More than a decade ago, our Rossi family was caught in a bloody turf war.

My mother died protecting me, shielding me with her body from a bullet fired by a rival family. The .45 caliber round went straight through her heart.

I lost her that day.

A few years later, when I was fifteen, my father incurred a blood debt to the Falcone family over a failed drug deal, one he could never repay.

Don Corrado approached my sister and me with an offer: a contract to repay our family's sins with our youth. It was our only chance to avoid being dumped in the Hudson River.

And so, we were sent here, reduced to bargaining chips.

Horton must have realized he'd gone too far. He shoved Luca out of the room and locked the door from the outside.

He stalked back to me, roughly pulled me away from the wall, and threw me onto the bed. He used his thumb to crudely wipe the tears from my face.

"I thought you knew the rules," he said coldly, loosening his tie. "You don't lose your temper with the future Don. You owe Luca an apology."

He leaned over me, his body pressing down, and started tearing at the buttons of my shirt.

Then he pulled a check from his suit's inner pocket and slapped it on the nightstand.

"It's your birthday. Here's your payment. Consider it compensation for your... performance over the years."

His voice dripped with contempt. He reached for my chin to force me to look at the check, while his other hand began to wander.

I shoved him away and scrambled off the bed.

"Horton," I said, my voice terrifyingly calm, "the contract is almost over. I'll be leaving soon."

"You think you can threaten me?"

"Luca lost his mother, and you're holding a grudge against a child?" Horton's face twisted with rage.

"He's just a boy, but what about you? You're a grown woman. Why can't you be a real mother and show some compassion? He'll learn the rules when he's older."

"I have business to deal with. Stop bothering me with this petty drama. I don't have time to coddle you."

I wanted to tell him I had never needed him to solve my problems.

I only wished for the respect I was due. I never dared to hope for anything more.

But to Horton, every word I said seemed like a challenge to his authority. His gaze turned dangerous and icy, all warmth vanishing.

"I have real family business to attend to," he growled, striding towards the door and slamming it shut behind him. "You're not to leave this room tonight."

With a click, the door was locked from the outside.

I was locked in my own room, treated worse than a prisoner.

I had lost count of how many times he had humiliated me like this. I was just a convenient outlet for his frustrations, less than air to him unless he had a use for me.

Raindrops tapped against the windowpane. I sat on the floor, spending the entire night trying to piece the antique fountain pen back together.

Of course, it was impossible. The broken metal could never truly be mended. But I tried again and again, with nothing but a cheap tube of super glue and desperate obsession.

Every tiny fragment sliced my fingertips like a razor.

Blood dripped onto the manuscript, mixing with the ink to form dark red stains.

I glued it piece by piece, as if I could mend my own shattered heart along with it.

When the first ray of sunlight streamed through the blinds, I heard footsteps.

The lock on the door turned. A man in a black suit stood in the doorway, his eyes as cold and hard as stone.

"The Don wants to see you," he said flatly. "Immediately."

I threw on a coat and followed him. These were the family rules. When the Don summons you, you go.

The scent of cigar smoke hung in the air when I entered Don Corrado's private study. He sat behind a massive walnut desk, his fingers tapping lightly on the tabletop.

When he saw me, a flicker of disappointment crossed his deep-set eyes.

"I know what happened last night. Luca has Falcone blood: proud and uncompromising. But you have been a mother to him for five years, Christine. The bond between you goes beyond the contract. He remembers your kindness. Give him time. He will come to understand the meaning of famiglia."

Then his eyes, which had seen decades of bloodshed, locked onto mine. "Are you truly prepared to tear up the Rossi family's blood oath and all these years of sacrifice?"

His words hit my chest like a physical blow.

But if a family has no love or respect left, can it still be called famiglia?

My mind drifted uncontrollably to my late sister, Seraphina.

I knew that Seraphina and Horton had been considered a perfect match since childhood.

They shared the same cold intelligence, the same hunger for power. They had fought side by side in this brutal underworld since they were young, and they forged a deep bond.

My sister had always been the dazzling, brilliant daughter of a mafia family, while I was always in her shadow. Few people even remembered the Rossi family had a younger daughter.

So, my feelings for Horton had to be buried deep.

Although our father had never wanted us to marry back into the bloody mafia world, fate had other plans. The moment the Rossi family fell, my sister and I became bargaining chips.

Then, five years ago, Seraphina died from a hereditary illness. She chose to suffer alone, refusing to let anyone see her weakness, and made me swear to keep her secret.

Horton changed after that. It was as if he had lost half his soul. He brought home woman after woman who bore some resemblance to Seraphina, losing himself in nights of debauchery.

