I Spent Thirteen Years Taking Bullets for the Mafia Heir

When I opened my eyes again, I was floating above the ballroom at the Valenti estate.

Theo had just finished taking his oath. The Don himself slipped the obsidian ring onto his finger, and the ballroom erupted in deafening applause.

I looked down at myself. I felt weightless. When my fingers passed straight through a champagne glass, I finally understood that I was dead.

Mom stood among the members of the family's main branch, her eyes shining with pride as she watched the Don place the ring on Theo's finger.

The big screen began cycling through photos of my cousin growing up. I floated closer and quickly recognized that several of them were actually me.

The public shooting exhibition when I was seven. The family event when I was nine. The security training when I was 11. That was me in every photo, wearing Theo's clothes and pretending to be him.

But the name under every photo was Theo's.

I reached out to touch the screen, but my fingers went right through my own face. I'd spent years living as Theo, only to have my own name erased.

Mom checked the time and frowned. "Why isn't Daisy back yet?"

I floated straight to her side.

Mom, you finally thought of me.

But the next thing she said was, "If she's not back here keeping watch, what if someone else comes after Theo?"

Dad didn't even look up. "Her job is to keep them tied up at North Hill. Why would she come back early?"

Mom still sounded annoyed. "We spent 13 years training her. She'd better not mess things up now, of all times."

I floated in front of them, my chest aching as though something were crushing it. "Mom, Dad, I took care of it. Theo's safe now."

But they couldn't hear me.

They never once asked me if I wanted to be a stand-in.

They just told me that taking the hits meant for the main family's heir was an honor someone from a lesser branch like ours could only dream of.

I was too little to understand what sacrifice meant. All I knew was that if I did well enough, Mom and Dad would be proud of me.

Every time I put myself in danger for my cousin, I held back my tears and told myself it was what I was supposed to do.

I even started hoping that maybe, if I was just a little braver, they'd finally feel sorry for me. Even once.

Maybe if I did enough for the family, they'd hug me the way real parents would.

I waited 13 years. I waited until I died. It never happened.

It turned out that "honor" just meant my life was the easiest one for them to spend.

Now I'd never have to take another hit for Theo, but I didn't feel any lighter.

The first time I got shot for Theo, I was 11. The bullet tore into my shoulder, and when they carried me back to the estate, half my shirt was soaked in blood.

Mom rushed over, and the first thing out of her mouth was, "Where's Theo?"

Only after she learned that Theo was just shaken up did she look down at me. She frowned and asked the nurse, "How did she get hurt this badly?"

I was hurting too much to talk. I thought she was worried about me.

Then she started blaming me. "Weren't you supposed to draw all of them away? How did they get anywhere near Theo?"

Dad sent Dr. Russo, the family doctor, to the safe house to look after Theo, leaving only a nurse to treat my wound.

I held on to Mom's hand. I didn't want her to go. But she pried my fingers off. "Stop it. Your cousin just had a scare. I need to go be with him."

I ran a high fever all night, and I waited for her all night.

Late that night, I heard footsteps in the hall. I pushed myself up, thinking it was Mom. But the door opened only a crack. The nurse slipped some fever medicine through the gap and left.

The next day, one of the maids told me Theo had nightmares all night, so Mom stayed by his bed the whole time.

Dad didn't get back until noon. The first thing he said when he saw me was, "You got shot on a simple decoy run. You need more training."

I froze for a few seconds. Suddenly, my shoulder hurt worse than it had all night.

He glanced at my bandage. "At least Theo didn't get hurt. Otherwise our whole branch would've been disgraced."

I swallowed the words I'd been about to say. I'd only wanted him to praise me, just once.

I was only 11, and I'd already learned to check whether I'd completed my mission before worrying about my injuries.

That night, Theo snuck in to see me. He brought a slice of the strawberry cake I loved.

He stared at my bandage for a long time. "Don't do this for me anymore."

I ended up comforting him. "It's okay. Mom and Dad say it's an honor."