Chapter 2

Before I even stepped out of the arrival hall, Julian blew up my phone.

I hit answer, and his furious roar almost blew out my eardrum:

"Chloe! Are you insane?! Posting that in the chat and betting on yourself? Do you have any idea whose face you're slapping?!"

I stopped in my tracks and let out a cold laugh. "Whose face? Didn't you throw me out as a gambling chip first?"

"I did it for the family!" he cut in righteously, his tone dripping with arrogant condescension. "We dated for three years, and you sat around doing jack shit in Europe for a whole year. Did I ever complain? Don Valenti was at the table tonight. If I didn't hand you over, how was I supposed to lock down next season's arms deal? Wake up! Your dad has been dead for three years. You think you're still the spoiled little Mafia princess who needs me to protect her?!"

"So you used my old photo from years ago and posted it on the dark web just to humiliate me?" I gripped my luggage handle, my words dripping with ice.

When my father died, the family dissolved into chaos. I had no one to turn to, and people mocked me mercilessly for my weight. All the pain rushed in at once, and I developed severe anxiety.

Julian saw my vulnerability. During my sleepless nights, he stayed on the phone, gently wiped my tears, and whispered, "Forget what they say. You're beautiful, and I love you." We got together after that, but only a few people knew. He was afraid my identity would make people question how he climbed the ladder, so I accepted being his secret girlfriend.

Before coming back, I kept imagining his reaction when he saw my transformation. I wondered if we could finally go public.

Instead, reality gave me a slap in the face.

I never expected our first time "going public" would be him dragging my dignity through the dirt.

"So what? It's the truth! What's the difference between then and now?" He snapped, his anger flaring. "The rules for tomorrow night are set: a tight body-to-body drink, a cheek-to-cheek photo posted to the family dark web, and a fifteen-second 'princess carry' down the red carpet! With that two-hundred-pound body of yours, the Don not throwing you out on the spot is giving you respect! You better apologize in the chat right now and cancel your bet!"

"In your dreams." I hung up on him and instantly blocked his number.

A notification popped up with the event's detailed rules. Every single line was designed to degrade and humiliate.

The encrypted chat room was already flooded with vicious comments:

"I heard the Don is 6'3". Can he even carry a two-hundred-pound European tank?"

"Hahaha! A 15-second princess carry? If the Don ruins his back, can the Rossi family even afford the medical bill?"

"The second-in-command plays dirty—handing over garbage just to disrespect the Valenti family!"

Right then, my friend Sienna called me on an encrypted video line.

On screen, her eyes were bloodshot with rage: "Chloe! I saw the photo on the dark web! Julian is a fucking monster! I'm calling my brother's shooters right now. I'm going to skin him alive tonight!"

"Don't." Looking at my sculpted collarbones and vibrant reflection in the mirror, my voice stayed calm, laced with lethal coldness. "Killing him is too easy. He thinks a year in Europe changed nothing. He thinks I'm still that insecure, helpless girl he can walk all over."

"What are you going to do?" Sienna froze.

"He wants to use me as a stepping stone? Then I'm going to slap his face right in front of the entire New York Mafia." I smiled faintly. "Help me pick out the most killer evening gown for tomorrow night."

"Hell yeah! I'm riding with you!" Sienna slammed her fist into her hand.

I hung up and reopened the encrypted chat. Everyone was still wildly mocking my "weight."

Suddenly, a blinding golden announcement popped up at the top of the screen.

An account with a pure black profile picture—someone who never typed in any group chat—broke the silence.

It was the top Mafia Don of New York: Lucian Valenti.

Lucian Valenti: [She is not your chip.]

The entire channel was hit with a pause button. Not a single message moved for a full minute.

Before I could recover from the shock, a private chat window popped up.

The profile picture was still that same deep, pure black, with just a few simple words:

Lucian Valenti: [If you don't want to come tomorrow night, no one dares to touch you.]