Chapter 1

957words2026-02-09 09:51

A red light flickered once on the transmitter.
A split second later, an encrypted reply flashed across the screen of my miniature receiver.
"Ten minutes. Clear the zone."

The message was brief, yet it carried the chill of imminent bloodshed.
Ten minutes. I just had to hold on for ten more minutes.
If I could just keep my daughter, Mia Volpe, alive for those last ten minutes, Papa's private medical team would arrive, and we could finally escape this living hell.
I pulled Mia into my arms, desperately forcing air into her lungs with mouth-to-mouth. Her chest heaved violently, a harsh wheeze rasping from her throat like a broken bellows. It was a sign that her airway was on the verge of complete obstruction.
"What are you doing?"
Lorenzo Volpe's voice came from above me.

He noticed me pressing the transmitter. Before I could tuck it away, his hand shot out and clamped around my wrist like iron bands.
"Calling the cops over this little mess? Or were you reaching out to that Soldato you've been sleeping with?"
His eyes blazed with murderous intent. He ripped the transmitter from my hand and, without even glancing at the screen, hurled it into the roaring fireplace.
The flames hungrily swallowed my only lifeline to the outside world.

"No!"
I screamed and lunged toward the fireplace, but Lorenzo's secretary, Sophia Bianchi, deliberately stuck out her foot. I went sprawling, my elbow slamming into the hard marble with a sickening thud. White-hot pain surged through my arm.
Lorenzo crouched down, his slender fingers gripping my chin and forcing my head up.
"Elena Corleone, you know the rules. Sending messages behind your marito's back will cost you your tongue."
His tone was incredibly gentle, yet every word sent a chill down my spine.
"I wasn't calling anyone else. Lorenzo, please. Mia is fading… She's dying! Just look at her face!"
I pointed frantically at Mia in my arms. Her once-rosy cheeks had turned a terrifying shade of blue-purple. It was an unmistakable sign of severe oxygen deprivation.
His eyes swept over her with cold indifference.
"Quite a performance. If she ever made it to the stage, that bastard might actually win herself an award."
Sophia nestled into his arms, her voice thick with feigned concern. "Lorenzo, what if she really is unwell? Children are so fragile. It would be a shame if she pushed herself too far just to keep up this little act. Why don't we give her some wine? It might help her catch her breath."
The Made Men standing nearby erupted into mocking laughter.
"That's right, Lorenzo! Give that little brat a shot of whiskey. That'll get her back on her feet."
"Haha! That's our traditional famiglia cure."
These men, who once spoke to me with heads bowed, were now trampling my dignity into the dirt, emboldened by Lorenzo's tacit approval.
I pulled Mia tighter against my chest, using my body as a shield against their poisonous glares.
There was a time when Lorenzo held Mia like she was made of porcelain. When she was born, he stayed awake night after night by her bassinet, calling a doctor if she so much as sneezed.
Even after Sophia showed up with a forged DNA report, I thought our years together would have earned me at least a shred of doubt.
But I was wrong. A man's callousness was the deadliest poison in the world.
Sophia sauntered up to me, looking down her nose at me as she swirled a glass of dark liquor.
"Elena, did you hear? We're all just looking out for Mia. Just make her drink this, and I'll get Lorenzo to call a medic."
Hard liquor was a death sentence for people with asthma. She was practically trying to kill Mia.
"Get the hell away from her!" I snarled like a lioness driven into a corner.
"Well, well, you've got claws," Sophia said, her smile turning venomous. "See, Lorenzo? She doesn't want our help. That bastard must be doing just fine if she's still got the energy to put on her little show."
Lorenzo frowned, his patience wearing thin.
"Elena, my patience has run out. If you won't accept help, then take that bastard and go back to your room. Stop being an eyesore to my guests."
"No," I sobbed, shaking my head. Mia's body was losing its warmth, her tremors fading into a terrifying stillness.
It wasn't a recovery. It was the end.
"Save her. Lorenzo, I'm begging you. Even if you won't acknowledge her as your daughter, have mercy on a human life. Just give me an EpiPen. Please. Just one."
I had never crawled so low in my life.
I was the daughter of Don Vito Corleone, the most esteemed Principessa of Smeraldia, yet for Mia's sake, I was willing to grind my dignity into the dirt.
Lorenzo looked at my tear-stained face. For a fleeting second, hesitation flickered in his eyes.
His hand moved instinctively toward his pocket, where he always kept emergency medication.
Sophia caught the doubt in his eyes. She stepped in front of him, her expression hard. "Lorenzo, have you forgotten? The doctors confirmed that the bastard's blood type doesn't match yours. If you give in now, every famiglia in Nestola will see you as a weakling raising another man's child."
She struck exactly where it hurt most—his pride and his authority.
The hesitation in his eyes vanished instantly. The hand reaching for his pocket slipped back.
"Sophia is right," he said, turning his back on me. His voice was as cold as the grave. "I, Lorenzo Volpe, don't save another man's spawn. If you want her saved, beg Sophia. I just gave her the key to the medical kit."