Chapter 2

Gianna lowered her last finger. She opened her mouth to retort, then realized she had nothing left. Her face curdled like sour milk.

Before she could raise her glass in forfeit, Marco stopped her. “I’ll drink for her.”

He tossed it back in one gulp, then stalked over to me, face dark, and pulled me out of the ballroom by the elbow.

“Why did you say all that?” he hissed. “Were you trying to play the victim?”

“I know your past was hard, but this wasn't the time for a pity party.”

My heart sank. Maybe it was the absinthe, or maybe it was the years of resentment finally cracking through the surface.

“So when Gianna brags about her yachts and properties, it’s charming,” I said, my voice shaking, “but when I tell my own truth, I’m ‘playing the victim’? Can you hear yourself, brother? Can you be any more biased?”

Marco’s expression turned to stone. “She’s immature. You’re supposed to be the sensible one. I was literally about to tell you I’d help you move tomorrow—and then you pull this stunt. Elena, have I let you suffer these three years? Have I skimped on you? What exactly are you complaining about?”

I stared at him in disbelief. “So you think I wanted to come home—wanted the Vittorio name—for the money?”

Marco had found me the year my adoptive parents died. I had lost everything, buried them alone, and was running on empty. Then he appeared like a savior, eyes red-rimmed, telling me I was actually the lost daughter of the Vittorio mafia family.

“Elena, your disappearance was an accident. Mom and Dad have been looking for you all these years. Come back with me. We’re all waiting for you. You’ve suffered too much. How did you survive?”

I weighed thirty-five kilos then. His arms trembled as he held my malnourished body. “I’m sorry I came so late. I’m so sorry.”

I had stood frozen, not knowing what to do. He was so tall, so distinguished. I felt unworthy of his embrace. But the pull of blood was too strong. I saw him as my salvation and followed him to Sicily.

He didn’t take me home, though. He put me in that old port apartment.

“There’s another daughter in the family—the advisor’s child. Her father died for ours, so Father adopted her. She’s been spoiled rotten, and when she learned we found you, she threw a fit. Threatened to jump off a balcony. Just wait. I’ll talk her around. Then you can come home.”

To reassure me, he brought my mother. The elegant woman wept at the sight of me. “Elena… you’ve grown so much. Mom is so sorry!”

She held me, her voice shaking. “Wait a little longer. Mom will convince Gianna, I promise.”

I hugged her back gingerly. “Okay, Mom. I’ll wait.”

She smiled, pulled out a bank card. “Spend whatever you want. Even if you can’t come home yet, your allowance is the same as Gianna’s.”

I tried to refuse, but she pressed it into my pocket. “I have to go. Gianna will get suspicious if I’m gone too long. Next time I’ll come have dinner with you, alright?”

I nodded eagerly. “Yes, thank you, Mom!”

That wait stretched into three years.

Every time I mentioned coming home, Marco sighed. “Give it a few more days.”

At first he was patient, but once he realized I wasn’t as volatile as Gianna, he grew dismissive. “What are you lacking? Why the rush? You know how much pressure I’m under. Gianna can’t find out.”

I couldn't understand. “Why do I need her permission to go to my own home? And why does Mom have to sneak around to see me? Am I even a Vittorio? Am I your sister?”

His face darkened. “You are my sister, and you are a Vittorio. But we have feelings for Gianna too. Her father took a bullet for ours. Father promised on his deathbed that she would always have her place. She is also my sister.”

That was the first time I truly understood Gianna’s power. I wasn’t fighting a spoiled girl. I was fighting a blood oath sealed with a life.

Seeing my silence, Marco squeezed my hand helplessly. “Don’t worry, you’ll come home eventually. Once Gianna softens, I’ll arrange for you two to meet. Try to be friends. When you get along, she’ll accept you.”

I never imagined coming home would require so many detours.

That night was the first time in Sicily I missed my adoptive parents.

And now, standing in that corridor, I had finally given up on ever being a Vittorio.