He couldn't even look at his own son, because every expression on Luca's face was a reminder of his loss.

Don Corrado was deeply worried. He couldn't let the family heir grow into a cold-blooded monster in an environment devoid of motherly love.

But he couldn't trust just any outsider with such a heavy responsibility.

He worried an outsider with ulterior motives would use the child to gain power within the family. So he turned to me. Marry Horton, become Luca's mother, and secure the family's future.

For five years, I poured my heart into managing the Falcone estate and raising Luca into the sharp young prince everyone in the underworld already whispered he would become.

I was a living reminder of his wife, the one person keeping the soul of this family from shattering completely.

But no matter what I did, I never received even a shred of their recognition.

To Horton, I was just a tool he remembered only for his physical needs. In bed, he always kept his eyes closed, unwilling to even glance at me.

"Seraphina..." he would whisper at his climax. Always her name.

And Luca, from the very first day, saw me as the murderer who killed his mother.

"Why don't you just die?" he once asked me when he was five. "If you died, would Mom be able to come back?"

How could a hell like this be called a home?

Don Corrado finally gave up. He motioned for his lawyer to hand me the termination agreement, his voice old and weary. "Once you sign this, there's no turning back."

Without hesitation, I signed my name on the document.

The sun was setting when I drove back to the estate that evening. I pressed the remote for the main gate, but the display flashed: ACCESS DENIED.

I rang the intercom, but there was no response.

A guard appeared, his tone respectful but firm. "Apologies, ma'am, but we have important guests tonight. Only core family members are permitted inside."

I knew this was Horton's way of punishing me for my "incompetence" today, for not returning to the estate to prepare Luca's dinner. Since he was a child, Luca had the picky palate of a family heir, eating only specific ingredients prepared in a certain way.

That was why I had learned traditional Sicilian cuisine, mastering every classic recipe served at the Falcone family table.

I remembered how he used to hug my leg, pleading in his small voice:

"Christine, your meatballs are the best in the whole world. I want you to stay here with me forever."

But somewhere along the way, everything had changed. Now, all he wanted was to make me disappear from this world in the cruelest way possible.

A biting wind cut across my face like a razor. The New York night was freezing, and the thin cashmere I wore was no defense against the December cold.

Within minutes, I was shivering uncontrollably. I had nowhere to go for warmth, forced to stand outside the iron gates of the estate like an abandoned beggar.

Through the heavy iron bars, I could see the warm, spring-like light of the living room.

A woman in a designer evening gown descended the spiral staircase, moving as if she owned the place as she approached Luca.

When she saw me freezing outside the gate, a cold, triumphant smirk crossed her lips.

I recognized her. Millie. A bombshell poached from a high-end Manhattan strip club, with hair like spun gold and eyes the color of a turquoise sea.

Her features were a startling echo of Seraphina, even more so than mine. She was the most convincing of the nineteen replacements Horton had brought home.

"Oh, look who it is. I'm so sorry, darling, but Horton is spending the night with me. Looks like you'll have to enjoy the fresh air."

Then she turned to Luca, a perfect smile on her face.

"Come on, my little prince. Dinner is served, and your papa is waiting for us in the dining room."

"Great! I love eating with Millie!" Luca jumped up, taking her hand. "You're a thousand times better than that murderer! At least you didn't kill my mom!"

I watched them disappear behind the grand door, the warm scene a bullet through my chest.

The child I had raised, the boy whose life I had shaped for five years, saw none of it.

Instead, he clung loyally to a woman Horton had brought in from the outside, simply because she had the same blonde hair and blue eyes as Seraphina.

And because she offered a permissive, fawning style of parenting that let him do whatever he wanted.

It was too late to call a cab now, and the deep winter night in New York was brutally cold. I huddled in a corner outside the gates like a stray dog, the piercing wind tearing at my skin.

Just as I thought I might freeze to death right there, my phone rang. The butler's voice was cold through the receiver.

"Mrs. Falcone, the Boss says you may come in now. Please use the servants' entrance."

My body was numb with cold, but I forced myself to stand and stagger toward the side door.

At this point, survival mattered more than pride.

Walking through the corridor, which was as cold as a morgue, I saw them: Horton, Luca, and Millie, seated in a perfect triangle on the Persian rug before the fire.

The orange glow of the fire danced on their faces, as warm as an oil painting.

Luca was on Millie's lap, scooping tiramisu with a small silver spoon.

"Open up, little prince," Millie said softly, her voice sickeningly sweet.

Luca obediently opened his mouth, then closed his eyes in satisfaction.

"Millie's dessert is the best in the world!"

Horton watched them, a gentle smile on his lips I had never seen before.

