No One Told the Cripple the Story Was Fake

Five years after the Falcones took me back into the bloodline they'd cast off, the woman they called their heiress, Vittoria Falcone, ran me down in the courtyard of the estate and shattered my leg beneath her tires.

My father and mother, and the man I'd loved since childhood, Lorenzo Bianchi, rushed me to the Family physician in a panic. When Dr. Russo bowed his head and declared, in that grave, careful voice of his, that I might never walk again, Lorenzo dropped to one knee without hesitation and swore before them all to keep me safe for the rest of my life.

My parents told me they had cut Vittoria loose, that they'd taken the evidence into their own hands, that the vendetta would be answered and justice done. With that, they said, I could rest. I could give myself to healing.

Later they told me Vittoria had drowned, gone to the mattresses in her guilt and never come back. And I believed them.

It wasn't until the fifth year of my blood-union that I saw her again. The woman who was supposed to be dead.

She had a little boy cradled in her arms, and her voice was soft, brimming over with feeling as she spoke to Lorenzo.

"These past years, I've been so grateful to you, and to Mamma and Pap. Without you, I'd have ended up laundered under some false name in a run-down front overseas, cast aside like Adriana."

"That cripple never would have imagined, even in death, that you and I have a son. That Mamma and Pap were in on it all along, wiping away the evidence, switching out her medicine for worthless nothing."

"Don't say that," he murmured. He smoothed one flat palm down the front of his jacket, top to bottom, as if brushing off something he could feel clinging to him. "The blood-union was the only way I could keep issuing those Family pardons. The only way to keep the vendetta off you. The only way to keep you safe."

"As long as you and our son are happy, none of it matters."

So that was the truth.

The marriage I had clung to like salvation had been nothing but a cruel illusion. My own blood had betrayed me and thrown me away, all to bury a lie.

Fine.

If I was nothing to them, then I would walk away.

I sat in silence in the wide marble foyer of the clinic, watching Vittoria hold her son. Lorenzo stood beside her, and around them the Family beamed, radiant with a joy that had never once been meant for me.

It felt as if someone had hollowed out my chest and left nothing behind but a raw, gaping wound. The pain was suffocating. I could barely breathe.

The husband who had vowed before witnesses to stand at my side, to cherish me, had loved the very woman who had nearly ended my life.

And my parents, after erasing the evidence, still refused to believe me. They had bound Lorenzo to me in blood-union, not out of love, but to keep his hand free to sign those pardons, to keep Vittoria clear of every debt she owed under the vendetta.

My phone rang.

It was my mother.

"Adriana, why didn't you wait so we could go together? We're on our way. Where are you?"

Hearing the urgency in her voice, fury surged through me and burned away the last of my restraint.

I curled my fingers into fists, nails digging deep into my palms. My thumb found the inside of my wrist, the old spot where the line had once fed into me, and I pressed until it hurt.

"Oh, I just thought I shouldn't be a burden to you for the rest of my life," I said, my voice light, almost mocking. "So this time, I decided to come for the treatments alone."

"We're famiglia! How could you ever be a burden to us? Have you reached the clinic yet? We're close. We'll be there right away."

Famiglia.

Before, every time I came for the treatments, my parents had always been at my side.

I had once mistaken it for love. For care. Now the truth lay bare in front of me, plain as a body in the road.

"Mm. I just arrived. I'm about to go into the lobby."

I turned my chair around the corner and stopped there, deliberately, letting the silence stretch.

As I knew they would, their voices went sharp with panic down the line. Don't go inside, they said. It's too crowded, too unsafe. Wait. We're close, we'll come to you, wait for us.

A cold smile pulled at my lips.

I answered them with nothing at all and ended the call.

Just then I saw Lorenzo lift his own phone to his ear. His face tightened in an instant. He leaned in and murmured something to Vittoria, handed the boy into her arms, and slipped out through the back the way a made man leaves a room he doesn't want to be seen leaving.

Vittoria melted into the crowd after him.

Understanding struck like a blade between my ribs.

The call had come from my parents.

They hadn't stopped me out of concern for my safety.

They were afraid I'd see Lorenzo and Vittoria standing together.

