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.

Giada POV

The cold smile had barely settled on my lips when the heavy oak doors swung open again.

Dante stood in the threshold, his towering frame casting a long, imposing shadow across the carpet. The violent storm in his eyes had been locked away behind a wall of impenetrable ice.

"You stay here tonight," he commanded, his voice a low, authoritative rasp. "Let Katheryn's brother and the rest of the estate know you are under my roof. But don't flatter yourself. I don't touch broken Collaterals. "

He was sending a message to the entire Blackwell empire: I was his property, and touching me meant death. But I knew the beast beneath his tailored suit was starving.

I stood up slowly, feigning a weak wince. The black silk robe I had been given after Dr. Weaver bandaged my wounds slipped off one shoulder. I clutched it to my chest, but not before the fresh white bandages wrapped tightly around my torso were fully visible—along with the faint traces of blood that had already begun to seep through the gauze.

The air in the room instantly thickened. I heard his breath hitch.

The predator was awake. Dante took a slow, heavy step toward me, his dark eyes fixated on my ruined skin. The scent of his bespoke cologne wrapped around me, suffocating and intoxicating. He was going to break his own rule.

I shrank back, retreating to the velvet chaise lounge like a terrified doe. I pulled the silk up, clutching it to my chest, and lowered my eyelashes.

"I know your heart will always belong to Ellen," I whispered, my voice breaking with perfect, tragic fragility. "I would never presume to squeeze into a heart that is already full."

Dante froze mid-step. The name of his dead fiancée struck him like a physical blow. The violent war between his primal lust and his sacred ghost raged in his clenched jaw. He stared at me, his chest heaving, before he let out a harsh, mocking sneer. He turned his broad back to me, walking toward the far side of the penthouse without another word.

Checkmate.

When I woke the next morning, the agonizing fire in my back was gone. Instead, a cooling, medicinal sensation coated my skin. Last night, Dr. Weaver had dressed my wounds while I was still conscious, his swift hands wrapping the bandages I had used to bait Dante. But now, the fresh, icy tingle beneath the gauze told me the ointment had been reapplied while I slept—potent, black-market, and unmistakably ordered by the Don himself. Dante hadn't touched me, but he had commanded my healing in the dark.

Enzo, Dante's most trusted Capo, was waiting by the door. "Signorina Moreno," he said, his tone carrying a newfound, profound respect. "I will escort you to the East Wing."

The East Wing Lounge was bathed in morning light, but the atmosphere was toxic. As I walked in, flawlessly composed, Kelsey stood by the espresso machine. The color drained from her face. She had expected me to be carried out in a body bag.

Nearby, Sasha, the Bratva Collateral, narrowed her eyes. She took in my unblemished face and the haunting resemblance I bore to the ghost that haunted this estate. Pure, calculating hostility flashed in her gaze.

Kelsey recovered quickly, her eyes darting to my bare neck.

"No Claiming Gift?" Kelsey mocked, her voice loud enough for Mia and Chloe to hear. "I suppose surviving the night doesn't mean you actually won the Don's favor. You're still just a debtor's daughter."

She stepped forward, plastering on a sickeningly sweet smile. "But I was so worried about you, sister," she cooed, wrapping her arms around me in a sudden, tight embrace.

Beneath the fabric of my dress, I felt her sharp acrylic nails dig viciously into the exact spot where Katheryn's leather belt had sliced my flesh. She was waiting for me to scream, to break down in agony and become the pathetic joke of the estate.

But Dante's ointment was a miracle of the underworld. I felt the pressure of her nails, but absolutely no pain.

I didn't flinch. I didn't even blink. I simply raised my porcelain cup, took a slow sip of my black coffee, and curved my lips into a chilling, mocking smile right against her ear.

Kelsey pulled back slowly, her eyes wide with absolute, unadulterated panic.

Giada POV

Kelsey’s panic morphed into a frantic, desperate denial. She couldn't accept that her knowledge of the past was failing her. Feigning a clumsy slip, she lunged forward, her manicured fingers hooking into the delicate silk shawl draped over my shoulders. With a vicious yank, she tore it away.

She expected to expose a canvas of bloody, ruined flesh to the room, turning me into the ultimate joke of the estate. Instead, thanks to Dr. Weaver’s miraculous black-market ointment and the calculated angle of my posture, my exposed shoulder and upper back were as flawless and pale as fresh snow.

"Impossible!" Kelsey shrieked, her voice cracking with hysteria as she stared at my unblemished skin. "The Don didn't even touch you last night, did he?!"

Mia and Chloe exchanged amused, mocking glances, assuming Kelsey was merely laughing at my lack of claiming marks—bruises or bite marks from a passionate night. I slowly retrieved my shawl, my gaze chillingly calm as I watched my half-sister unravel.

Before Kelsey could embarrass herself further, the heavy double doors of the lounge were shoved open. The oppressive aura of the mafia hierarchy flooded the room as Capo Enzo strode in, flanked by heavily armed Soldiers. The petty chatter died instantly.

Enzo ignored the other Collaterals, walking straight to me. He bowed his head slightly, a gesture of profound respect, and presented a black velvet box stamped with the Blackwell crest. He snapped it open. Inside rested a breathtaking pink diamond collar—a Claiming Gift worth millions.

"Signorina Ortiz," Enzo announced, his voice carrying the absolute weight of a Don's Command. "The Don has ordered your immediate relocation to the Sapphire Suite."

A collective gasp echoed in the room. Kelsey looked as if she had been struck by lightning, her eyes locked on the diamonds she had died for in another life. Sasha, the Bratva Collateral, narrowed her eyes, masking her shock with cold, dangerous calculation. I accepted the box with a serene nod, while my Associates, Rosa and Siena, trembled with excitement behind me.

The Sapphire Suite was a sun-drenched sanctuary of absolute power. As lower-level Associates bustled around, filling the massive walk-in closets with haute couture and jewels, the heavy door clicked shut. But the peace was short-lived.

Kelsey had followed me. She stood in the center of the lavish living room, her face twisted in ugly, raw envy.

"You're faking it," she spat, stepping closer, her eyes darting around the opulent room. "You don't have a single mark on you. This is all a show. You haven't won his heart, you're just putting on a brave face."

I set my porcelain teacup down on the glass table. The fragile, terrified mask I wore for Dante vanished, replaced by the lethal coldness of a true Mafia Queen. I closed the distance between us, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper.

"Let me educate you on survival, sister," I murmured, my eyes locking onto hers. "Attempting to pry into the Dark Don's habits, or questioning the validity of his decisions, is a direct violation of *Omertà*. It is treason. Keep digging, and you won't just lose your imaginary crown—you'll lose your tongue."

Greta, Kelsey’s older, seasoned Associate, paled drastically. Understanding the brutal reality of mafia law, she clamped a hand over Kelsey’s arm and practically dragged her toward the door.

"Let go of me!" Kelsey hissed in the corridor, ripping herself from Greta's grip. "Just wait until the morning assembly. Let's see if she survives Sasha and the others in the Solarium tomorrow."

Greta didn't reply, her eyes darting nervously, silently terrified of the black-market fertility drug secret binding them to this sinking ship.

Inside the suite, I turned my attention away from the closed door. My eyes slowly scanned the new faces of the security guards and maids the estate's internal affairs had just assigned to me, searching for the hidden venom in the room.