This was what a family was supposed to look like. Warm, harmonious, and full of love. It was a pity none of it had ever been for me.

I stood in the shadows like an intruder, watching this heartwarming play unfold.

I had intended to go straight upstairs, but Horton looked up and saw me. His smile vanished.

"You're finally back. Luca waited two hours for his late-night snack."

"I made him some little cookies and warm milk," Millie interjected innocently. "He said he liked them a lot."

I glanced at the exquisite little treats on the coffee table, each one up to the standard of a five-star hotel.

I stopped, turning wearily. My voice was lifeless. "It seems you've already handled it. I can give my recipes to Millie. You'll have a replacement after I'm gone."

Horton slammed his glass down on the marble tabletop, the sharp sound slicing through the air.

"Christine. It seems I've been too lenient with you. Have you forgotten your place?" He rose from the sofa, his fingers clamping around my wrist like a vise, squeezing until I thought the bone would splinter.

"Did you really think I wouldn't dare to shut you up for good?"

I knew he would. He had never had an ounce of affection for me. Not a single drop.

The only reason he hadn't disposed of me yet was likely that damn contract and his son. He needed to play the part of a devoted husband for the outside world.

I forced myself to remain calm, looking him straight in the eye. "Why don't you ask your precious son what he wants?"

Just then, Luca's voice piped up from the sofa.

"Dad, I've wanted you to get rid of this woman for ages! I hate her! I like Millie more. She's a million times better than the murderer who killed my mom!"

Millie put a theatrical hand to his mouth. "Goodness, Luca, you shouldn't say such things..."

"Let him speak," I said, looking at Horton. "Since you and Luca both like Millie so much, why not make her the new Mrs. Falcone? The timing is perfect. Our contract is over."

Horton's brow furrowed into a deep knot. He ordered the butler to take Luca back to his room.

"Who do you think you're talking to? Are you that eager to push me onto another woman?"

I looked at him, genuinely confused. What on earth did he mean by that? Five years after Seraphina's death, he had finally found a perfect replica, one so similar it was breathtaking. Shouldn't he be ecstatic?

Horton's face grew darker. He pulled Millie directly in front of him.

"You want me to marry her?" His voice was low, but it sent a chill down my spine. "Then as you wish."

He pulled a small velvet box from his suit pocket. Inside was the ruby ring of the Falcone matriarch. He shoved it onto Millie's finger, right in front of me.

I had tried on that ring in front of the mirror countless times, imagining the day I might truly own it.

But I never expected the first time I would see it up close would be on another woman's hand.

I watched as Horton swept a tearfully joyous Millie into his arms and strode like a conqueror toward the master bedroom.

And for all the times he'd used my body to vent his frustrations, he had never once allowed me into the master bedroom.

The door slammed shut, and soon, raw, carnal sounds echoed from within.

My heart turned to ash in my chest.

I thought I had never come to this family for love, only to repay the Rossi family's blood debt. But watching this scene unfold, my eyes still stung uncontrollably.

So be it. I had never dared to hope for anything more anyway. I should be happy for him. He had finally found a perfect replica who looked more like Seraphina than I did.

He had to be satisfied. After all, Millie's skills in bed were probably far better than mine.

I glanced at my watch. The car I had booked was arriving soon.

I quietly placed the signed termination agreement on the coffee table, picked up my already packed suitcase, and walked toward the front door.

But just as I reached the foyer, Luca blocked my path like a little demon.

He kicked my suitcase, sending it flying.

"What, a few harsh words scared you off?" His voice was laced with the cruelty unique to the Falcone bloodline.

"You think this pathetic little trick will get my dad's attention? You think he's going to chase after you and beg you to come back like in some stupid movie? You're utterly pathetic."

I said nothing. I just silently knelt down to pick up my scattered belongings.

Among them, a pale blue cashmere sweater lay quietly on the rug.

It was the one my sister, Seraphina, had knitted for Luca with her own hands before she died.

She had spent three whole months on it, stitch by stitch.

"When Luca gets a little older, he's going to love this sweater," she had once told me.

He had never worn it in all these years. I thought he didn't care about it, and since my sister had left so few things behind, I decided to take it with me as a memento.

I never imagined the sight of that sweater would make him freeze.

His face turned deathly pale, then flushed a deep crimson.

"You bitch! What right do you have to take my mother's things!" he screamed. A raw nerve had been struck. He lunged at me from behind.

With all the strength his small body could muster, Luca shoved me hard from behind. Caught completely off guard, I lost my balance and stumbled forward.

And right in my path was the massive stone fireplace, its sharp corner waiting for me like a blade.