Giada POV

Over the next two days, I didn't just read Ellen's psychological profile; I breathed it in. Sitting in the dim corner of the Moreno drawing room, I practiced stripping the warmth from my eyes, replacing it with the cold, isolated aura that had once captivated the devil.

Across the room, Kelsey eagerly swallowed the black-market fertility pills with a glass of champagne.

"Are you sure about this, Kelsey?" Blanca fretted, wringing her hands. "Dante Blackwell is notoriously paranoid. If he suspects you are trying to trap him—"

"He won't," Kelsey interrupted, her eyes gleaming with the arrogant certainty of a woman who thought she had cheated death. "Don Booker and his Bratva are pushing the borders. The Underboss is already questioning Dante's lack of an heir. He needs a son to solidify his reign."

Kelsey glanced at me. For a split second, raw jealousy flashed in her eyes as she took in my face. The subtle shifts in my posture and the chilling emptiness in my gaze had only amplified my natural beauty, giving me a fatal, untouchable allure. But then she patted her flat stomach and smirked. In her mind, a womb was worth more than a crown.

By dawn on the day of our departure, the Blackwell Family's bulletproof Rolls-Royce Phantom idled outside our mansion.

"I will be his Queen," Kelsey promised Aurelio and Blanca, her voice trembling with raw ambition.

Sitting in the leather interior of the Phantom, inhaling the faint, metallic scent of gunpowder, I let a cold smile touch my lips. *Never.*

When we arrived at the Blackwell Estate, the gothic architecture loomed through the morning mist like a fortress of nightmares. Instead of the Main Iron Gates, the convoy veered toward the heavily guarded Service Entrance. It was a degrading reminder: we were not guests; we were Collateral.

Kelsey stared hungrily at the towering iron bars of the main entrance. "One day, my son will open those gates for me," she whispered.

I said nothing, silently following the guards into the East Wing.

The guest room assigned to me was luxurious but suffocatingly cold. Before the night's selection, every new Collateral was required to submit a Security Dossier Photo for the Don's review.

Sitting at the vanity, I took a sponge and deliberately smeared pale, ashen foundation over my cheeks. I dulled the natural glow of my skin and pulled my dark hair into a messy, pathetic tangle, carefully obscuring the striking features that mirrored his dead fiancée.

Siena, the Associate assigned as my maid, lowered the Polaroid camera, her brow furrowed in deep confusion. "Signorina... Kelsey is down the hall drenching herself in Ellen's favorite perfume. Why are you making yourself look so ruined?"

"Because Dante Blackwell is a paranoid predator," I murmured, staring at the lifeless, unthreatening girl in the mirror. "A perfect imitation of his ghost won't seduce him; it will trigger his killer instinct. To survive a monster, you must first look like harmless prey."

I handed her the photo. It was a calculated flaw. Suppress first, elevate later.

Hours bled into the night. The tension in the East Wing was thick enough to choke on. I knew Kelsey was pacing her room, waiting for her golden ticket.

Then, heavy, authoritative footsteps echoed against the marble floor. A Capo appeared in my doorway, his face carved from stone.

"The Don commands your presence in the Penthouse," he announced, his voice carrying the absolute weight of the Don's Command.

From the hallway, I heard Kelsey gasp, a sharp sound of pure, venomous shock.

I stood up slowly, my heart hammering a dangerous rhythm against my ribs. Dante hadn't chosen me for my looks—my photo was intentionally pathetic. He chose me because of the medical file attached to that dossier. Someone had manipulated the psychological evaluation to pique the Dark Don's twisted interest. Someone who knew exactly what was written about my "purity" and mental state.

Dr. Julian Weaver.

The old acquaintance had rigged the board. Smoothing the skirt of my simple dress, I stepped out of the room, walking straight toward the devil's private sanctuary.

