~Alina~

    “What!?”

    My breath hitched, my entire body freezing as Ethan’s words echoed in my ears.

    Dennis was Jade’s son. The child she had in her final year of college. The little boy I had helped raise, loved like family.

    She had told me it was a one-night stand, a mistake. That some random guy at a club had gotten her pregnant and disappeared. She had cried in my arms, sworn she didn’t know who the father was.

    And I, God, I had believed her.

    I had stood by her, paid for her pregnancy and after-birth expenses, held her hand through every doctor’s visit, every sleepless night. 

  At one point, I even stole from my parents to make sure she and Dennis never lacked anything.

    I had sacrificed for them.

    And the whole time… Ethan was Dennis’s father.

    A sharp, ugly sob tore from my throat as I stumbled back.

    “You,” my voice broke, “you lied to me. Both of you.”

    Jade smirked, completely unbothered.

    “You should have caught on sooner. But you’re so damn stupid.”

    Something inside me snapped.

    I tore the engagement ring from my finger and hurled it at them.

    “Get out! Get out of my house! Both of you!”

    Ethan scoffed, catching the ring before it hit him.

    “Your house?” He laughed dryly.

    “Have you forgotten? I made the purchase of this house.”

    I shook my head furiously. “Yes, but it’s mine. I sent you the money to purchase it because you said you had a good agency. My name will be on the agreement.”

    The moment the words left my mouth, they burst into laughter.

    Loud, cruel, mocking.

    Jade clutched her stomach, tears of amusement in her eyes.

    “Oh my God. You’re dumber than I thought.”

    Ethan sneered. “You think I’m as stupid as you? I bought this penthouse in my name, Jade’s name, Dennis’s name. Not yours, dummy.”

    He sat up, his voice dripping with amusement. 

  “So if anyone should get out of this house, Alina, it’s you.”

    The air left my lungs.

    I stared at him, numb, shaking, my vision blurring with tears.

    I had used my last savings to purchase this penthouse, my dream home, the place I wanted to build my future with Ethan. 

  I had envisioned us waking up here, drinking coffee on the balcony, raising kids in a house full of love.

    But Ethan had his own plans.

    I had built my whole life around him. Trusted Jade like a sister. Spent years believing they cared about me.

    And now I was nothing more than a joke to them.

    My throat tightened as the last bit of pride in me shattered. Silently, my body trembling, I turned and walked out of the house.

    Behind me, Jade’s voice rang through the night.

    “Go hang yourself, girl!”

    A bitter laugh bubbled in my chest.

    Maybe I should.

    Maybe that would make it all stop. The pain, the humiliation, the aching hole in my chest where my heart used to be.

    I reached my car, threw the door open, and collapsed into the driver’s seat. 

  My breath came in sharp, gasping sobs as I clutched the steering wheel, squeezing it so tight my knuckles turned white.

    Then, without warning, a scream ripped from my throat.

    A raw, agonized sound as I slammed my fists against the wheel over and over until the car horn blared through the silent street.

    An old couple in the next house turned on their porch light, startled, peeking outside.

    I didn’t care.

    I let myself break.

    Tears streamed down my face, hot and endless. 

  My sharp green eyes, now puffy and swollen, stared back at me in the rearview mirror. My cheeks, rounder than I wished they were, were blotchy from crying.

    A fat pig.Useless.Pathetic.

    I remembered their words, their laughter, the way they had mocked me, humiliated me, made me feel like nothing.

    And the worst part?

    They were right.

    I was stupid. I was desperate. I had let them use me, let them make me believe I was loved when I never was.

    I buried my face in my hands. What the hell was I supposed to do now?

    My life revolved around Ethan. I had given him everything. Now I had nothing.

    No home. No family. No one.

    A sharp chime broke through the silence.

    I ignored it at first, too lost in my misery.

    Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the name flash across my phone screen.

    Nana.

    A fresh wave of pain hit me.

    Nana, my grandmother. My father’s mother.

    She lived in Italy, my father’s homeland before he moved to Toronto, Canada, to start a new life. I was half-Italian, half-American, though I had never spent much time in Italy.

    Since my father’s death, Nana had barely spoken to anyone. She had been devastated, shattered beyond repair.

    She hardly ever called or texted, so hearing from her out of the blue meant something was wrong.

