Contos de Mafia sobre After Death e Romances com Bias

Vincent hated me for six years. He was certain I had betrayed him, and that I had gotten his childhood sweetheart Sophia killed. So he destroyed my family, sent my brother to prison, and married me to torment me. I explained many times but he never believed me once. Then I died. But among the things I left behind, he discovered that when he was bullied, I was the one who found the evidence. When the police took him away, I was the one who hired his lawyer. When his enemies came to kill him, I was the one who paid for the tip and warned him in time to run. He hated me for all those years, and fell in love with me the year I died.

The day I was diagnosed with leukemia, my first reaction wasn't fear. It was relief. I wasn't really a Moretti anyway. If I died, I wouldn't owe anyone anything. When I was six, Bianca and I fought over a stuffed bear. My mother dragged me into a corner and said each word slowly enough to make sure I understood. “You are not our biological child. Everything in this house is something we've given you out of kindness.” After that, I never asked for anything again. Bianca got new dresses. I wore her old school uniforms. Bianca took piano lessons. I washed dishes in the kitchen to earn money for breakfast the next morning. I lived like a piece of luggage someone had left in the Moretti house, always ready to be claimed and taken away. After my diagnosis, Dr. Patel told me a stem-cell transplant was my best chance. A parent or biological sibling might be a match. I didn't tell the Morettis. Instead, I searched for my birth family in secret and used seven years of savings to prepay for the cheapest cremation in Chicago. Then, last night, I heard my parents talking inside my father's study. “Do you ever think we went too far?” my mother asked. “Serena acts more like a stranger every year.” My father sighed. “What choice did we have? Bianca is the adopted one. After her father died saving my life, I had to make sure she never felt like she came second. If Serena knew she was our biological daughter, why would she ever keep stepping aside for Bianca?” The cup slipped from my hand and rolled across the floor. I was their biological daughter. The girl they had raised as their real child was the one they had adopted. For eighteen years, my parents had erased me from their family so Bianca would never have to feel insecure. Standing outside that door, I started laughing. But the truth had come too late. My leukemia was already high-risk. My bone marrow was failing.

The day my father's enemies kidnapped and tortured me, my family was celebrating my sister Isa's eighteenth birthday. The next day, she would be handed over to the Cammarata family, our rivals, to seal an alliance through marriage. My father is a Don with more enemies than he can count. When I was ten, the two families arranged a marriage alliance to keep the peace. If the two families ever went to war again, the one who'd been married off would be killed first to send a message. On the day they chose the bride, my sister grabbed the token first: a signet ring. From that day on, she was the one this family loved. My mother always said Isa was suffering in my place. So I had to give way to her in everything and protect her. Whatever my sister wanted, I had to hand it over. When we were little, an assassination attempt forced our car off the road. I clutched her to me during the crash and broke my own leg. When my mother arrived, she pulled Isa into her arms first, then turned on me. "Your sister's arm is all scraped up. Couldn't you have protected her better?" I pretended it didn't matter and went to the hospital alone. But I cried anyway while they set my leg. This time, when they kidnapped me, I dropped to my knees and begged for one call for help. I didn't hesitate for a second. I called my parents. My mother had already lost her patience. "Do you have to compete for attention even on your sister's birthday? After today, you can do whatever you want. I'm hanging up." But there wasn't going to be an after today, Mom. As I took my last breath while they tortured me, one thought filled my mind. If I died in my sister's place, would that finally make them happy?

My mother, Vivienne Freeman, was the Donna of Freeman Family. She had her senior engineers develop an advanced lie detector. It looked like a bracelet, and my sister and I each wore one. Whenever I lied, my band flashed red. It could supposedly catch me even when I merely thought about lying. From then on, the band seemed able to read my mind. Even when I kept my mouth shut, it still flashed red. Then Mom would find some way to punish me. I told her countless times that I had never lied, but she refused to believe me. She would not let me question technology she had personally approved. Pointing to my sister's dark band, she demanded to know why it never flashed and why I never told the truth. The day the Family caught a traitor, Mom took my sister and me to watch his execution. A gunshot rang out, and blood spread across the ground. The sight of it made me feel faint, so I begged Mom to let me leave. My band flashed red. My sister picked up a gun and smiled at me. "Mom, Sophie's band is flashing again. She must be figuring out how to deceive you!" Mom glared at me and forced the gun into my hand. "You're the Don's daughter, yet you're a coward, you're frail, and you lie. You don't deserve to be my daughter. Take the gun and shoot him!" The blood made it hard to breathe. My heart raced, strength drained from my body, and I began to suffocate. Even as I started to collapse, Mom kept accusing me of being a coward compared with my sister and a shameless liar. The world spun. Tears ran down my face as pain racked my body. Mom, I never once lied to you, not aloud and not in my thoughts. I never will.