Giada POV

The Don's Penthouse was a monument to a cold soul. Stepping inside, I was met with a stark expanse of black, white, and gray, illuminated only by the sprawling Manhattan skyline beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. There was no warmth here, only the suffocating weight of absolute power.

A silent guard directed me past the main living area and toward the heavy frosted glass doors of the private spa.

I pushed the doors open. Humid air, thick with the scent of eucalyptus, clung to my skin. In the center of the room, a Roman-style heated pool rippled under dim lighting. But Dante Blackwell wasn't waiting for me.

Katheryn was.

The self-proclaimed Mafia Queen and sister to a powerful Capo stood by the marble edge, flanked by two burly maids. Her eyes were venomous, fixated on the simple dress I wore. I knew Kelsey had paid off the Associates in the hallway to listen to my screams, hoping I would die tonight. They were all so predictable.

"You think you can skip the line, little Collateral?" Katheryn sneered, stepping forward. In her manicured hand, she held a small glass vial filled with a thick, yellowish liquid. High-grade corrosive acid.

"Hold her," Katheryn commanded.

The two maids lunged, their heavy hands twisting into my hair and forcing me to my knees on the cold marble. Katheryn pinched my jaw, her nails digging into my skin as she brought the vial toward my lips. She wanted to melt my face and my vocal cords.

I let out a muffled whimper, thrashing wildly with the desperate energy of cornered prey. As Katheryn leaned in, I jerked my head and violently slammed my shoulder into her wrist.

She shrieked. The glass vial slipped from her fingers, arcing through the humid air before plunging into the heated pool. The water erupted into a violent hiss, a plume of acrid white smoke billowing upward as the acid instantly reacted with the heated water. But within seconds, the massive pool's filtration system churned, and the toxic cloud was sucked into the vents. The surface stilled, the diluted chemicals rendered inert in the vast volume of water.

Katheryn stared at the ruined acid, her face twisting into pure, unadulterated rage. She grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. But as the dim light hit my face, she froze.

My hair was a tangled mess, and the pale, ashen foundation I had applied earlier made my skin look sickly and dull. The fake, ugly blemishes I had drawn on stood out starkly. Katheryn’s furious panting slowed. The intense, murderous jealousy in her eyes flickered into disgusted amusement. I was no beauty threat to her reign.

"You're not even worth another vial," she spat, her vanity appeased. But her authority had still been challenged. She reached to the nearby lounge chair and uncoiled a thick, customized leather belt—the kind Enforcers used for discipline. "Put her on the floor."

The maids slammed me chest-down onto the hard marble.

*Crack.*

The heavy leather bit into my back, tearing through the thin fabric of my dress and slicing into my flesh. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted copper, swallowing the scream.

*Crack.*

Fire exploded across my shoulder blades. I squeezed my eyes shut, my mind ruthlessly counting the seconds. *11:28 PM.* In my past life, I knew Dante’s schedule flawlessly. He always finished his nightly briefings with his Consigliere at exactly half-past eleven.

*Crack.* Blood began to pool against the marble. *11:29 PM.*

Suddenly, the heavy, rhythmic thud of footsteps echoed from the hallway, followed by the crisp, terrified voices of the guards. "The Don has arrived."

Katheryn’s face drained of color. The belt slipped from her trembling hand. She knew Dante despised unauthorized torture in his sanctuary; his Don's Command was absolute.

This was my moment.

Before the maids could react, I shoved them aside with a burst of adrenaline. I stumbled toward the frosted glass doors just as they swung open, then intentionally let my foot slip on the wet marble. With a breathless cry, I plunged backward into the warm waters of the pool.

The water rushed over me, instantly dissolving the ashen foundation and washing away the ugly, drawn-on scars.

Strong, unyielding hands broke the surface, grabbing my arms and hauling me out of the water. I gasped, water streaming from my hair as I instinctively clung to the lapels of a custom dark suit.

