The next morning, Vera's door flew open.

Carlo stormed in, all fire and fury. Eyes bloodshot, jaw tight.

"Why'd you run last night?" he barked. "Why the hell'd you call Gina?"

Vera blinked. The heat in his voice threw her. 'Wasn't this the dance? I stepped aside. Didn't he want that?'

She gave a small smile. "She's the Chisari principessa. You care about her. Last night, she was the only one who could pull you outta that mess.

"I crossed a line. Got feelings I shouldn't've. But I get it now.

"From here on out, I'll stay in my lane. Wishing you and Gina a long, loving life together."

She'd rehearsed those words a million times in her head.

Last time, she forced the marriage. Lost the only brother who ever loved her. Died alone.

This time? She'd play the good little "sister." No do-overs.

Carlo's scowl darkened.

"What's this now?" he snapped. "You're playing hard to get now?"

Her chest tightened. He didn't believe her. Not one bit.

Truth was—neither did she. But she meant it.

That past life still echoed in her head like a warning siren: 'Don't screw this up again.'

The door opened again.

"Carlo! Didn't you say you were making me breakfast?"

Carlo—born into power, ruled with blood and iron—had never touched a damn frying pan. But for Gina? He did.

She strolled in wearing his shirt, latched onto his arm. Tugged him toward the door, all giggles and clingy hands. He let her. Even held her steady like she was something precious.

Vera's eyes dropped to Gina's hand.

That ring—black obsidian, loaded with power. The kind that let you boss around everyone under Carlo.

It was meant for the Don's wife.

He never gave it to Vera.

But he gave it to Gina.

No wonder Gina burned down the orphanage on Quaranta turf in her last life—and walked.

Love and indifference? Couldn't be louder.

Gina caught Vera's stare, lifted her hand, and gave the ring a little shake. "Carlo says it matches my skin tone. Practically begged me to wear it. What do you think, Vera?"

Vera kept telling herself to let it go. Her chest still felt like a fist.

She dropped her gaze. "Looks good. You're the Chisari principessa. It fits."

"Obviously." Gina smirked, then turned to Carlo, voice all sugar. "Babe, I wanna move in for a few days. But not the guest room—the lighting's awful."

Carlo's tone shifted, soft. "Which one you want?"

Gina glanced around, then landed right on Vera's room. "This one's perfect. Window faces the garden. Best view in the house."

Vera froze.

Back when she first came to the Quaranta estate, nightmares wrecked her sleep. Carlo had given her the room next to his. Decorated it just for her.

He even stayed the whole first month, only leaving once the nightmares stopped.

She let out a bitter smile. If he hadn't been that good to her back then... maybe she wouldn't have mistaken it for love. Wouldn't have crossed that line.

She'd lived too easy in her past life. Now that she was stepping back, she hadn't expected this kind of hit.

"Carlo..." The name slipped out before she could stop it—soft, almost pleading.

His reply came ice-cold. "Didn't you hear? Clear out of your room."

"But—"

"No but." His voice snapped. "That room's for the lady of the house. You've been squatting in it for years. Time to hand it back."

Vera's eyes stung.

Right. She was just the adopted one. Now that the real lady was here, what right did she have to stay in the room next to the Don's?

She was leaving soon anyway. Didn't matter where she slept.

"Fine. I'll pack." She stood.

Her eyes landed on the custom handgun on the table, and bitterness surged.

She'd made it when she was eighteen—a gift for Carlo. Built it herself, hoping it could protect him when she couldn't.

But in her past life, he'd chucked it straight in the trash.

"I ain't using junk like this. What if it misfires? You gonna take the hit for me?"

Yeah. Didn't look like he'd be getting it in this life either.

"No need to pack," Gina said, full of disdain. "I don't want any of that junk. Carlo, just toss it. I want everything new."

Carlo nodded. "Whatever you want."

Then, without flinching, he turned to the house manager. "Gabrio. Have someone clear the room. Move Vera's stuff to the servants' quarters—out back."

Vera let out a dry smile.

"Got it. I'm gone. Won't get in your way. Wishing you and Gina a long, loving life together."

She turned and walked off.

Behind her, Gina's voice dripped syrup. "Carlo, you're the best. Let's go pick out new furniture tonight."

Carlo's tone dropped soft. "Sure. Whatever you want, amore."

Vera shut the door behind her, gathering up whatever was left of her heart.

After that, she kept her distance. Couldn't stomach one more look at their happy little show.

But fate didn't care.

Carlo's message hit while she was buried in her arsenal, fine-tuning specs on a new batch of weapons.

She'd always had the touch. The second she showed interest, Carlo gave her the whole setup to "play with."

Too bad she'd wasted it in her last life, pouring everything into him.

This time, she was leaving. Probably for good.

Still... she wanted to leave something behind.

Just once.

[Pick me up from La Ombra. Bring something for my stomach.]

Vera frowned. She wrote, [You drinking again? Where's Orlando?]