    I wiped my eyes, sniffing, and reached for my phone with trembling fingers.

    One message.

    I clicked it open.

    “Mia dolce melanzana. [My sweet garden egg.]”

    For the first time in the last few minutes, I smiled.

    Nana was the only person who still called me that. My father had given me the nickname when I was little, and she had never stopped using it.

    I blinked through the blur of tears and read the rest of the message.

    “Come to Italy, my darling. Nana doesn’t have much time.”

    My breath caught in my throat.

    She was sick?

    My fingers hovered over the screen, my chest tightening. She had barely spoken to me in months, drowning in her own grief after my father’s passing.

    I had lost so much, and now, was I about to lose her too?

    I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing myself to keep reading.

    “Voglio vederti, e voglio conoscere il tuo fidanzato. [I want to see you, and I want to meet your fiancé.]”

~Valentino Romano~

"The shipment from Colombia arrived last night," Rocco, my PA reported, standing across from my desk, his voice businesslike.

I swirled the golden liquid in my glass, watching the ice melt into the whiskey.

"And?"

He hesitated for half a second.

"They were short," he admitted. "Five kilos missing."

Silence settled over the room like a thick fog. The sound of my glass tapping against the large L-shaped executive desk was the only thing that filled the air.

Five kilos.

I exhaled through my nose, setting my drink down.

"Let me guess," I murmured. "The shipment was handled by the Cortés crew?"

Rocco nodded. "Sí, Boss [Yes, Boss.]."

"Then they are either incompetent or they think I'm blind." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk.

"Which one is it?"

"Does it matter?" Rocco asked. "The disrespect is the same."

He was right. It didn't matter.

A message needed to be sent.

I picked up my gun from the desk, running my fingers over the cold steel.

"Send a team to visit their capo in Naples," I said. "Make sure they understand their debt will be paid-one way or another."

"Sí, Boss." Rocco inclined his head.

I leaned back in my chair, stretching my fingers against the armrests.

"And if they refuse?"

Rocco smirked. "Then we take a head for every kilo."

I smiled coldly. "Esattamente [Exactly.]."

A sharp knock interrupted us before the door opened, and Andre, one of my men, stepped inside. He carried a tablet in his hand, his expression carefully neutral.

"Boss," he said. "The target was spotted this morning at Milan Airport."

I didn't react right away. Instead, I reached for my cigarette case, pulling one out and lighting it with slow, lazy movements. The flame flickered before I snapped the lighter shut.

"Is that so?" I murmured, exhaling a stream of smoke.

Andre placed the tablet on my desk.

"We have footage."

I leaned forward, flicking the ash from my cigarette before pressing play.

The screen showed security footage from Milan's airport. A lone figure stepping through the arrivals terminal.

My lips curled into a smirk.

I removed my glasses and placed them beside my whiskey.

"And why is that?" I asked, my voice slow, almost lazy.

"No intel yet, Boss," Andre replied.

"Do you want our men in Milan to handle it?"

I tapped the cigarette against the ashtray, watching the embers burn.

"No," I said finally. "Leave it to me."

Andre frowned slightly, but he knew better than to question me.

"Prepare the jet," I ordered.

It had been a long time since I had set foot in Italy. Time to visit padrino [godfather].

~Italy – Milan~

The jet landed in Milan under the cover of darkness. The moment the wheels touched the tarmac, I was already unbuckling my seatbelt, stretching my fingers. I hated planes.

As I stepped onto the runway, the scent of Italy washed over me. Espresso, leather, and the faintest trace of gunpowder.

Two black SUVs waited at the edge of the tarmac. My men loaded the luggage while I slid into the backseat of the lead vehicle.

"To the castle," I ordered.

The drive was quiet. The city lights faded into the countryside, the roads narrowing as we approached Castello Romano, the beating heart of my past.

I was born with nothing.

No name. No past. No future.

The streets of Toronto were my first home. The cold, cracked sidewalks, the alleyways stinking of piss and filth. Those were my childhood playgrounds. I slept where I could, ate what I found, and trusted no one.

By the time I was ten, I had already learned that kindness was a luxury the weak couldn't afford.

And I was never weak.

Not even the night I nearly died.

