Chapter 4

Vittoria

Roman's terms were generous. He didn't just bring a ring; he brought paperwork. Syndicate shares, prime real estate, and a dowry worth hundreds of millions.

"We've been good together lately," he said, handing me the pen. "I know you feel it too. Let's stop playing pretend. I want us to try being a real couple."

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking unusually tense.

"I know how things used to be with Bianca. But I'm moving on. I swear I'll do right by you. So... will you marry me, Vittoria?"

I looked at him. Why wouldn't I say yes?

This life, this power, this man—it was all supposed to be mine anyway.

The Falcone family immediately started prepping for the wedding.

Halfway across the world, Bianca had absolutely no idea. She was still sitting in Paris, stubbornly waiting for her prince to defy the mob elders and come save her.

She thoughts Roman was suffering without her. She didn't know he was standing outside a dressing room, waiting for me to try on bridal gowns.

Right as I stepped up to the mirror, my phone buzzed. A text from Bianca.

"I gave everything back to you, Vittoria. Did mom and dad finally love you? Don't fool yourself. Having their blood doesn't mean you get everything. You'll never beat me. Not even when I hand you the chances myself."

I didn't bother typing out a reply. I just adjusted my veil in the mirror, gave a soft smile, and took a picture.

I hit send.

For a long minute, there was complete silence.

Then, my screen exploded. My phone chimed non-stop with unhinged, cursing voice notes and frantic texts.

I didn't listen to a single one. I just blocked her number and tossed my phone aside.

Playing the victim was Bianca's favorite game.

The first week I returned to the Rossi estate, she pulled the exact same trick. She cried in front of our parents, said she was giving the "heiress" title back, and sliced her wrist with a fruit knife right in the living room.

Aldo and Silvana lost their minds. They spent a whole week babying her at the hospital, completely forgetting I existed.

The estate staff took the hint—my dinners were served ice cold that entire week.

When she finally came back, she put on a pathetic face. She offered to give me her bedroom and all her flashy jewelry.

Silvana pulled me aside entirely, snapping at me.

"Yes, you're our biological kid, but what did Bianca do wrong? She's trying so hard. Why do you always have to be so aggressive with her?"

In Bianca's eyes, retreating was how she won. Every time she backed down and cried, my parents pushed me further away.

She did it to mark her territory. She wanted to prove they would always love her more. She wanted to prove Roman would always pick her.

She loved putting me in humiliating situations just so she could watch him choose her. Like the time she locked Roman and me in a safe house. Or when she made me wear the exact same dress to a party.

Then she would scream with joy, jump into his arms, and leave me standing there like a prop.

But this time, she wasn't going to win.

Spoiled brats always forget one crucial thing: human patience runs out. Not everyone is going to baby her forever like our parents do.

I calmly went back to planning the wedding with Roman.

Because of Donna Olimpia's failing health, everything was completely rushed. But it was still a Falcone wedding—it lacked nothing in power or wealth.

They locked down St. Patrick's Cathedral. The pews were packed with capos, politicians, and the absolute elite of New York.

Even Donna Olimpia checked herself out of the hospital. She sat in a wheelchair in the very first row, smiling at us.

Roman held my hands at the altar. The heavy doors were securely shut.

The priest smiled and raised his microphone. "Do you, Roman, take Vittoria to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Roman looked me in the eyes. "I—"

Bang.

The massive cathedral doors were violently shoved open.

"I object!"