I looked up through wet lashes. Dante Blackwell towered over me. His sharp, ruthless features were carved from stone, his dark eyes radiating a lethal danger. But as he looked down at my face—now completely bare, flawless, and bearing a haunting, seven-point resemblance to his dead Ellen—his breath hitched.

His gaze dropped to my back, where the torn dress revealed vicious, bleeding welts.

The air in the room plummeted to freezing. The Dark Don's eyes darkened into a pitch-black abyss of violent, possessive fury.

"Drag her out of my sight," Dante commanded, his voice a low, terrifying rumble directed at the guards staring at a sobbing Katheryn. He tightened his grip on my waist, pulling my bleeding body flush against his chest. "And get Dr. Weaver up here. Now."

Giada POV

The heavy oak door clicked shut, sealing Dr. Weaver and the guards outside. The sharp scent of clinical antiseptic lingered in the air, but it was quickly swallowed by the intoxicating, dangerous aroma of Dante’s bespoke cologne and the faint metallic tang of my own blood.

I was kneeling on the edge of the massive black leather bed, my back tightly bound in fresh white bandages. Dante stood over me, a towering shadow blocking the dim light of the brass bedside lamp. The silence in the penthouse was absolute, heavy with the weight of his authority.

"Katheryn," his voice was a lethal, low rumble that vibrated in my chest. "Say the word, and I will issue the Don's Command. She will be a corpse before dawn."

I knew this test. In our world, blood demanded blood. But Dante Blackwell despised greedy, manipulative women who used his power to settle their petty jealousies. I forced a wince, letting my silk robe slip slightly off my shoulder to expose the edge of the bandage.

"No," I whispered, lowering my lashes to hide the calculation in my eyes. "It was my fault. I am just a Collateral. I didn't know the rules. She... she just loves you too much. She was terrified of losing your gaze. If I were in her place, I would be just as terrified."

The suffocating silence returned. Then, his large, calloused hand snapped out. His fingers gripped my jaw with bruising force, tilting my head up. His dark eyes searched mine, cold and probing, looking for the lie.

"You don't want vengeance," he murmured, his thumb tracing my jawline like a predator studying its prey. "In our world, that makes you either a rat, or a woman whose heart already belongs to someone else outside these walls. Which is it?"

I let a single, perfect tear spill over his thumb. "The latter," I choked out.

The air in the room plummeted to freezing. Murderous intent flared in his pitch-black eyes. He released me abruptly, turning his broad back toward the door to summon a Soldier to drag me away.

Ignoring the agonizing tear in my back, I lunged forward.

I grabbed the lapels of his custom suit, my fingers twisting desperately into the expensive fabric. "It belongs to you!" I cried, my voice trembling with practiced desperation. "I let my father sell me into this hell just for the chance to look at you, Dante."

He froze. The pure, unadulterated obsession in my words struck the beast inside him. With a sudden, violent motion, he spun around, grabbing my waist and pinning me back against the mattress. His weight pressed into me, his breath hot against my lips. The Dark Don's eyes were completely consumed by a violent, possessive hunger.

Just as his mouth descended to claim mine, I turned my head.

His lips grazed my cheek, sending a genuine shiver down my spine. I pressed my hands flat against his chest, feeling the frantic, heavy thud of his heart.

"I can't," I breathed, my voice breaking flawlessly. "Katheryn's brother is your Capo. I won't let my selfish heart fracture your family. Your empire is more important than my feelings."

Dante went entirely rigid. The words *Capo* and *empire* acted like ice water on his boiling blood. The war between his primal lust and his duty as the Don raged violently in his eyes. He stared at me, his chest heaving against my palms, before he violently pushed off the bed.

"Bury those words, Giada," he commanded, his voice harsh, ragged, and full of warning. "Pretend tonight never happened."

He turned and strode out of the room, the heavy doors slamming shut behind him. Alone in the dim light, I sat up slowly. I wiped the remaining tear from my cheek, letting the terrified mask melt away as a slow, cold smile curved my lips.