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?"

Vera froze. "I didn't—"

Smack.

The slap cracked across her face. She hit the ground, hard. The cut on her knee ripped open again, blood seeping into the carpet.

For a split second, she thought Carlo reached for her—something like regret in his eyes.

Then Gina whimpered, and his hand snapped back to her instead.

Vera blinked fast, swallowing the sting. 'Yeah right. As if he'd ever feel bad for me.'

"You've let me down," he said coldly. "I taught you to fight to protect yourself—not to hurt people. Apologize to Gina. Now."

She stared at him, quiet and hollow.

Even in this life, he didn't hesitate—just believed Gina. Didn't even let her speak.

Back then, whenever she got into it with someone, Carlo always had her back. Right or wrong.

He used to say he stood by his own—not the truth.

Now Gina was the one he stood by. And Vera? She was just... an outsider.

So even after stepping down, she wasn't family anymore.

The weight of that hit like a brick. She didn't even have the strength to fight back.

Guests whispered. Servants watched, smug.

She knew Gina would come for her. She just hadn't expected the worst blow to come from Carlo.

Vera squeezed her eyes shut, pushed through the pain in her leg, and stood.

She bowed.

"I'm sorry, Gina."

Then she limped away. The second she was out of sight, tears smeared her vision.

She ditched the banquet and grabbed a cab to the hospital.

When the doctor said, "The nerves in your ankle are damaged again. There's a good chance you'll limp for the rest of your life," she went numb.

Back when Carlo was about to take over the Quaranta Family, hits came nonstop. She'd taken bullets for him. Dragged him out of kill zones more than once.

That ankle had shattered back then. The nerves were already fried. The doctor had warned her—one more injury and it'd be permanent.

In her last life, after she married Carlo, the orphanage burned. Her legs were broken. She spent the rest of her days in a wheelchair.

She never thought this life would end with her broken too.

Vera lay there, sobbing till her chest hurt.

'Why do two months have to feel this long?' She was barely hanging on.

That night, she dragged her limp leg back to the estate. From a distance, she spotted Carlo by the gate.

Before, that would've meant he was waiting for her.

Not anymore.

Sure enough, the second he saw her, his face hardened. "So you DO remember where you live?

"You vanish without a word and stroll in past midnight. You think nobody's worried?

"Gina's hurt and still thinking about you, scared something happened, blaming herself.

"You're not a kid. Keep this up, and you can leave for good."

"Don't be mad at her." Gina showed up, bandaged and fragile, voice all sweet. "She just counts on you too much. I'm fine. It's just a surface cut."

She gave Vera a soft smile and reached out, all warm and sisterly.

Vera stepped back. Not playing that game.

Gina flinched like she'd been slapped, clutched her bandaged hand. Blood bloomed through the gauze.

"Gina!" Carlo barked.

He scooped her up, yelling for the family doctor.

Vera froze. She'd never seen him panic like that.

She just stood there, stunned.

She hadn't even touched Gina. All she did was step back. There was no way she caused that.

But Carlo looked at her like she was filth.

"Get out," he growled. "I don't have a sister as cruel as you."

It felt like lightning ripped through her. Every nerve shook. It hurt—but underneath was this weird sense of finality.

She opened her mouth to explain, but Carlo wasn't even looking at her. He held Gina like she was glass and walked her toward the master bedroom.

"The doctor's on his way," he murmured. "Don't be scared. I won't let anyone hurt you again."

Every word sliced her up all over again.

Hands trembling, Vera hesitated—then sent him a message.

[Whether you believe me or not, I didn't hurt her.]

The second she hit send, her body gave out. She dragged herself to her room and crashed into sleep.

She figured he'd never reply.

But the next day, his message was waiting.

[Tomorrow is your coming-of-age. I'll hold it as scheduled.]

Vera froze. She hadn't expected him to throw her a coming-of-age party.

Maybe he remembered. Maybe it was his twisted way of giving her one last shred of dignity.

She wore the dress he'd picked out ages ago. Even found shoes that masked her limp.

At the venue, the host handed her a mic.

She gave a tight smile. "Thanks for coming to my coming-of-age—"

Laughter.

All eyes on her, dripping with mockery.

She stood there, blindsided.

Then came Gina, cradling some fluffy dog, trailing a pack of sycophants. Her smirk was poison.

"Vera, sweetie, I know you're finally legal or whatever. Sucks this party ain't for you. Carlo threw it for my dog."

The crowd howled.

And just like that, Vera got it. The message that morning—Gina. Using Carlo's phone. Just to set her up.

Gina caught her look and snorted.

"What, you still think Carlo's gonna save you?" She leaned in, voice low, sharp. "I can pull this right here on Quaranta ground. You really think the Don doesn't know?"

Then she kicked Vera's bad leg. Hard.

"Carlo told me to straighten you out. Knock that attitude right outta you."

Vera hit the floor, pain exploding through her. She tried to crawl.

Hands slammed her back down.

Gina flicked out a knife.

Quick. Mean. Dozens of shallow cuts.

Vera shook, vision tunneling, the edges of the world going dark.

Gina stepped back, admiring her work.

"Carlo says this is payback for touching my wound last time," she said. "You mouth off again, he'll snap your leg."

'My leg's already wrecked.'

Then Vera saw him. Carlo. Second floor. Watching.

He'd seen it all. Every cut. Every kick.

Her vision dipped. She smiled, bitter and broken, and lifted her eyes to him.

"I get it," she said softly. "I hope you and Gina get a lifetime of love."