A wave of shock and sorrow crashed over me and threatened to drag me under. My whole life, every word, every soft gesture, had been nothing but a carefully arranged lie.

And all of it was for Vittoria.

The one who had done this to me. The one who had taken everything.

I curled my fingers, nails biting deep into my palm. Then, slowly, the pressure at my wrist eased. My hand went flat and calm against the armrest.

Since they had gone to such lengths to deceive me, I would return the favor in full.

I drew out my phone, pressed record, and guided my chair toward the entrance just as my parents came hurrying in.

Donna Falcone's eyes flickered with unease.

"Adriana, why didn't you wait for us before going in?"

Don Falcone's frown deepened beside her, one hand resting where his jacket hid the weight beneath it. "Didn't we tell you the clinic is crowded, full of the wrong sort of people? We can't let you go in alone. It isn't safe."

I met their worried gazes with calm indifference.

"I couldn't wait any longer, so I went inside to use the restroom," I replied evenly, my face betraying nothing.

Donna Falcone hesitated before asking, "You didn't see anyone, did you?"

The flicker of panic in her expression cut through me like a blade. I wanted to scream, to demand answers; why did you lie to me?

But I already knew the truth. Asking wouldn't change anything.

I had already decided to leave.

"See anyone? I was in a hurry and spent a while in the restroom. I wasn't paying attention."

Don Falcone exhaled, his thumb finding the worn silver medallion in his pocket, rolling it slow. "Let's go. We'll take you upstairs."

He took hold of my wheelchair while Donna Falcone crouched down, adjusting my mask with delicate care, the crucifix at her throat catching the light.

"The sickness is spreading through the ward. You need to protect yourself. If you fall ill, it'll break my heart." Her fingers brushed the cross at her neck, quick, as if asking pardon for the words even as she said them.

Once, the concern in her eyes would have moved me to tears.

But now, I couldn't feel even a trace of warmth in her gaze.

When we reached the private ward the Family kept on the twelfth floor, I lay on the bed as Dr. Russo pressed the anesthesia through the line. Drowsiness pulled me under, but just before I slipped into unconsciousness, their voices drifted through the haze.

"Miss Falcone's leg has gone untreated far too long. If she doesn't have the surgery soon, she may never stand again."

"Every course of rehabilitation was done halfway, and the medication swapped for nothing but vitamins, per your orders. Don Falcone, are you truly willing to watch your own blood remain crippled for life, so young?"

"I didn't pay a fortune to launder you back into this country just to hear your conscience. Do as I say."

The Don's words held no room for argument.

"So what if she never walks again? The Family will keep her for the rest of her days. Why should an outsider like you concern yourself with it?"

"Don't forget who has fed your envelope these five years. Do you truly believe you answer to this clinic, and not to me?"

Dr. Russo hesitated, and I heard the faint sound of glass against fabric, his lenses being wiped clean. "That isn't what I meant. It's only that Adriana has been under anesthesia for years now. If this continues, her body may learn to resist it. What do we do then?"

"That's your problem to solve. Just see to it her legs neither heal nor rot. Keep it controlled."

A beat of hesitation. Then, Dr. Russo's reluctant answer.

"Understood."

The door eased open and their footsteps faded down the corridor, swallowed by the silence a Don leaves behind him.

I lay there as if I had plunged into an icy abyss.

They didn't know.

Didn't know the anesthesia had long lost its hold on me.

Didn't know I had heard every single word.

Didn't know I had recorded it all.

So this was their design all along.

Five years they had spent feeding me lies, laundering a physician back across the border only to deceive me. No wonder the so-called rehabilitation was buried on the twelfth floor of a ward no one wandered into. All of it a carefully built illusion, mortar over rot.

A sharp pain lanced through my chest and silent tears slipped from the corners of my eyes. Beneath the sheet, I pressed my thumb hard against the inside of my wrist, into the old spot where the line had always sat.

After the "treatment," my parents wheeled me home in good cheer, warmth laced into every word and gesture, as though they hadn't just handed down a sentence of lifelong suffering.

Two hours ago, Lorenzo had been at that clinic, murmuring soft things to Vittoria.

