"I told you, I didn't steal it!"
"Papa, please, believe me!" I chased after him and grabbed his arm, tears finally escaping my eyes. "I swear I never touched that diamond!"
My father violently shook me off. "Enough! The evidence is right there. How long are you going to keep lying?"
"Just confess, Alessia," Marco sneered at me. "Did you think we'd go easy on you just because you're crying?"
Vincent scoffed. "Alessia, perhaps we should reconsider this engagement entirely."
"No! I didn't do it!" I turned to Carina in desperation. "You know I didn't, don't you? You know I didn't steal it!"
A smirk flickered across Carina's lips before being masked by a look of concern.
"Sister, perhaps you were exhausted and confused. Maybe you did something you don't even remember..."
The realization hit me. How could I have been so stupid as to ask her?
She was the one who wanted me to be the thief more than anyone.
"Lock her up!" my father commanded.
Two bodyguards grabbed my arms. I struggled against them. "Let me go! I am a daughter of this family! You have no right!"
"A daughter?" Marco laughed mockingly. "A daughter who steals a sacred family heirloom? Do you even deserve that title?"
Vincent added with a sneer, "Should have locked you up a long time ago. Would have saved the family a lot of embarrassment."
As they dragged me toward the cell at the back of the estate, I saw the undisguised triumph in Carina's eyes.
Leaning close, she whispered, "I suppose I'll be the one representing the family in public from now on."
I suddenly laughed. Yes, I had lost.
Not just that honor. Everything here would be hers now.
The cell door slammed shut behind me, the rattle of the lock sounding like a death knell.
Compared to the ancient gloom of the crypt, this place was a modern prison.
Four smooth metal walls, no windows, only a single, dim incandescent bulb in the ceiling casting a harsh glare.
The floor was ice-cold, and my only comfort was a thin blanket. This cell had held traitors and enemies of the family. Now it held me.
I curled up in a corner, the pain in my chest raging like a tidal wave.
Every breath tore at my lungs. I couldn't even stand.
In my final hours, I still couldn't figure it out.
How did the diamond get into my pocket?
I hadn't touched anything but the tombstones... unless...
A violent coughing fit seized me. A wetness touched my lips.
When I raised my hand to them, my fingers came away stained with blood.
I probably didn't have many hours left.
My mind began to drift back, replaying so many things from the past.
Scene after scene of Carina's carefully laid traps flashed before my eyes.
The time at the family gala when she "accidentally" spilled red wine on my custom gown, making me a laughingstock among the city's elite.
The time she altered a message in my notebook.
And the worst one: the time she'd used the letter opener from my desk to cut her own arm, then blamed it on me.
The weight of the memories crushed the air from my lungs. My heartbeat fluttered, faint and erratic.
But even then, I was surprised to find that beautiful memories still surfaced.
Marco, at seven years old, coming home bruised and bloody after fighting kids who had bullied me. "No one is allowed to bully my sister!" he'd declared.
My father sitting by my bedside all night when I was sick, his calloused hand gently stroking my forehead. "My little principessa, Papa will protect you."
The images were so vivid, as if it were all just yesterday.
Why... why had they changed so much?
My vision started to blur, and my limbs went numb.
The pain in my chest began to fade, replaced by a strange sense of lightness.
Maybe this was what dying felt like.
Years ago, when my father had betrayed his marriage vows, he'd claimed it was just the way of the underworld, that no Don had only one woman.
My mother, whose devotion to their marriage was absolute, couldn't accept it and chose to leave.
She had wanted to take me with her, away from New York, but my father and brother had begged me not to go.
They said they needed me. I was young and couldn't bear to see them plead, so I convinced my mother to let me stay.
If I had gone with her, would things be different? Would I still be their Alessia, wrapped in love?
On the very edge of consciousness, I thought I heard my mother calling to me.
"Alessia, my darling, won't you come with Mama?"
I'm sorry, Mom. I have to go first.
My heartbeat slowed. The final countdown of my life.
Ten... nine... eight... seven...
I closed my eyes and let the darkness swallow me whole.
The world went silent.
At six the next morning, Antonio came to check the cell as was his routine.
Having worked for the Morettis for thirty years, he had seen his share of life and death, but when he peered through the small window in the iron door, the sight inside chilled him to the bone.
"Miss Alessia! Miss Alessia!" he called out, his voice shaking as he banged on the door.
No response.
The figure curled in the corner was motionless, her face ashen, with a trace of dried blood at the corner of her mouth.
Antonio's hand trembled so badly he could barely fit the key in the lock. He finally got the door open and rushed inside.
"Miss Alessia! Wake up!" He knelt beside her and reached out to check for a breath.
Ice-cold. Nothing.
Antonio collapsed onto the floor.
In the main dining room, Don Moretti was enjoying his breakfast with his usual elegance.
Carina sat dutifully beside him, handing him the morning paper.
Marco was there too, reviewing the previous night's earnings reports.
"Don! Mr. Marco! Come quick!" Antonio, forgetting all decorum, burst into the room, his voice filled with a terror the Don had never heard before.
"I told you yesterday about this behavior. What is all this shouting so early in the morning?" Don Moretti frowned, clearly displeased by the interruption.
Antonio stumbled into the dining room. "Don! It's terrible! Miss Alessia, she..."
"What is it now?" Marco asked without looking up from his papers. "Is she feigning illness again?"
"No! Don… Miss Alessia… she's dead! She's dead in the cell!" Antonio's voice cracked with pure, unadulterated horror.
