جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 9

The invitation card bore no signature. Only a single line of gold-embossed text gleamed across the front: [Three days from now. See you at the theater.]I stared at the elegant cardstock as a chill crept up my spine.My sister, Anna Rossi, snatched the card from my hand and turned it over repeatedly. "No name?"My mother, Antonia Rossi, stepped out of the kitchen, drying her hands. She looked past us at the man standing in the doorway."Which one of my daughters does the Don want to take to the ballet?" she asked.Then, as if the answer were obvious, she added, "Is he inviting Isabella?"I was Isabella Rossi. My mother asked because Lorenzo Falcone and I had known each other since childhood. People called us childhood sweethearts, as though the label itself proved something. I once believed we loved each other.After everything I had endured, I understood one truth with absolute clarity. Lorenzo did not love me.The messenger stood beneath the porch awning, his expression flat.

"I need to know." I gave each word deliberate weight.Lorenzo laughed."Isabella, that's you," he said gently. "The cross mark is a natural flaw in the marble. It looks exactly like the injury you had as a child. You may not remember, but I remember it clearly."His tone was persuasive, almost sincere, but I knew my own body. I had never injured my ankle like that.He stepped closer and reached for my cheek. I recoiled before I could stop myself.There was a time when Lorenzo treated me well. We had known each other since childhood. When I hurt myself during training, he oversaw my care and summoned the best doctors. When rumors spread about me, he never asked who started them. He reached for his gun first.I still could not identify the exact moment he changed.A bitter ache rose in my throat and pulled me back to the present.I drew a slow breath."If you truly care about me, why not say it plainly?" I asked quietly. "The invitation had no name."Lorenzo hesitated for a fra

My car headed north toward Port Cesielle, where a representative of the Capone family waited.A broad-shouldered, middle-aged man stood by the dock: Vito Capone.Our mother and Anna arrived shortly after I did.Vito gave us a curt nod. "The boat is ready."Our mother urged us forward at a brisk pace. The wind off the water cut through my collar, heavy with salt and rot.I glanced back at Cesielle Island. Scattered lights shimmered across its surface. In the distance, the curve of the theater dome rose faintly against the night sky.By now, the masked figure should have reached the entrance. Lorenzo would greet her himself, and when he removed the mask, what would his expression reveal?A quiet laugh escaped me."Let's go," I told Anna.She did not move. She stood still and looked at me with an expression I could not read."Isabella, I suddenly regret it," she said softly."Regret what?""Regret fighting you all these years." She lowered her gaze. "If we had worked together

"Because she is that ballerina's daughter. Her name is Sophia. She and Lorenzo share the same mother."The moment I spoke, our mother covered her face and broke down.Dante stared at the photograph in stunned silence.I kept my voice steady and exposed the rot at the center of our family. "The dancer first attached herself to the old Don and gave birth to Lorenzo. Later, she met our father. He fell for her beauty, betrayed our mother, and fathered Sophia."The dancer died after Sophia was born. Our father had no choice but to bring the baby home. But our mother agreed to one condition: Sophia would never be acknowledged as a Rossi daughter."Our mother's sobs grew louder. Anna crossed the room and wrapped an arm around her shoulders."So Sophia grew up in the attic," I continued. "She did not eat at our table. She did not appear at public events. To the outside world, she was a stain we pretended did not exist."Dante's jaw tightened."But she carries Rossi blood," he said."Y

Lorenzo did not die. That was intentional. Dante and I agreed on that point. Death would have been a mercy.The Capone family assumed control of Lorenzo's territory in Cesielle. A Don who could not move was nothing more than livestock awaiting slaughter.I placed him in a private facility on the edge of a cliff. The view was spectacular.His room was not. Mirrors covered every wall. At the center, directly in front of his wheelchair, stood a statue: a faceless ballerina.Each day, the attendants forced him upright and positioned him before it. He remained there from morning until night. He could not close his eyes. A special adhesive held his eyelids open.If Lorenzo loved to watch, he could watch forever.As for Sophia, when our mother went to retrieve her, she found her crouched beneath a table in Lorenzo's estate, clutching half a slice of red velvet cake.Sophia screamed when she saw us and even tried to bite.But when her gaze fell on Lorenzo, slumped in his wheelchair, dr