Now he stood at the door in an apron, smiling like the devoted husband he pretended to be.

"Cara, the rehabilitation must have worn you out. I made you some bone broth. It'll bring your strength back faster."

His gaze brimmed with tenderness, his voice rich with concern, exactly like the man who once swore before the Family to love me, to keep me, to stand at my side to the last.

If I hadn't seen him with Vittoria at the clinic, if I hadn't heard the truth pass between them, I might have believed him.

Might have let that warmth seep into my frozen heart.

But now, all I saw was the lie.

His love had never been mine.

It had always belonged to the very woman who shattered my legs.

He was willing to sacrifice our blood-union, to counterfeit his love for me, all just to sign a Family pardon that would wipe clean the debt she owed under vendetta.

He even had a son with her.

At dinner, in the long dining hall of the Falcone estate, my mother suddenly teared up, her gaze lingering on the dishes laid before her. She wiped at her eyes, her expression heavy with sorrow.

Lorenzo immediately set down his knife and fork, his face filled with concern as he asked what was wrong.

My father let out a long sigh, gently patting her back. Beneath the tablecloth I could hear the soft clink of the worn silver medallion he always kept turning between his fingers.

"She must be thinking of Vittoria's favorite dishes, and starting to miss her."

"That child, she made a mistake, but we raised her for over ten years under this roof. She didn't deserve to die."

A bitter taste filled my mouth.

She didn't deserve to die?

Then what about me?

Did I deserve to be handed over in her place? Was I just supposed to accept it?

"Donna," Lorenzo said softly, "it's been five years already. Vittoria was only twenty back then. She might have acted impulsively and made a mistake." His palm moved once down the front of his jacket, smoothing the fabric flat.

"I grew up alongside her. Her nature was a little extreme. She thought you were trying to take everything from her, the whole territory, the whole name."

"Five days from now is her death anniversary. I know you don't want to go, so I'll go with your mother and father to visit her grave, all right?"

Lorenzo's gaze wavered, as if afraid I would suddenly lose my temper at the head of the Don's own table.

"Hmm. You should go. After all, she lived in this house longer than I have. It's only natural that you still have feelings for her."

Lorenzo let out a quiet breath of relief, his voice turning even gentler.

"I knew you were kind-hearted. You've never been the type to hold a grudge against your late sister."

My mother dabbed at her eyes, sniffling softly. Her fingers rose to the crucifix at her throat and pressed there, quick and light.

"My dear daughter, a child of our own blood will always be the most understanding"

I lowered my head, my tears slipping silently into my bowl.

So. They did know I was their real daughter, the true blood of the Falcone line.

A sharp pain twisted in my stomach. The moment I felt it tighten, I pressed my thumb hard against the inside of my wrist, into the old spot where the IV line used to sit, then pushed back my chair, murmured that I wasn't feeling well, and retreated to my room.

A while later, Lorenzo came in, carrying my stomach medicine. His eyes were full of concern, his voice unbearably soft.

Seeing that I had no intention of speaking, he said nothing. Instead he silently fetched warm water and, with practiced care, wiped my face himself.

For ten years after I was brought into the Family, I was the only one he seemed to see.

Even when Vittoria confessed her feelings for him, she had been met with nothing but his cold rejection.

Now, I finally understood.

He never loved me. He only wanted the title that came with me, made successor to the Falcone rackets and territory.

His love and his blood-union had always been two separate things.

Late at night, after Lorenzo drifted into sleep, I reached for the phone on his bedside table.

The password was my birthday.

His pinned contact was me, followed by my parents.

I scrolled through his messages. There was nothing unusual, until I switched accounts.

That was when I found the second one.

Only one name appeared in its chat list. Vittoria.

[Lorenzo, it's been five years. How much longer do I have to keep hiding?]

[She has no proof I hit her, and she's a cripple now. She's no threat at all.]

[Our son keeps crying for his daddy. Can you really bear this?]

Lorenzo's replies were full of reassurance.

[Your parents and I are already discussing a plan. Just be patient.]

So. They had already brought Vittoria back. Buried her under a false name. Built her an entire life.

Only a few days ago.

They had even set her up with a front real-estate racket, registered clean under that fabricated name, 'Celeste Marino.'

