Chapter 3

Ten years ago, my mother died in a gunfight. Amid the hail of gunfire, she threw herself over a nine-year-old girl who had no blood relation to us at all.

My mother, however, never woke up again.

…

After Franco finished tending to my gunshot wound, I spoke up, "Let me go back to the Santoro residence."

Without warning, he leaned in so close there was nowhere for me to retreat.

"You belong to me now. If you want to leave, you'll have to leave something behind as collateral," he said.

…

Back at the Santoro residence, I pushed open the door to the master bedroom.

An unfamiliar scent hung thick in the air, and Valentina's presence was everywhere—the bedside table, the wardrobe, and even the vanity.

Her perfume and her pajamas were all there, while her lingerie lay draped carelessly over the back of a chair.

Every detail silently declared that the room's owner had changed.

I turned and went upstairs instead.

The door to Giovanni's study was slightly ajar. Through the gap, I saw Valentina seated at the computer, with Giovanni standing behind her.

His arm rested naturally around her shoulders as he leaned close to her ear. They stared at the screen together, their posture intimate and perfectly in sync.

Ever since the abduction, Giovanni hadn't been able to stop worrying about Valentina. In his eyes, she was nothing more than a college student who needed protection.

So, he planned to hand over part of the Santoro family's power to her, granting her the authority to command anyone she wished—all to ensure her safety.

I stared at Valentina's face for several seconds. But the longer I looked, the more familiar it felt.

Her features and the way her profile looked when she lowered her head all faintly overlapped with an image buried deep in my memory.

Suddenly, I remembered the little girl from ten years ago. The child my mother had shielded with her own body in the middle of a gunfight.

I ran the numbers in my head. Ten years had passed, and she would be 19 years old by now.

The thought had barely surfaced before I forced it down. There was no way such a coincidence could exist.

I was about to step inside when Alfredo Rossi, the butler, reached out and stopped me.

"Donna Santoro, Don Santoro has given orders. Without his permission, only he and Ms. Conti are allowed in the study," Alfredo whispered, his expression strained.

The door hung slightly open, and every word from inside reached me.

Valentina's voice choked with sobs, as if she were still shaken.

"Gio… I have to be honest about something," she began cautiously.

Her voice dropped even lower, laced with guilt and unease as she went on, "Chiara's mother died trying to save me when I ran back for my doll. Is that why Chiara has been targeting me? Does she already know?"

Behind the desk, Giovanni slowly twirled the pen in his fingers. The cap tapped lightly against the desktop.

He didn't deny it right away. Instead, he calmly asked, "Anything else?"

Those words pricked my heart like a needle.

"That's all. Should I… apologize to Chiara?" Valentina asked.

"I thought it was something serious."

Then, Giovanni reassured her, "This isn't your fault. It has nothing to do with you. You were a victim of the shootout, too. Besides, that doll mattered to you. Any normal person would understand that.

"Fate has its way with everyone. Chiara's mother brought it on herself. She chose to die, so what could you have done to stop it?"