It was winter. The kind that turned your breath into smoke and your fingers stiff with frostbite. I had spent the last three days starving, surviving off scraps I picked from behind a restaurant on Queen Street. But hunger made men greedy, and I wasn't the only one trying to survive.

The gang of beggars had been watching me. I should have seen it coming.

"Oi, kid," one of them sneered, cornering me in an alleyway.

"Been makin' some nice coin, huh? Hand it over."

I gripped my knife tighter, the rusty blade tucked in the sleeve of my worn-out, oversized coat.

"It's mine."

The man's face twisted with amusement.

"That so? You wanna do this the hard way?"

There were four of them. Bigger. Stronger. But I wasn't afraid. Fear was for people with something to lose.

One lunged, but I was faster.

The blade sank into his eye socket before he could even scream.

Blood gushed over my hands, warm despite the freezing cold. The others hesitated for just a second, long enough for me to grab the dead man's coat and run.

I didn't make it far.

The black convoy appeared like a phantom at the end of the alley. The lead car rolled to a stop, its tinted window lowering with a slow mechanical hum.

That was the first time I saw him.

Don Enzo Romano.

He wasn't an old man back then. He was in his forties, dressed in a tailored suit, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back. His eyes were dark, sharp, amused. He looked at me the way a scientist might look at an animal in a cage-curious and calculating.

"You're talented, ragazzo [boy]," he mused, his deep voice smooth like aged whiskey.

"Will you be my son?"

I stood there, hands covered in another man's blood, my heart still pounding in my chest.

It wasn't a question. It was an invitation, a deal and without hesitation, I accepted.

That was the night Valentino Romano was born.

The castle loomed at the top of the hill, its stone walls wrapped in ivy.

This was the place I had once called home.

The guards at the entrance stiffened as we pulled up, their grips tightening on their weapons.

"Il Diavolo di Milano è tornato [The Devil of Milan has returned] occo and I stepped through the grand entrance, the scent of cigars and aged wood filling my lungs. And there, at the head of the dining table, sat the man who had made me what I am today.

Don Enzo Romano.

My godfather.

He was older now, his silver hair thinner, his face more lined. But his eyes? Still sharp. Still calculating.

He took a slow drag of his cigar before finally speaking.

"So, you finally decided to come to Italy." His voice was rough, like gravel on stone.

"I thought you would avoid me until after my death."

I stepped forward and kneeled before him, a show of respect I gave to no one else. "I would never avoid you, padrino," I said, kissing the ring on his weathered hand.

He exhaled, the smoke curling between us.

"You're a good liar, ragazzo."

I smirked but said nothing.

His gaze roamed over me, sharp and calculating. "You've been restless," he muttered. "Too bloodthirsty. Too reckless. That temper of yours will get you killed one day."

"I've been handling business," I corrected smoothly.

His eyes narrowed, but he didn't argue. He knew I was good at what I did. I was brutal, efficient, and utterly ruthless.

But then he sighed, leaning back.

"That's why I want you to marry."

I stilled.

This was the exact reason I had been avoiding Italy. Padrino wanted me to get married, said I was thirty-five and it was time to settle down.

But I wasn't one to tolerate women and their troubles. Women were just tools in my eyes-just for fun, something to fill my bed on a Friday night. I had never thought of falling in love with one or making a family.

But padrino had been on my neck for a year now.

In fact, he wouldn't let me take the Don title unless I married.

"A wife. A family," he continued. "A reason to think before you pull the trigger. You need an anchor, Tino. Someone to keep you from becoming a monster."

I inhaled slowly, measuring my words before I spoke.

"I've already found someone."

His brows lifted. "Oh?"

"Our civil wedding is scheduled for tomorrow at the Comune di Milano at 10 a.m. I hope you will grace the event with your presence, Padrino."

His lips curled into a slow, pleased smile.

"Good boy."

But then his expression darkened.

"Marriage is not just a title. If you take this step, you must be responsible. I want a wife who will ground you, give you a reason to live. A family is power, Tino. Never forget that."

"I don't want you to be like me. No wife, no children of my own. Now I'm old and wrinkled, and there's no one to keep me company. I want the best for you."

I exhaled slowly. "I understand, padrino."

He patted my shoulder, the closest thing to affection he ever gave.

"I can't wait to meet the beautiful woman who has captured your heart, and I'll make sure no one disrupts your wedding tomorrow. It will go smoothly."