In five days, the grand opening would take place.

My hands trembled as I opened Lorenzo's social feed.

I scrolled. My heart turned ice-cold.

For five years, Vittoria had been living in luxury overseas, bankrolled by my family, laundered abroad where no vendetta could reach her.

She dressed in designer labels funded through the Family's laundered money. The villa she lived in? One of the Syndicate's overseas properties.

And Lorenzo? He had been at her side the whole time, using "business trips" as his cover to fly out to her.

Even my own parents stood in the photographs, smiling as if they belonged there.

In that moment, I understood.

They were the real family.

Swallowing back the stinging tears, I took screenshots of every piece of it, then switched back to his main account.

I finally noticed Lorenzo had changed the words beneath his name.

For years it had been the same, a single word. [Wait.]

When I once asked him what it meant, he smiled and said he was waiting for my legs to heal.

But now, it had changed. [Home.]

And at last, I understood.

Wait had never been for me. He had been waiting for Vittoria. Home meant she was finally back inside Family walls.

I placed his phone back on the nightstand and stepped onto the balcony, my fingers tightening around my own.

"Yes, I'd like to arrange passage overseas. Departure in five days."

Five days. Just enough to bury five years of lies.

That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

The next day, at the long table where the Family took its midday meal, my phone lit up.

Lorenzo's gaze flicked to it from the corner of his eye. His expression darkened.

"Wife, why are you moving to close your accounts?"

I shut off the screen, my voice calm. "The account was flagged for renewal. I scheduled it."

He looked like he wanted to press further, but then his phone rang. He smoothed the front of his jacket with one flat palm, top to bottom, before he answered.

"Something's come up with Family business, tesoro. I have to handle it. I won't be able to sit with you."

I nodded, watching as the Don and Donna rose and followed him out.

And just like that, I was left alone in this house, with only the soldiers at the doors for company.

Just as I was about to leave, a message came through.

[Adriana, you heard everything at the physician's yesterday, didn't you?]

It was Vittoria.

[Your husband and I have a son.]

[Even your own blood, the moment Dr. Russo told them your injuries had left you barren, chose me instead. They told Lorenzo to be with me. To give the Family an heir with me.]

[We're the real couple. You? You're nothing but a joke.]

[They even set me up with a front of my own. The opening is in five days. I suppose no one bothered to tell you that either, did they?]

[I regret not running you down sooner. Then all of this would've been mine from the start.]

Each word sliced through me like a blade, cutting deep, leaving nothing but raw, open wounds.

So this was why my own blood had cast me aside.

This was why Lorenzo had stayed at her side so willingly.

Fingers trembling, I took screenshots of every message and turned to the nightstand, retrieving the papers of my blood-union.

Buried inside, I found something else: his formal pardon, the document that was meant to clear the debt owed for crippling me.

Clutching both, I pressed my thumb hard against the inside of my wrist, the old spot where the line once sat, and went straight to my Consigliere.

But after reading through them, Salvatore Conti frowned.

He explained that messages like these couldn't stand as solid proof, and that a pardon signed by blood carried weight before the Commission.

When I asked him to draw up the terms to sever the union, his frown deepened. The union, he told me, had never been sanctified. It was void. A forgery that had never been Family law at all.

It felt like a bolt of lightning had struck me, leaving my heart plummeting into a bottomless abyss.

So Vittoria hadn't lied. I truly had been nothing but a fool, a puppet in their cruel game.

But just as despair threatened to consume me, something new flickered in Salvatore's eyes.

He squared the edges of the papers into a clean stack, then set them down and said that, under these circumstances, Lorenzo's pardon held no weight either. It was fraud. Concealment. A lie dressed as mercy.

A surge of hope rushed through me, breaking past the suffocating grief. Clutching onto that sliver of light, I begged him to bring it before the Commission.

Leaving his office, I found a car and made my way to a physician outside Family reach, my fingers clenched tightly around the fabric of my dress.

This time, I needed the truth.

When he told me there was still hope for my leg, I broke down in tears of joy.

A sob tore from my throat as my vision blurred with tears.

