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.

Giada POV

The line of new servants stood before me in obedient stillness, but the Rat hiding among them had already been marked. I turned away, my attention shifting to the next phase of the operation.

To survive this estate, I had to expose the snake before it could bite.

I retreated to the plush velvet sofas in the center of the room, pulling my most trusted Associates, Rosa and Siena, close. "We feed them ambition," I murmured, outlining a psychological trap.

Within the hour, the seeds were planted. Out on the secluded, sun-drenched balcony, Siena cornered Leo, a lowly Soldier assigned to the outer perimeter. "Matteo is too rigid as head of security," she purred, tracing the rim of a crystal glass. "The Don rewards men who know how to adapt. Protect the Signorina well, and you could easily take Matteo's place."

Inside the walk-in closet, Rosa worked a similar poison on Lucia, one of the new maids. "Carmela is too slow," Rosa whispered, handing Lucia a stack of silk chemises. "Be sharp, and you'll be the one catching the Don's eye for a reward."

By nightfall, the Sapphire Suite had transformed into a ruthless battleground of overachievers. Leo paced the corridors like a starved hound, aggressively turning away two maids sent by other Collaterals with bribes for information. Inside, Lucia polished the silver tea sets until her knuckles turned white, desperate to prove her worth.

Standing in the shadows of the hallway, I watched the frantic display with cold satisfaction.

"They are working hard, Signorina," Rosa whispered beside me. "Are they the spies?"

"No," I replied softly, my eyes drifting to the corner where Carmela stood perfectly still, quietly folding towels with chilling indifference. "In our world, a true Rat is already well-fed with blood money. They don't scramble for crumbs, and they don't risk drawing attention by overperforming. Watch the one who isn't trying."

The trap was set. Now, I just had to wait for Carmela to make a fatal mistake.

The next morning, the estate buzzed with the suffocating tension of the Matriarch's morning assembly. Every female resident was required to attend the gathering in the Solarium, hosted by Geraldine Blackwell, the former Mafia Queen. Rumor had it that Dante would pass by the glass corridors after his meeting with the Consigliere.

Sitting at my vanity, I dismissed the makeup artist. I left the faint, purplish shadows under my eyes untouched and kept my skin bare. I cultivated the fragile, hollowed-out exhaustion of a woman who had been ruthlessly consumed by the Dark Don all night. In a house full of predators, flaunting strength was foolish; weaponizing vulnerability was an art.

The moment I stepped outside the heavy glass doors of the Solarium, Kelsey blocked my path.

She wore a scandalous, crimson slip dress that clung to her curves—a desperate, pathetic attempt to catch Dante's eye. Her face twisted into an ugly sneer as she took in my bare face.

"Look at you," Kelsey mocked, her manicured fingers suddenly darting out to roughly pinch my chin. "You look like a washed-out corpse. Do you honestly think a diamond collar makes up for that pathetic face? You'll never be Ellen."

I didn't flinch. I didn't even blink. I simply stared at her with the dead, chilling calm of a true Queen watching a jester dig her own grave.

Before I could speak, the sharp, authoritative thud of a silver-tipped cane struck the marble floor.

The temperature in the corridor plummeted. Geraldine Blackwell emerged from the shadows, flanked by four heavily armed Soldati. She wore a deep burgundy velvet gown draped in snow fox fur, her sharp eyes radiating the absolute, crushing weight of the Blackwell hierarchy.

"Take your hands off her," Geraldine commanded, her voice a lethal whip crack.

Kelsey gasped, snatching her hand back as if she had been burned.

Geraldine stepped closer, her cold gaze raking over Kelsey’s inappropriate dress with profound disgust. "A woman graced with my son's Claiming Gift is not subject to the petty judgments of a lowly Collateral," the Matriarch hissed, enforcing the Don's absolute authority. "Know your place, girl, before I have you reminded of it."

Trembling violently, Kelsey dropped to her knees, her face draining of all color. The surrounding women immediately followed suit, bowing their heads in terrified submission.

I offered Geraldine a slow, perfectly measured bow of respect. She gave me a curt nod of approval before sweeping into the room.

Stepping into the lush, humid air of the Solarium, I kept my gaze lowered, playing the part of the exhausted favorite. But as I moved toward my seat, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled.

I looked up. Sasha, the Bratva Collateral, was marching directly toward me. A vicious, triumphant smirk played on her lips, her eyes gleaming with the anticipation of tearing me down, completely unaware that the ugly security photo she had bribed to see was nothing but a lie.