I smirked.

"Thank you, Padrino."

I had dinner with him, we discussed business, and then bid him farewell.

As soon as I slid into the back of the SUV, Rocco turned to me, his expression tense.

"Sir," he said carefully. "Why did you lie to the Don? You know he hates being deceived."

I smirked, tilting my head slightly. "I didn't lie."

Rocco frowned. "Sir?"

I leaned back, exhaling slowly, watching the glow of the city fade into the countryside. The roads were dark, empty, silent-just how I liked them.

"Didn't you say our target landed in Italy?"

Rocco stiffened, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. A slow realization crept across his face.

"Wait... are you-"

I shot him a sharp look, cutting him off.

"What I'm planning is none of your business," I said smoothly, my voice calm but cold.

Rocco swallowed hard. "Understood, Boss."

I turned my gaze back to the window, watching the neon lights blur past.

"Where is she right now?"

Rocco glanced down at the tablet on his lap.

"She's currently heading to the Inferno Club."

Inferno Club? What could a naive woman like her be looking for in such a dangerous place?

Well, we shall see.

A slow, dark smile curled on my lips as I pulled my gun from its holster, checked the chamber, then slid it back into place.

"Take me to her. It's time to meet my little bride."

~Alina~

The moment the plane touched down in Milan, a wave of nostalgia crashed over me.

For a second, I wasn't a heartbroken, penniless woman. I was a little girl again, running barefoot through the sun-drenched streets, my father's laughter echoing beside me. I could almost taste the sticky sweetness of gelato on my tongue, feel the warmth of his large hand holding mine as we weaved through the bustling streets.

Back then, Milan had been magic.

Now, it was just another reminder of everything I had lost.

I tightened my grip on the handle of my suitcase, the wheels clicking softly against the airport's shining floors. The air smelled like freshly brewed espresso, warm pastries, and expensive perfume. I moved through the crowd, my body heavy with exhaustion, my heart heavier with the weight of what awaited me.

By the time I slid into the back of a taxi, the midafternoon sun lights washed the streets in a golden glow.

The ride was silent.

I kept my eyes on the window, watching Milan blur past in streaks of ancient stone and modern glass,couples strolling hand in hand. The city was alive, yet I felt detached from it.

I used to belong here once upon a time.

Now, I wasn't sure where I belonged at all.

The car slowed as we reached the outskirts of the city, where the streets grew quieter, the buildings giving way to stretches of olive trees and sprawling vineyards. My fingers curled against my lap as the taxi took the final turn onto a familiar road.

And then I saw it.

Nana's house.

A soft gasp caught in my throat.

I pushed the car door open before the driver had even put the car in park, my heart sinking as I dragged my suitcase from the trunk.

The villa stood just as I remembered, tucked away behind an old rusty iron gate with stone walls that had been warmed by decades of summer suns. It wasn't grand, not like the mansions my father's wealth had afforded, but it had always felt bigger.

But something felt off.

The windows, always scrubbed clean, were slightly clouded with dust. The shutters, which Nana had insisted be repainted every spring, were chipped, their once-bright white now dull. The terracotta roof, usually gleaming under the evening sun, seemed muted.

My fingers trembled as I pushed open the iron gate and stepped onto the cobbled path.

The first thing I noticed was the flowers.

Nana's favorite roses and hydrangeas, usually vibrant and full of life, were withering. The petals curled at the edges, their once-rich colors fading into dull browns and yellows.

A pang of worry shot through me. Nana loved her flowers more than anything. She used to make me water them every morning when I visited as a child, saying, "A home without flowers is a home without a soul."

For them to be neglected meant her condition must be worse than I thought.

I swallowed hard and walked forward, my heart thudding in my chest.

A small gray cat darted past me, its fur slightly unkempt. Nana's pets had always been well-fed and well-loved. Another bad sign.

The air felt colder as I walked forward, the wheels of my suitcase bouncing against the uneven stones. My breath was shallow, my fingers trembling.

I reached the door, hesitating for only a second before lifting my hand to knock.

I never got the chance.

The door flew open before I could touch it.

"Nana! Il mio dolce melanzana è tornato![Nana! Your sweet garden egg is back!

A blur of movement crashed into me, knocking the breath from my lungs.

Warm arms wrapped tightly around me, and a familiar scent of lavender and citrus filled my senses before I could even process what was happening.