He explained that the crash had left me unable to conceive, but that surgery could restore what had been taken. As for my leg, the fracture hadn't worsened in five years. With surgery, I would walk again soon.

I choked on my breath, struggling to process his words.

He smiled to reassure me. "Someone has clearly been seeing to your care. If these legs had truly been left to rot for five years, there would have been no hope of recovery."

A bitter chill seeped into my bones, spreading through my heart like ice.

He didn't know.

He had no idea that the very people he spoke of, my so-called blood, were the ones who never wanted me to stand again.

No.

They were no longer my Family.

As I stepped out, my phone vibrated in my hand. Another message from Vittoria.

It was a photo.

In it, she held her son in Lorenzo's arms, their faces glowing with contentment. The Don and Donna sat beside them, mirroring the same joy.

The five of them smiled as if they had always belonged together.

Behind them, on the pale wall of the grand estate, in the Don's own hand, the words read:

[A united famiglia wants for nothing.]

The cruel irony twisted deep inside me, cutting sharper than any blade.

The five letters burned into my vision, searing through my eyes and making them sting. Falcone. Their famiglia, because it had never been mine, had never carried my blood in the way that mattered.

I drifted back to the estate in a daze, collapsing onto the bed and staring blankly at the ceiling. Time lost meaning, slipping away unnoticed until a familiar voice past the door, low and easy the way a made man's voice is always easy, jolted me back.

They had returned.

The bedroom door creaked open and Lorenzo stepped inside. Without hesitation he crossed to my bedside and bent down, wrapping his arms around me.

"Wife, I'm sorry. Family business has kept me busy these past few days. I haven't had time to be here with you."

"The day after tomorrow is your birthday," he continued. "I spoke with your father and mother. We've decided to throw you a grand celebration."

Silence.

I didn't respond. Didn't even look at him.

He pressed a lingering kiss to my forehead, tucked the blanket around me like I was something fragile, then smoothed the front of his jacket flat with one palm and turned and left.

And then, like a wave crashing through my mind, I remembered.

Five years ago. My birthday.

That was the day my parents had announced my alliance to Lorenzo before the whole Family. The day Vittoria had lost control, blinded by rage, and run me down in the drive, crippling me.

And in the five years since I had been brought back under this roof, I had remained an outsider. No matter how much I tried, I could never behave the way Vittoria did in front of my parents, petted, indulged, sure of her place.

At my own birthday banquet I had always been a shadow, forgotten in the background, while Vittoria stood at the center, surrounded by capos and their wives I didn't even know.

She had once sneered, "Only I deserve this banquet. You, a foundling out of some shelter, deserve nothing."

She had always basked in the thrill of stealing my spotlight. Tonight would be no different, would it?

I knew her too well.

So when she appeared at my birthday banquet, draped in a server's uniform with a mask obscuring her face, I felt nothing. Not a flicker of surprise. Not even a ripple of emotion.

And yet, the moment my family recognized her, their reactions were anything but calm.

"What are you doing here? Are you out of your mind?" My father's voice went sharp with panic, low enough not to carry past our circle. "If she finds out, everything we've buried these years comes back up."

But my mother, ever the doting protector, rushed to defend her.

"She hasn't been home in so many years. She just misses her family," she pleaded softly, her fingers brushing the crucifix at her throat. "Why must you be so harsh?"

"She's dressed like this anyway. Adriana won't recognize her."

Lorenzo, of course, was moved by her act, as he always had been.

And then, in that familiar, saccharine tone, Vittoria murmured, "Honey, today is my birthday too. I want to cut the cake later."

Lorenzo barely hesitated. "Alright," he said smoothly. "Since Adriana's in the chair and it's difficult for her, you can do it."

And just like that, right before my eyes, Vittoria stole what was meant to be mine.

She stepped forward, lifted the knife and cut into my banquet cake, a towering thing over a meter tall.

She took it a step further, her malice on full display as she sliced the chocolate figure of me clean in half.

Then, without warning, a loud bang.

She shoved the cake stand toward me with force. Gasps rippled through the hall and every pair of eyes snapped in our direction. Near the walls, two of the Family's soldiers shifted their weight, hands drifting under their jackets before they read the room and went still.

