Chapter 3 No.3

Gianna POV

A strange numbness climbed my legs. I found my eyes fixed on the intricate lace of Sienna’s hem, trying to count the tiny, perfect stitches as a way to fill the sudden, hollow space in my chest. Rosa exposing Sienna’s existence was the final nail in my coffin. I was terrified Enzo would discover he now had a backup donor for whatever horrific secret he was hiding.

Enzo’s expression turned instantly lethal the moment Rosa’s hand struck my face. His jaw clenched, the muscles ticking under the taut skin. For a fraction of a second, I saw the unfiltered wrath of a Capo directed at someone who had dared to damage his property. He took a slow, measured step toward Rosa, his hand sliding toward the holster at his waist.

Then, a figure stepped out from the deep shadows of the arched doorway. Sienna walked onto the blood‑red carpet, her white sundress flowing around her ankles. Enzo froze. His hand dropped away from his weapon. The light from the chandeliers seemed to catch in his eyes, turning them flat and reflective. He tilted his head, as if listening to a frequency only he could hear, and his gaze slid from Sienna’s face, down the column of her throat, to the frantic, vulnerable pulse beating there.

She was a flawless mirror image of my face, just without the bruised hollows under her eyes and the bone‑deep exhaustion etched into her skin. “A perfect match,” Enzo murmured, the words a rough, private sound that barely reached my ears.

He abruptly dropped my hand. The sudden absence of his grip left my hand feeling unnaturally light, the skin of my palm stinging where his calluses had been. “I will marry Sienna instead,” he announced to the assembled syndicate, his voice ringing with absolute, unquestionable authority. “I discard Gianna as a woman of compromised standing.”

I lunged forward, the layers of my heavy wedding dress tangling around my legs. “Sienna, run!” I reached for her arm, desperate to stop my sister from stepping into the monster’s trap. “He is going to kill you.”

Sienna snatched her arm away from my grasp. She glared at me, her eyes narrowed with a cold, venomous clarity I had never seen in them before. “Stop pretending you care about me, Gianna.” She spat the words. “You are just mad I am taking your throne.”

I stared at her, the air leaving my lungs in a sharp, painful gasp. “I paid for your school. I paid for Mother’s illness.”

Sienna let out a cruel, mocking laugh that was swallowed by the cavernous room. “Mother was never sick.” She crossed her arms, looking me up and down with pure, unadulterated disgust. “We faked the medical records. The cash had to come from somewhere. You were never family, Gianna. You were an account. And now the account is closed. Enzo has already made his arrangements with Mother. My ascension comes with a wire transfer that dwarfs the pittance you bled for.”

Rosa stepped up beside Sienna, a sickly, proud smile plastered on her face. “I am so relieved I no longer have to pretend to be proud of you.” Rosa looked at the silent syndicate guests, her chest puffed out with an air of arrogant triumph. “Now we have a real Mafia connection.”

As Enzo reached out and possessively took Sienna’s hand, a chilling memory surfaced in my mind. I remembered a whispered rumor I had overheard while cleaning tables at the underworld club. “Gianna won’t live to see tomorrow’s sunrise.” Now that rumor fused with the word “match” and the hungry way Enzo examined Sienna. He was comparing us—two donors for a single gruesome need, and she was the superior specimen.

Sienna leaned into Enzo’s side, faking a dramatic, pathetic shiver. “I am scared Gianna will stalk us after the wedding, Don Enzo,” she cooed.

Rosa reached into her imitation designer purse and pulled out a thick, crisp stack of papers. “A formal legal severance and debt transfer agreement, drafted by my lawyers.” She shoved a heavy, gold‑plated pen into my chest. “It severs all blood ties and transfers the remaining medical debts to you. Sign it, or I will ensure these photographs are in the hands of every mob boss in the city by morning.”

I grabbed the pen, my fingers trembling only slightly against the cool metal. I did not hesitate. I pressed the tip of the pen to the heavy parchment and signed my name on the dotted line, my strokes sharp and final. A profound, intoxicating sense of relief crashed over me, washing away the bitter sting of their betrayal. I was finally free from my parasitic bloodline.