Orlando. The Quaranta underboss. Always stuck to him like a shadow.

No reply.

Her chest tightened.

Carlo's stomach had always been wrecked. Built the family on sleepless nights, bad booze, and worse meals.

Back then, every time it flared up, she'd sit beside him until morning.

Even now—after everything—her body moved before her brain could stop it.

'Maybe this'll be the last time I take care of him.'

She grabbed the med kit and bolted.

No ride. So she ran.

Halfway there, she slipped into a muddy pit. Her knee hit hard—sharp, deep pain slicing through.

She didn't stop.

By the time Vera made it to the club called La Ombra, she was soaked in sweat and looked like hell. An hour gone.

The bodyguards at the door blocked her, mistaking her for some stray. Only when they recognized her—the Quaranta Family's adopted daughter—did they sneer and step aside.

She shoved open the door to the private room—and froze.

No Carlo doubled over in pain.

Just him, feeding Gina grapes. Mouth to mouth.

The med kit slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a sharp clatter. All eyes snapped to her.

Carlo's gaze swept over her—mud-streaked, breathless—and twisted in disgust.

"What are you doing here? Looking like that—who are you trying to impress?"

Vera opened her mouth, about to say, 'You messaged me...'

Gina gasped, all fake-shocked. "Oops! Guess that text for my assistant went to Vera by mistake. My bad."

So it was a mistake. Or just another one of Gina's little games.

"No need to apologize," Carlo said, voice soft, full of comfort—for her. "You're the future Donna. Makes sense she'd run a few errands."

Vera's heart iced over.

'Right. I was the fool. With Gina around, why would he ever need me?'

Later, on her way back, her phone buzzed. Gina.

Vera picked up, voice flat. "You don't have to keep testing me. I already said I'd study abroad. I'm going."

Gina finally sounded pleased. "You'd better stick to that. Visa'll be ready in two months."

Then came a voice she wasn't expecting—

Carlo.

"What visa?"

The line went dead for a beat.

Then Gina laughed, soft and sweet. "Babe, you heard that? I'm getting a visa for our honeymoon in Italvia. Wanted it to be a surprise."

His voice came through warm, indulgent—loving. It made Vera's chest twist.

"You, huh? Then I'll pretend I didn't hear. Use my card. Get whatever you want. I'll be waiting on that surprise."

Vera's grip on the phone tightened.

She gave a bitter smile. 'So this is what Carlo's like when he's in love.'

The call ended.

Vera sat on a bench by the road, staring at her phone.

A notification pinged. Gina had posted.

[Just period pain, but he treats me like I'm made of glass. I seriously can't do anything about him.]

The photo said it all—Carlo holding her close, his hand gently resting over her lower stomach. Like she was something fragile. Something precious.

Vera froze.

Carlo used to treat periods like they were dirty. Back when she'd been in pain, he just told a doctor or a servant to handle it. Never came close.

But now—

For Gina, he broke his own rules.

'He really does love her.'

Vera curled up on the bench and cried, hard and quiet, like she didn't want the world to hear.

She thought of the days Carlo protected her, stood up for her, spoiled her like she mattered.

Gone. All of it.

That night, back home, her scraped knee flared up—red, hot. Fever hit hard.

In the haze, she thought she saw him—Carlo. Sitting by her bed, feeding her medicine, touching her gently.

The dream was too sweet. It burned.

'I must be dreaming. He probably can't stand me now. Why would he ever come take care of me?'

Her mind drifted—to him and Gina growing old together in her past life. To them laughing at La Ombra like they were already halfway there.

'Maybe Carlo and I were never meant to be siblings at all.'

***

The next morning, Gina's laughter cut through the quiet and snapped Vera awake.

She dragged herself up, followed the noise.

Carlo and Gina were out front, bossing the staff around as they strung up decorations, giggling like newlyweds playing house.

Vera grabbed a cold glass of water and chugged it, hoping it'd wash down the burn in her chest.

Right. Christmas.

The Quaranta Family always threw a big banquet for their allies.

Last year, Vera stood at Carlo's side.

This year, it was Gina.

Vera stayed tucked in the corner like a ghost, but Gina's little clique still clocked her and pounced.

"Well, look who it is—Principessa Vera," one of them sneered. "Heard you're shacked up in the servants' wing now. Kinda fits, right?"

Vera's fists tightened, knuckles white. She turned to walk off.

Gina cut her off, holding a glass of red wine.

"This one's for you, Vera. Cheers—for handing Carlo over."

Vera shook all over.

She'd already backed off. Already said she was leaving. Why did Gina have to keep coming for her?

She lost it and slapped the glass away.

Gina shrieked, stumbled back, and crashed onto the shards.

"Ah—my hand! It hurts... Vera, I was just being nice. Why'd you shove me?"

Carlo stormed over, face darkening as he scooped Gina up.

"Vera," he snapped, "how dare you lay a hand on her?"