The metal support inside the stand nearly struck my face.

Lorenzo rushed over, his expression tight with concern. "Wife, are you okay?"

Then, with perfect timing, he turned and snapped at Vittoria.

"Clumsy. You can't even cut a cake properly. Get out of here."

I lowered my gaze, masking the sarcasm flickering in my eyes.

How laughable.

He had seen it. He had watched her do it on purpose, yet his reaction was flawlessly staged. He smoothed his jacket down once more, brushing off something only he could feel.

The ideal son-in-law my parents had chosen was clever, calculating and always knew what to say.

At his outburst my parents exhaled in relief, waving an associate over to clear the mess.

The grand hall buzzed with life once more and Lorenzo slipped back into his role as the perfect host, moving among the guests, refilling glasses, laughing at the right moments.

The air felt suffocating.

I needed to leave.

Just as I moved to wheel myself away, a pair of hands suddenly gripped the handles of my wheelchair.

Vittoria pushed me toward the garden, her grip firm on the handles.

"Sister, long time no see," she purred, smugness lacing every syllable.

"Did you notice? When they sang the birthday song earlier, every single pair of eyes was on me."

"So many years have passed, and still they love me more than you."

"You should've stayed a foundling," she sneered. "Why did you come back, trying to compete with me? Look at you now. Crippled, stuck with a husband who was never yours to begin with. If I were you, I wouldn't have the dignity to live another day."

I pressed my thumb hard against the inside of my wrist, the old spot where the IV line once sat, and tilted my head up. My gaze was steady as I met hers.

"The only one who should be ashamed is you." My voice was calm, but every word hit like a blade.

"The man you wanted was set to be bound to me under the Family's law, so you resorted to the lowest tactics to steal him, and nearly ended up buried in the ground for it. And now?" I let my lips curl into a faint smile. "You're nothing but a ghost. Forced to live in hiding, change your name, never dare to show your real face. Even now, just to stand in front of me, you have to disguise yourself like this."

"Tell me, Vittoria. Who's really the pathetic one here?"

Vittoria's face twisted at my words, her pride taking a direct hit. Without warning, she raised her foot and drove her heel into my wheelchair.

"What's a cripple like you so smug about? Papa and Mamma buried every scrap of evidence for me. Sanctioned it before the whole Family. No matter how arrogant you act, you can't touch me."

Seething, she wrenched the chair forward again, her grip tightening on the handles. A slow, eerie smile curled on her lips as we neared the black lip of the pool, the garden lights trembling on the water.

"Let me show you who they truly care about."

Before I could react, she shoved my wheelchair forward. The world tilted, and the next instant, ice-cold water swallowed me whole.

The sharp chill surged into my lungs, stinging my skin. My limbs flailed uselessly as the dead weight of the chair dragged me down into the dark.

"Wife!"

"Daughter!"

The frantic shouts of Lorenzo and my parents cut through the chaos. Water broke violently as Lorenzo went in after me. I reached out, my fingers desperate to grasp onto something, someone.

But just as I thought he was coming for me, he bypassed me without hesitation. His hands found Vittoria instead, dragging her against his chest.

At the edge of the pool, my parents leaned forward, their hands outstretched. Not for me. For her.

A bitter smile curved on my lips as my hand fell away, my body sinking deeper into the abyss.

As darkness threatened to pull me under, Lorenzo's hands finally closed on me and hauled me back to the surface.

Coughing and gasping for air, I lay on the marble, water pooling beneath me. Beside me, frantic voices filled the night, and every soldier posted along the terrace had gone still, eyes lowered, hands folded, pretending not to see what the Family did to its own.

"Vittoria, wake up! Wake up!" My parents' cries rang out, thick with desperation.

A soft gasp broke through the commotion. Vittoria's lashes fluttered, and in a feeble voice, she murmured, "She she suddenly drove her chair forward. I tried to save her, but she pulled me in with her"

Whispers rippled through the guests like an uneasy tide, the way murmurs move through a room when everyone knows the truth and no one will name it.

"I heard her foster sister shattered her legs at her own birthday five years ago Perhaps the memory was too much for her. Perhaps she meant to end it."

