the evidence my father had left behind—proof that Carmela had ordered the hit that killed him.

In my last life, I had almost gotten my hands on it. But before I could act, they had forced me to become Seraphina's husband, and my plan for revenge had fallen apart.

This time, I would let that fool guard the evidence for me.

Once I had Seraphina on my side, I would bring the whole truth to light.

A week later, the marriage contract took effect. The Marino family sent a car to collect me.

The butler opened the car door and gestured for me to enter, his expression like a stone effigy.

"Donna Seraphina is waiting for you in the upstairs study."

I gave a curt nod and followed him inside.

The first time I came here, my palms were sweating, every step like walking on thin ice. But this time, striding down the familiar hallway, my heart was as calm as a frozen lake.

The study door opened. And there she was—Seraphina.

She was dressed in a perfectly tailored black silk robe, seated in a wheelchair with a soft cashmere blanket covering her legs.

Sunlight streamed through the tall, stained-glass windows, but none of its warmth could touch the frost in her eyes.

"So, you're the replacement Carmela sent?" she asked, her voice sharp and clipped.

"Yes," I replied calmly.

She finally deigned to look at me, her gaze filled with undisguised contempt.

"I know you're just the substitute," she said. "I thought she'd send her precious son."

I simply met her gaze, saying nothing.

Her weakness, her injuries—it was all an act.

In my last life, I had been completely deceived by her performance. I thought she was a broken, pitiable woman. I tried to treat her with kindness, believing it could melt her cold exterior.

My reward was a humiliation more brutal than I could have imagined.

Outside the door, several heavily armed bodyguards watched me, their expressions cold, as if looking at a dead man. A dagger had materialized in Seraphina's hand, its blade gleaming.

"Get out," she gestured dismissively with the dagger. "Get out of my sight. The very sight of you disgusts me."

That was our wedding night.

Exactly the same as in my last life.

But this time, I didn't panic. I met her icy gaze head-on, unflinching.

I didn't retreat, nor did I speak. I simply watched her, as if studying a masterpiece of cold fury.

My composure enraged her. "You're not afraid of me?"

To her, a pawn sent for slaughter had no right to look so composed. My calm was a silent provocation.

Then, I heard the soft whisper of the cashmere blanket sliding to the floor.

She gripped the armrests of the wheelchair, her body tensing. Then, with a groan of sheer effort, she surged to her feet.

The frail, sickly facade she wore was torn away by her own hands.

Faced with her imposing figure, I felt a suffocating pressure.

As she strode toward me, I instinctively took a step back.

"Who gave you the nerve to look at me like that?"

Before the words faded, her hand shot out like a viper and clamped around my throat.

The air was cut off, my face flushing. I was forced to crane my neck, meeting her murderous eyes.

"What new game is Carmela playing this time?" she snarled, her warm breath ghosting across my face.

The agony of suffocation was blinding, but I knew this was my only chance. Begging would only earn me more of her contempt.

With all my strength, I squeezed out a few broken words. "Donna Seraphina… your legs… they healed… six months ago… didn't they?"

The moment the words left my lips, the hand on my throat froze.

The fury in her eyes dissolved, first into shock, then into a colder, more dangerous stillness.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

She didn't let go. Her grip tightened. My vision began to swim in black spots.

But I knew I’d made the right gamble.

A moment later, she shoved me back.

I collapsed against the doorframe, coughing violently and gasping for air like a drowning man surfacing.

Seraphina sank back into her wheelchair. For a moment, the woman who had stood before me seemed like a phantom.

She was still staring at me, but the raw killing intent had been replaced by suspicion and a sharp curiosity.

"How did you know?" she asked.

"I know a lot more than that," I rasped, my throat raw.

I slowly pushed myself up, looking her straight in the eye.

"I know you're faking your disability to lull your true enemy into a false sense of security. And I know that enemy is Carmela. The woman who sent me to you."