"Giulia!"

My arms instinctively closed around my cousin as she squeezed me in an almost suffocating embrace.

"I missed you!" she breathed, pulling back just enough for me to see the bright smile on her face.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, my heart twisting painfully.

"I missed you, too."

She looked the same yet somehow different. Her dark brown curls were as wild as ever, tumoring past her shoulders in messy waves. Her green eyes, the color of summer leaves, sparkled with emotion, but there was something new in them-a maturity that hadn't been there five years ago.

"You've grown bigger!" she teased, her hands still gripping my shoulders as she took me in.

"It's been forever!"

I let out a breathless laugh. "You say that like I turned into a giant."

She smirked. "Well, maybe a little."

For a moment, the heaviness in my chest lifted.

Giulia had been my best friend growing up, my partner in crime every summer when I visited Italy. We had spent hours running through vineyards, stealing Nana's fresh cookies.

But the moment of joy faded too quickly.

"Where's Nana?" I asked, my voice quieter now.

"What's wrong with her?"

Giulia's smile faltered.

She opened her mouth, but she didn't need to say it.

I already knew.

Inside, the house smelled exactly the same.

Tomato sauce is simmering on the stove. Fresh bread cooling on the counter. The softest hint of lavender from Nana's favorite soap.

But there was something different about the air. A heaviness.

And then I saw her.

Nana sat in her favorite chair near the fireplace, wrapped in a thick wool blanket.

She looked smaller.

Her once rosy cheeks were pale, her silver hair thinner than before. The warmth in her honey-brown eyes was still there, but exhaustion weighed heavily on her features.

"Alina, mia cara [my dear,]" she whispered, reaching for my hands.

I dropped to my knees beside her, taking her frail fingers in mine.

"Nana..."

She smiled softly. "You're still as beautiful as ever. Your father would be so proud."

At the mention of Dad, my chest tightened.

"I miss him," I admitted.

"I do too, tesoro[darling,]" she said with a sigh.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then she squeezed my hand.

"Mio dolce melanzana, Nana is getting too old. I don't have much time left," she chuckled dryly.

"But there's something I need to tell you," she said. "Your father left something behind for you. Some properties and fortunes. A hidden inheritance."

I blinked in shock. "What?"

"He anticipated that things might take a wrong turn in the future. To protect you, he made arrangements to secure your future. His wish is for you to settle down before claiming the inheritance, so you can build a stable life with your husband and children. That's the only way he can ensure you're safe from those who would take advantage of you."

My breath hitched.

"Dad wants me to get married first before I can claim the inheritance?"

"Yes," she nodded weakly.

"That's why I wanted to see your fiancé," Nana continued.

"The last time we spoke, you told me you were engaged. Where is he?"

My stomach dropped.

"Hmm... Nana, he's coming soon. He got caught up with something."

Her gaze searched mine as if she could sense my hesitation.

Finally, she nodded. "Alright. I'll wait for him."

I forced a smile, but inside, panic twisted like a knife.

I had no fiancé, thanks to Ethan and Jade.

I had nothing to my name. No home, no money. I had spent all my savings on the penthouse and the wedding, only for everything to fall apart.

I needed this inheritance.

And if that meant finding a fiancé overnight, then so be it.

The idea was reckless, but I had no choice.

I had explained everything to Giulia-how today was supposed to be my wedding, how I had lost everything in a single night.

And thanks to her, I now stood outside Inferno, one of Milan's most exclusive and dangerous clubs. According to her, it was also the easiest place to find a man without complications.

"Just promise them a hot night, and they'll be begging to play fiancé," she had teased with a smirk.

At the time, I had rolled my eyes. But now, standing here, I wasn't so sure she was wrong.

The night pulsed with life, music and voices spilling onto the street. Inferno stood before me, tall, sleek, and ominous, its black glass exterior reflecting the golden city lights.

Before I could take a step forward, a sleek black SUV pulled up beside me.

I barely had time to register the movement before something struck the back of my head.

A sharp, searing pain exploded through my skull, like a bolt of lightning splitting my senses apart. A dull ringing filled my ears, my vision tilting as my body lost all strength. My knees buckled, and the world around me blurred into nothing but shadows and distant noise.

Then, darkness swallowed me whole.