The Don's Hidden Heiress: Last Week Alive

Five years ago, when my dad finally found me in a foster home in the slums of Novastone, I was nothing but skin and bones. Cigarette burns from my former foster parents still scarred my arms.

"Let's go home, Eva," he'd said.

I thought I finally had a home.

That was, until the day of his funeral.

As I stood by my dad's coffin while the lawyer read the will, I learned the truth. The daughter he had finally found would inherit poison and an impossible task. Within five years, I was supposed to win the sworn loyalty of one of the three family power holders.

My half-brother, Alessandro Andreotti, was now the family's Underboss.

Benedetto Martini was the heir of the Martino family and my fiance in a political marriage.

Lastly, there was Roberto Foscari. He was the chief medical advisor and intelligence officer—Dad's most trusted fixer.

For five years, I tried desperately to please them all.

Alessandro sneered, "Don't call me your brother. You don't deserve it."

"The marriage will happen, but don't expect me ever to touch you," Benedetto declared.

Roberto was the only one who at least smiled at me once. The first time I collapsed from low blood sugar at a family gathering, he carried me into the lounge and handed me a cup of hot cocoa.

"You're too thin, Eva," he said. "You need to eat more."

The sweetness of that cocoa lingered in my memory for three years.

It was far sweeter than the poison in my mouth now.

"Ms. Andreotti?"

Vincenzo's voice dragged me back to the present. "You have seven days left."

…

The banquet was at its peak. Emanuela was in a custom lace wedding gown. Real pearls were sewn into her veil. Benedetto had one arm around her waist as they spun in the center of the dance floor. Alessandro stood beside the champagne tower, raising his glass to toast the newlyweds.

No one saw me.

Or rather, everyone chose not to.

I slipped through the crowd and headed for the back garden. The Andreotti Estate sat along the Blackthorn River, with its private dock and wooden platform stretching out over the water. At night, the river was as black as ink. It reflected Novastone's lights.

The water had to be freezing. But was it colder than what was spreading through my body?

I slipped off my heels. Emanuela Romano gave them to me last year. They were half a size too small and always cut the skin at my heels. I stepped barefoot onto the wooden boards. The rough texture reminded me of the leaking basement in the slums.

Maybe that was where I belonged.

I leaned forward, but a hand clamped around my wrist like a steel vise.

A brutal force yanked me back and slammed me onto the deck. Pain shot through my back, and I started coughing violently.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Alessandro's face loomed above me. Then, a sharp slap cracked across my cheek. His features, so like my own, twisted in fury and disgust.

"I asked you, what are you doing?" he snarled, hauling me up from the ground with a crushing grip.

"Let go…"

"Let go?" he laughed, dragging me from the edge. "So you can jump and die at Emanuela's wedding? Eva, it's been five years, yet you're still as selfish as ever. You're always ruining other people's moments."

I tried to break free, but his grip was solid.

"I wasn't trying to ruin anything," I replied with a shaky voice. I didn't know if it was from the cold or the poison in my veins. "I just—"

"Just what? Looking for attention again?"

He flung me onto a nearby bench. "Let me be clear. The wedding will go on even if you die here. Benedetto wouldn't spare you a glance. Father isn't coming back. And the Andreotti family wouldn't stop functioning just because an illegitimate daughter died."

He was right.

I've always known that.

"Go back to your room," Alessandro said, straightening his tie. "If you want to die, do it somewhere far away. Don't stain Andreotti land."

With that, he turned and walked toward the lights. His figure was tall and unshaken.

That was my brother.

The same brother who told me to die elsewhere.

I curled up on the bench and hugged my knees.

The burning poison had spread through my limbs, but what hurt more was my chest. It was hollow, and the cold wind kept pouring in.

…

By the time I reached home, the banquet was over.

The housekeepers were cleaning the hall. None of them looked at me. I walked barefoot across the marble floor. The cold shot straight up my spine. My room was plain and small. It was the same room I had lived in ever since returning to the family.

The only valuable thing here was the gun sitting on the nightstand.

It was a Colt M1911. The Andreotti family crest was engraved on the grip. It was a viper coiled around a rose. My dad gave it to me the day he took me back home.

"A daughter of the Andreotti family must know how to protect herself," he said.

I picked it up. The cold metal made me shiver. As the poison inside me churned, nausea surged. I rushed to the bathroom and retched, but nothing came up.

The mirror showed a pale face with dark circles under her eyes. I was only 23, but I looked 43.

"Dad," I whispered to the mirror. "Was this what you wanted? Was this how you treated me because Mom didn't love you and you forced her to have me?"

No one answered.

I went back to the bed and racked the slide. The mechanical click echoed sharply in the silent room. I pressed the barrel to my temple. The cold snapped me into brief clarity.

It was faster this way.

Faster than drowning. Faster than the poison.

My finger rested on the trigger.