The Mellon Family: A Fortune In History

"The Rossi family doesn't need a Don. We just need a Donna." As the only heiress of the Rossi family, this was the law that I had set when I received the Browning pistol—a pistol that resembles the ultimate authority in the Rossi family—from my Papa when he was on his deathbed. But three years ago, the police relentlessly investigated the money laundering business that my fiance, Lorenzo Moretti, was in charge of. If that business were to get exposed, the Rossi family's hundred-year-old legacy would be ruined. In order to protect my family's legacy and to allow Lorenzo to continue legalizing my family's businesses, I decided to become the scapegoat for all the crimes. On the rainy night of my arrest, I personally handed the pistol over to Lorenzo. "Protect my family for me before my return." This gave Lorenzo legitimate authority to run my family. He used the pistol to purge my subordinates and take over the family business. He even broke my law by announcing to the public that he'd become the next Don soon. An invitation with golden borders is soon leaked from the family's inner circle. Lorenzo's and another woman's names are printed on the cover. During a visit, my private lawyer says mockingly, "If you don't get out of prison now, the Rossi family might take on another man's last name for real." I just sneer in response. After that, I get bailed out of jail in advance and return home to celebrate Lorenzo's "funeral". But no matter how many times I scan my iris at the biometric scanner in the estate, the result always comes out wrong. A young woman, who's toying with the pistol, opens the door at that moment. The contempt and disdain in her eyes are plain to see. "Where the hell did a crazy woman like you come from? You came to the wrong place. This is my private turf, you know."

To celebrate my mom's birthday, I fly back from abroad. At the same time, I plan to meet my fiancé, Kylo Winston, whom I have never met before, to discuss calling off the engagement. Unexpectedly, the custom cake I ordered for the special occasion gets knocked over. Kylo's childhood sweetheart, Nora Cullen, even falsely accuses me of dirtying her limited-edition designer bag. She screeches, "Who do you think you are? How dare you get engaged to Kylo? I'm his real wife! As long as you kneel and beg for mercy and say you're a worthless good-for-nothing, I'll let you off. Otherwise, I'll let you have a taste of what the Winston family of Silverlake is capable of!" I look at the ruined cake in my hands and smile frostily. What perfect timing. I'm planning to break off my engagement with Kylo anyway. So, I dial his mother's number and say, "I just heard the Winston family has two future daughters-in-law. Is that true?"

“I love you” I whispered and he went rigid, his head snapped up and his blue eyes darkened. “Don’t you ever say that” he growled, clenching his fist “Why?” I asked and held his hand, he averted his gaze, staring at his former love grave. “I can’t love” he said, “I am just a zombie, My heart died with her years ago” Arthur said, pointing at the grave, he looked at me studying my face, “Just don’t say that again please” “It’s okay” I said softly, “But it just don’t change the fact that I love you. And I am ready to be a good wife” I said, Arthur gaze hardened. “That’s your problem,” Arthur said, “I don’t want you to say that, and know your place” His statement hurt, but I faked a smile, and he nodded and walked away, I stared at his lover’s grave and dropped my necklace on it. Maybe she was worthy to wear that more than I.

I plan a family trip at my mother Lucia Sweeney's request. While avoiding the danger zones, my sister Linda Harper and I are ambushed by rogues. To protect her, I throw myself in the path of their claws and get driven into a silver mine. As I fall, my back is slashed open to the bone, and shards of silver embed deep into my right leg. The searing silver poison spreads quickly, burning through me and my wolf. My wolf is whimpering—she's close to death. However, as the pack's chief healer, Mom gathers all the healers around Linda to give her a full check-up over a few minor scrapes. I sob and beg her to save me first. "Mom, the poison has almost reached my heart. I can't hold on anymore." She turns around impatiently and yells, "Are you seriously still fighting with Linda now? Do you have any idea how close she came to getting clawed in the face by a silver claw? Our pack doesn't have a wolf as heartless as you!" And in that moment, I hear my wolf's final whimper, saying goodbye. I finally fall asleep in the cold wind, never waking up again.

A little over a month pregnant, I was happily looking forward to my wedding—until my fiance teamed up with my parents and brothers to put me on trial at the Court of Justice. They fabricated charge after charge, hoping to have me executed in the name of the law. If the judge found me guilty, I would be sentenced to death on the spot. Once I was dead, my corneas would be transplanted into my adopted sister, and everything I owned—my assets and insurance—would be claimed by them. Faced with my fiance’s betrayal and my family’s treachery, I fought back. I demanded the judge use the latest medical technology to extract my memories and project them on the big screen, letting the judge and hundreds of public jurors decide my fate. Just as everyone was smugly certain of their victory, the truth revealed by my memories moved the entire courtroom to tears.

When my mother won a million dollars from a lottery ticket, she prepared an envelope for each of her three children. After we opened them, my younger brother and younger sister each found a bank card inside. But from my envelope, two 1-dollar coins clinked onto the floor. Seeing me freeze, a trace of unease flickered across Mother's face. "Cassian," she said hesitantly, "Logan and Sienna suffered a lot growing up because your father passed away so early. So I gave each of them 500 thousand dollars as compensation. "You're the eldest son—like a father to them. Don't fight with them over this, okay?" I glanced down at the faded down jacket I had worn for years, the fabric so worn that it had lost its color. Then, my eyes drifted to my younger brother's limited-edition sneakers and to the designer bag slung over my sister's shoulder. Mother seemed to have forgotten that when Father died, I had only been eight. I smiled faintly. "Alright. I won't fight them for it." Hearing this, Mother let out a long breath of relief. The next second, my voice turned cold. "Then I won't fight for the responsibility of supporting you in your old age either."