An ancient instinct dragged my numb body through the slums.

The sky was leaden gray, the air thick with the pungent smell of exhaust and garbage.

My feet brought me to a hidden little diner on our old turf.

Pushing open the heavy glass door, the rusty bell let out a hollow jingle. The place was empty, save for the stubble-faced owner wiping the counter.

He was an old, retired member of the Family.

He looked up, squinting. "Where’s your protector?"

I swallowed hard and made up a lame excuse, saying Falco was busy. Then I retreated to the dimmest corner, sliding into the worn-out booth we used to share.

The owner brought over a plate of our usual dish, setting it on the table. He winked knowingly, secretly slipping an extra piece of roasted meat onto my plate.

A burning sensation rushed to my eyes, tears stinging behind them.

I stared at the grease pooling on the cheap plate.

I remembered when we were hungry foot soldiers at the bottom of the food chain. This cheap meal was our only luxury. In a ruthless world, it was a brief, warm respite.

The darkest days after Falco was poisoned.

He was too weak to stand, and even this cheap meal became an impossible luxury. But it was our loyalty to each other that kept us sane in that drafty apartment.

I remembered watching helplessly as he slipped into empty acceptance. He stopped fighting the agonizing pain, simply holding my hand, waiting in silence.

Days turned to nights, and the underground network remained silent. No matching kidney donor could be found.

I knew his stubborn pride. He would rather die a thousand times than take my organ.

So, I had to make a choice—to utterly break his heart so he would never question my leaving.

The day I finalized the secret organ-harvesting deal with the underground doc, I brought him this meal. I spent my last few bills on it.

He managed only a small bite of meat. He pushed the plate toward me. "My queen, finish it."

Tears blurred my thoughts.

I remembered him trying to comfort me, whispering, "When I’m gone, you’ll be strong enough to live on."

That was when I dealt the final blow.

Fighting back my own anguish, I stared into his eyes with an icy glare. "I’m leaving. I can’t be tied down to a weak, dying man. I’ve been bought by a rival faction. Let me go."

The weight of that betrayal crushed the young soldier. I watched his spirit shatter into pieces.

Terrified I would fall to my knees, I turned and fled.

A few days later, the underground doctor began the final phase of the surgery.

Long before stepping into the clinic, I demanded Falco be placed in a separate operating room under deep anesthesia.

A thick concrete wall separated us, ensuring my secret would never reach his ears.

As soon as the surgery was over, I packed my blood-soaked bandages and vanished, leaving him alone until he woke up, knowing only that a "mysterious anonymous donor" had saved his life.

Snapping back to reality, I blinked away the ghosts.

I picked up my fork and forced a piece of cold meat into my mouth; it tasted like ash on my tongue.

I unlocked the door to my hidden apartment, the encrypted laptop chiming crisply, echoing in the silence.

I glanced at the glowing screen.

A high-priority email had bypassed all my firewalls.

I clicked it open, and my stomach knotted at the familiar Syndicate crest on the header.

A formal legal threat, issued by Falco's advisory department.

The bold text demanded immediate repayment of a loan. The document claimed I had stolen the money in Falco's name four years ago to fund my escape.

I stared at the black words, a bitter laugh tearing from my throat.

The Don was so disgusted by my existence that he was mobilizing his entire empire to grind me into dust. Long before my illness, he wanted to crush me legally and financially.

Moving like a robot, I went to the keyboard and entered the authorization info. I attached my encrypted digital signature to the bottom of the claim, accepting the blood debt.

I promised to repay it, down to the last cent.

My body had already been pronounced dead. Before I went into the ground, returning his money was the only way to sever the final tie between us.

I pulled out my phone and dialed a secure line to contact my good friend Lexi. She was an associate on the fringes of the Family business, running a high-end bridal boutique downtown.

Of course, beneath the veil of tulle and lace, it was a front to launder Syndicate money.

Lexi picked up on the first ring.

"Can I come work at your boutique?" I cut straight to the chase. "The black-market surgery ruined my stamina; I can't do heavy lifting. I need somewhere quiet."

Lexi immediately offered me the front desk job. "Safe, high-paying, cover job. We'll funnel cash straight to you."

I accepted without hesitation.

I refused to owe the Don a favor for even a second longer.

I swore that in the final moments of my life, I would vanish from Falco's world entirely.

I would pay him back, and then quietly disappear into an empty corner.

I stood behind the counter at Lexi’s bridal boutique, organizing the inventory list.

The glass doors of the shop swung open.

Falco walked in.

Dressed in a flawless bespoke dark suit, he radiated a calm, lethal authority. He was the Godfather of this city, every step exuding predatory calculation.

Gia clung tightly to his arm, wearing an immaculate designer dress, playing the innocent contrast to his dark presence.

Falco frowned, looking around.

"The selection here is too small," he murmured to Gia. "I’ll have the private jet take you to Paris this afternoon. You deserve the best."

Gia played the role of the sweet, perfect mob bride.

She rested her head on his shoulder, insisting on supporting local artisans. But as she spoke, her eyes swept the room and landed on me.

A vicious smirk flickered across her face.

Falco indulgently agreed. He pulled out a black card, telling the manager he was buying the entire store for his future wife.

I retreated into the shadows behind a silk display, my heart hammering against my ribs. I wanted to disappear.

But Gia marched straight to the front desk, slamming her designer bag onto the marble counter.

"That girl hiding in the corner," she demanded loudly. "Have her serve us personally."

The boutique manager, pale with panic, rushed over to intervene. "She’s only hired for administrative work," she explained nervously.

Gia narrowed her eyes, putting on her boss’s-daughter attitude. "Step aside. Or I’ll break your fingers."

I had no choice but to step out from behind the display.

My eyes met Falco’s.

I saw a flash of pain in his deep eyes—or maybe I imagined it—before it instantly turned distant and icy.

He stepped forward, looking me up and down, a mocking smile on his lips. He laughed out loud in front of the staff. "The scammer reappears. It’s a miracle, isn't it?"

His tone was dripping with sarcasm. "How does a woman supposedly on her deathbed suddenly have the energy to hustle in a high-end boutique?"

He sneered. "Here to hook a rich sponsor to fund your next con?"

Gia laughed.

She picked up a steaming hot espresso from the hospitality counter and took a step toward me. Her thumb rubbed the edge of the paper cup, bending the thin rim slightly.

Suddenly, she let out an exaggerated gasp. She shoved the cup forward.

The boiling black coffee splashed across my chest.

The heat felt alive, burning through my thin uniform shirt, raising blisters the second it hit my skin.

Gia feigned surprise, covering her mouth with her hand.

She pulled a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from her bag and tossed them onto the floor at my feet.

"To cover your ruined shirt," she said.

Then, she casually poured the rest of the hot coffee over my head.

The scalding dark liquid dripped down my cheeks, stinging my eyes, soaking my hair.

I stood frozen, numb.

Falco was completely indifferent to her cruelty.

He pulled Gia close, wrapping an arm around her waist in a protective embrace.

He stared dead at me.

"The sight of you makes me sick," he told me.

He looked down at the pile of cash on the floor. With the absolute authority of a Godfather, he issued his final order:

"You can keep the money. If you bow to Gia a hundred times as an apology."