After Abandoning the Heiress, They Beg for Forgiveness
Coralie Sullivan · Completed · 8.6k Words
Introduction
Fifteen years ago, Sofia's parents died in a warehouse explosion, supposedly while protecting us from rivals. My guilt-ridden parents took in five-year-old Sofia out of some misguided sense of penance.
While I was being groomed to run this empire, my parents and brother Lorenzo showered Sofia with all the credit. She was their "orphaned angel" who needed their protection, their love, everything that should have been mine.
The cruelest betrayal came from Dante Romano, my childhood sweetheart and our top enforcer. The man I was supposed to marry fell completely under Sofia's spell, charmed by her practiced innocence. He started siding with her in every family meeting while I watched my birthright slip away.
I had it all planned out, after our wedding, we'd escape to New York. A fresh start, away from Sofia and my family's misguided guilt.
But the night before our engagement party, Sofia and I were both "kidnapped" by a rival gang.
Chapter 1
Valentina's POV
The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth as someone ripped the blindfold away. I blinked hard against the fluorescent lights, everything too bright and blurry. Then the smell hit, rust mixed with something rotten, something that made my stomach turn.
My wrists were screaming where the zip ties dug into my skin. I was strapped to some kind of industrial rack, my toes barely grazing the concrete. The whole structure groaned every time I shifted my weight, chains rattling above me.
Okay. Think. There has to be a way out.
I made myself breathe slowly and looked around. One door, steel and padlocked. Windows up near the ceiling, way too high. Nothing I could use as a weapon unless I could somehow get free and rip one of these hooks down.
Someone was crying nearby. Sofia's voice, muffled but unmistakable. They'd grabbed us both outside the venue, just hours before my engagement party was supposed to happen. Tomorrow I was going to marry Dante and finally get the hell out of Chicago, start fresh in New York.
Yeah, well. So much for that plan.
Three men walked in wearing ski masks, one carrying a laptop, another dragging camera equipment. The third one had a phone in his hand.
"Wakey wakey, princess." Eastern European accent, thick and rough. He set up the camera pointing at me, then angled the laptop so I could see the screen. Two video feeds, split down the middle.
Left side: Sofia pressed against a wall, her dress torn and covered in what looked like blood.
Right side: me, hanging from this rack, probably looking way too calm.
The guy with the phone started dialing. Two rings, then my father answered.
"Hello? Who is this—"
"Torrino." The man's voice was flat, dead serious. "You have both your daughters. But you only get to pay one ransom. Pick one. The other one goes in the lake. Three minutes."
"What? No, please, I can get more money, whatever you need—"
"Three minutes starts now." He put the phone on speaker and set it down on a crate, then leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.
Through the speaker, I heard everything fall apart. My mother screaming. Lorenzo swearing. Everyone talking over each other, panicking.
Then it got quiet.
I could feel my heartbeat everywhere, pounding in my ears, my throat, my wrists where the plastic cut into me. But I kept my face blank. I wasn't going to give these assholes the satisfaction of seeing me scared.
Sofia let out another sob on her feed, making herself as small as possible in that corner. Those huge terrified eyes looking right at the camera, the same look that had gotten her everything she wanted for the past fifteen years.
My father cleared his throat. "Sofia has already lost so much. We took her in, we promised to protect her. Valentina has always been so independent, so strong. She'll understand—"
Okay. Okay, that hurts. But I'd spent my whole life hearing variations of this. Valentina is strong, Valentina can handle it, Valentina doesn't need us as much.
"You're right." My mother's voice cracked. "Our girl has always been mature about these things, so capable. But Sofia, after everything with her parents, we owe her this."
After everything she's lost. I pressed my lips together hard, tasting blood. They'd said that same phrase a thousand times over fifteen years, like Sofia's dead parents somehow erased the fact that I was their actual daughter.
"He's right." Lorenzo jumped in. "Vale is the toughest person I know. She'll figure something out. But Sofia needs us more."
My chest was tight, painful, but I could breathe through it. This was nothing new. I'd learned a long time ago that I'd always come second to Sofia's trauma, Sofia's needs, Sofia's feelings.
But Dante will pick me.
The thought came automatically, desperately. Dante knew me. We'd grown up together. We were supposed to get married tomorrow. He loved me, he had to love me more than he felt sorry for Sofia.
"Save Sofia."
Dante's voice cut through everything else, clear and certain.
No.
"Valentina can take care of herself. She always does."
The pain in my chest exploded outward, white-hot and suffocating. This wasn't the dull ache I'd gotten used to with my family. This was different. This was Dante choosing her too.
He didn't even hesitate.
I couldn't breathe anymore. Not because of the zip ties or the fear. Because the one person I thought would choose me, the one person who was supposed to be mine, had just thrown me away as easily as everyone else.
The man checked his watch. "Two minutes left."
"Sofia!" My father's voice turned hard, decided. "We choose Sofia. I'll have the money ready within—"
The call ended. The man pressed the button and the line went dead.
Three minutes had felt like three seconds, and it was over. Just like that.
He walked over to me, tilting his head like he was genuinely curious. "Too bad for you. Guess you drew the short straw tonight."
They chose her. The words kept repeating in my head, each time cutting deeper. Even Dante. Especially Dante. The guy who was supposed to marry me tomorrow picked someone else to save.
I wanted to scream at all of them, demand they call back and explain how they could do this. But my throat felt like someone had closed a fist around it, and the tears I refused to cry were burning behind my eyes so badly it hurt.
"Got anything to say?" the man asked.
I looked straight at him through that ski mask. "Go to hell."
He laughed. "Ladies first."
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