Lorenzo's gaze flickered, a fleeting trace of guilt crossing his face before he smoothed the front of his soaked jacket flat with one palm, top to bottom, as though brushing away something clinging to him.

My father's expression twisted with something that almost looked like regret. My mother, sobbing, threw herself over me, clutching my drenched sleeves. Her hand rose to the crucifix at her throat and pressed it once, quick, unconscious.

"Daughter, why would you do something so foolish? We'll take care of you for the rest of our lives."

I looked at them, my lips curling into a cold, humorless smile.

Not moments ago, every ounce of their worry had been for Vittoria. Now, under the eyes of the guests, they staged this grand performance, dripping with feigned concern.

Bitter resentment coiled in my chest. I pressed my thumb hard against the inside of my wrist, the old spot where the line had once fed into me while they decided my legs would never carry me again.

Truly, what a spectacle.

How laughable.

Before she was carried off, Vittoria cast me a triumphant glance, her smirk brimming with satisfaction.

My birthday banquet had become a complete disaster. In the end, my oh-so-loving family escorted me straight to the Family physician.

When Dr. Russo declared I was unharmed, wiping his glasses on his sleeve as he said it, a sigh of relief filled the room.

Moments later, my phone buzzed. Another message from Vittoria.

[Did you see? He saved me first.]

[Even your parents called for me as their daughter. If you still don't understand, you're truly pathetic.]

[Their love for me runs deeper than it ever did for you. I was the one who lived under their roof the longest, after all.]

[So tell me, who's the real fool here?]

I didn't reply. Instead, I took my time saving every message, capturing each one, screenshot by screenshot.

That night, my family dropped me at the estate, then rushed straight to Vittoria's villa to tend to her.

Alone in the study, I printed out the chat logs, preserving every last word. Then I moved the recording of the hospital conversation onto a small drive.

A final parting gift.

By morning, not one of them had returned.

Lorenzo had sent word that he and my parents had gone out to arrange things and had left the house steward to watch over me.

I stared at the screen, my fingers tightening around the phone.

So that was how much I mattered.

I let out a cold laugh and summoned the steward, instructing him to gather up and get rid of everything Lorenzo had given me over the years.

Then I turned and made my way to the study.

My fingers traced the edges of the framed calligraphy my father had once written for me. I yanked it from the wall. Without hesitation, I hurled it into the fire.

One word. That was all he had ever granted me. [Health.]

For Vittoria, he had carefully brushed: [A harmonious house brings prosperity to the Family.]

Yet for me, his only blessing had been health, the very thing he'd stolen the moment he paid to have my legs broken and made certain I would never walk again.

The irony burned deeper than the flames in front of me.

Overcome with rage, I grabbed the scarf and leg warmers my mother had knitted and threw them into the fire, followed by every family photograph we had taken over the past decade.

One by one, the memories turned to ash.

Since I was leaving, I would not leave behind a single trace of myself in this house.

As I watched the fire consume it all, I made my final decision.

I went out into the night and made my way to the office of my Consigliere, handing over the printed documents.

I entrusted him with everything, instructing him to bring the case against Vittoria before the Commission the next day.

Even if I could not see her judged, I wanted every Family in the city to know she was still breathing, and that my own blood had been shielding her all along.

Then I logged into my accounts, loaded the photographs and the audio, edited them with care, and set them to break to a chosen few.

Only then did I answer Vittoria's message.

[Do you think I can make them abandon you and come running back to me?]

She took the bait at once.

[You think far too much of yourself. They'd never return today. Just wait and see.]

A cold smirk touched my lips as my phone rang, right on cue.

My parents' voices spilled through, full of borrowed warmth. "We still have so much to arrange. We have to place an urgent order overnight, so don't wait up for us."

Exactly as I had expected.

After hanging up, I sent the last piece of evidence to Dr. Russo, the physician they had bought, tying off the final loose end.

Then, clutching my ticket, I turned my back on the house I had lived in for ten years and vanished into the night.

The next morning, at the grand ribbon-cutting for Vittoria's front racket.

A call from Dr. Russo shattered my father's composure.

"Don Falcone, this is bad. Adriana knows the truth about the accident five years ago She heard every word we spoke in that room."