Chapter 1

Sophia’s POV

"What? You want me to marry that disabled, blind mafia boss?"

My twin sister Isabella's voice echoed through our dining room. I nearly choked on my soup.

"Isabella, lower your voice," my father said, glancing toward the door.

"Lower my voice? You just told me to marry Vito Romano! The man who can't walk or see!" She slammed her fork down. "Are you completely insane?"

I kept stirring my soup, hoping to disappear into the mahogany walls. This was Isabella's drama, not mine. It never was.

"We don't have a choice," my father said quietly. "The family is drowning in debt."

"So you're selling me?"

"It's not selling—"

"It's exactly selling!" Isabella shot to her feet. "What happened to loving your daughters, Daddy? What happened to wanting us to be happy?"

My father rubbed his temples. "Happiness is a luxury we can't afford right now."

I watched this exchange with the familiar ache of being invisible. Isabella had always been the golden daughter—confident, beautiful, the one who commanded attention simply by walking into a room. I was the quiet one, the studious one, the one who'd learned early that the best way to survive in this family was to stay out of the way. We might look identical, but our personalities couldn't be more different. Isabella was fire; I was water. She demanded; I adapted.

"How much?" I asked, finally looking up.

They both turned to me like they'd forgotten I existed. Which, honestly, they probably had.

"How much do we owe?" I repeated.

"Forty-seven million," my father said.

The number hit me like a truck. I'd known things were bad – the fired staff, the whispered phone calls, the way Daddy aged ten years in the past six months. But forty-seven million?

"Jesus," I whispered."How did we end up owing forty-seven million?" I pressed.

"Three years ago, I invested in a real estate project, partnering with the Romano family to develop commercial properties in the waterfront district. Halfway through the project, the city government suddenly changed the zoning plans, and our entire investment was lost."

"But that wasn't the worst part," he continued, his voice heavy with regret. "To recover those losses, I borrowed more money and invested in other projects, only to get caught in the economic downturn. Now, the Romano family wants either full repayment of the investment plus interest, or..."

"Or what?"

"Or they'll convert the losses into an investment in a family alliance through marriage. Vito Romano personally proposed this solution."

Isabella started pacing. "Do you know what they say about him now? After the accident? They say he's violent, paranoid, that his bullets never miss when he's angry. I've heard stories— He had three of his own men killed last month just for questioning his orders. Three men, Daddy. Dead. Because they looked at him wrong."

That can't be true, I thought, but didn't say it. I'd heard the rumors too, during my clinical rotations at the hospital. Nurses whispering about gunshot victims brought in from Romano territory, always with the same warning: Don't ask questions.

"Before the accident," Isabella continued, "sure, he was gorgeous. Powerful. Every woman in New York wanted him. But that was two years ago!"

"He's still powerful," my father said. "More powerful than ever, actually. The accident didn't change that."

"The accident changed everything!" Isabella whirled around. "He can't walk, he can't see, and worst of all, he's become a monster. "

I thought about the Vito Romano I'd heard about before the accident. Devastatingly handsome, ruthlessly intelligent, the kind of man who could make women forget their own names just by looking at them. Even now, wheelchair-bound and blind, he was still considered one of the most dangerous and attractive men on the East Coast.

Any woman would want to sleep with him, the thought popped into my head before I could stop it. Even now.

I felt my cheeks burn.

"You used to talk about him constantly," my father pointed out. "How he was the most powerful man in New York, how any woman would be lucky to catch his attention."

Isabella's face flushed. "That was before!"

"Before what? Before you realized marrying him would actually require sacrifice?"

"Before I realized he'd become a violent cripple!"

"Isabella!" I snapped, surprising myself. "That's horrible."

She whirled on me. "Oh, please. Like you wouldn't say the same thing. You're studying medicine, Sophia. You know what spinal injuries and traumatic brain injuries can do to someone's personality."

She was right. I'd seen it during my neurology rotation – patients who came back from major trauma fundamentally changed. Aggressive where they'd once been gentle, paranoid where they'd once been trusting.

But something about the way Isabella said it made my skin crawl.

"The Romano family has already agreed to absorb our debts," my father said. "All of them. In exchange for this marriage."

"Find another way," Isabella said.

"There is no other way."

"Then sell the house. Sell the cars. Sell everything."

"We already have. It's not enough."

Isabella stopped pacing. "What do you mean?"

"I mean we've mortgaged everything we own. The house, the properties, even your mother's jewelry. If this doesn't happen, we lose it all anyway."

The silence stretched between them like a wire ready to snap.

"I won't do it," Isabella said finally. "I won't marry him."

My father's face hardened. "Then we'll all be on the street by Christmas."

"Fine. Better homeless than dead."

"You think he'd kill you?"

"I think he'd make me wish I was dead."

I watched this cruel tennis match, each exchange making me feel smaller and more invisible.

In this family, Daddy had always preferred Isabella – his golden daughter, his perfect princess. I'd learned long ago that the best way to survive was to stay quiet, stay out of the way, let them fight their battles without me.

This has nothing to do with me, I reminded myself firmly. I just need to focus on my own life, my own future.

I had Michael – sweet, reliable Michael from my same medical school. We were getting married next month. A simple ceremony, nothing like the elaborate affairs Isabella always dreamed about, but it would be ours. Safe. Predictable. Everything this conversation wasn't.

"There has to be someone else," Isabella said desperately. "Some other family with daughters—"

"The Romano family specifically requested a Cohen daughter," my father said. "Our bloodline, our family name. That was non-negotiable."

Isabella's eyes suddenly gleamed with something dangerous. She turned to look at me, and I felt ice water flood my veins.

"Wait a minute," she said slowly.

"Isabella, no."

"Why not send Sophia instead?"

"What?" I stood up so fast my chair toppled backward.

"Think about it," Isabella continued, warming to her theme. "We're identical twins. We look exactly the same – well, except for that tiny birthmark on her butt. But he's blind anyway, right? He'll never know the difference."

My fork clattered to the table. My mouth opened, but no sound came out.