Two years into my marriage with Luca Mancini, I'd gotten used to waiting. Wait until the accounts were settled—then he'd take me on our honeymoon. Wait until the family meeting was over—then he'd celebrate our anniversary with me. Wait until his men were taken care of—then he'd call the private doctor to see me. I knew how hard it was to sit in the Don's seat, so I never cried or made a scene about it. I even took half the work off his shoulders without being asked. Because of my patience and all the times I stepped back, things between us finally softened. When he was exhausted, he'd lean his head on my shoulder, kiss my forehead, and say: "My Donna, once this busy season is over, I promise I'll make it all up to you." Today was my birthday. He'd promised me half a month ago that he'd spend it with me. I'd booked out an entire restaurant. The cake was cut. I was waiting. But from six to ten, he never showed. Then a photo popped up in my inbox: In the pouring rain, Luca was holding an umbrella, shielding his childhood sweetheart, Anna, tight against his side. The timestamp on the photo read 9:40. Twenty minutes ago. He'd tilted the umbrella over Anna's head, letting the rain soak him through. Then his text came through: "I've got an important meeting. I'll be home late." Looking at that message, I didn't reply "Got it" like the good, understanding wife I always was. I thought I'd gotten used to waiting. I thought if I just cleared every obstacle out of his way, I'd finally get the man who kept his promises. But staring at that photo, my heart sank all the way to the bottom. It was never the waiting I was afraid of. It's just—last month, I was diagnosed with terminal leukemia. This was the last birthday I'd ever have. I stood up, hollow, and walked home alone through the endless sound of rain. The man I'd been waiting for—I couldn't wait for him anymore.

On my tenth birthday, my parents, the Don of the Falcone family and his wife, were murdered in a targeted hit. Because they took a sudden detour to pick up my custom birthday gift, they drove right into a rival syndicate's fatal ambush. My brother, Vincenzo, blamed my childish demands for their deaths. When Vincenzo took over as the new Don, his first act was to banish me to a remote convent to do hard labor. For eight whole years, he never visited me once. When I died on the operating table in the family hospital, he was standing guard right next door. He was watching his adopted sister, Lucia, get a heart transplant. He had saved her from a street shootout years ago. Just before I lost consciousness, I heard him comforting Lucia through the wall. He told her not to be afraid and promised to save her. The last words he ever said to me were, "Are you faking a cough or fainting this time? Do not bother me unless you are actually dead!" Twenty-four hours later, a nurse finally found my body lying in a pool of blood. No one ever came to claim me. What my brother didn't know was that my heart would keep beating inside Lucia's chest forever.

On the way to my wedding, our car was ambushed. The guards rushed me and Camilla to our family's private clinic. I was bleeding heavily. Blood completely soaked my bridal gown. My mother Alessia holds absolute power over the family. She took one cold look at me. Then she turned around and called in the top trauma team. She made them examine Camilla over and over, all for a minor scrape on Camilla's forearm from a stray bullet. "Camilla's wound is in plain sight," Alessia snapped. "If this leaves an ugly scar, how will she ever stand among high society?" I begged her to stay. She just brushed me off without a second thought. "You are my flesh and blood. You should be tougher than this. If I save you first, the men will think I am playing favorites with family." "Once I take care of Camilla, I will see to you." She walked away without looking back once. I could feel my life slipping away from me. Weakly, I grabbed Dominic. He had just stripped off his leather gloves. "Dominic, save me... the broken steel beam from the door stabbed right into my chest..." Before I could finish, he shoved my bloody fingers away with pure disgust in his eyes. "You were curled up in the reinforced armored back seat. Camilla was in the front passenger seat with zero cover. How could you be hurt worse than her?" "Gianna, drop the sick jealousy. Do you have to fight Camilla for attention every damn time?" He turned and walked straight into the sterile trauma room. He forgot. When the gunfire erupted, he was the one who yanked the steering wheel to shield Camilla next to him. He swung the car around. He made the back seat take the full hit from the truck. I took every ounce of the deadly impact meant for her. Alessia even cut off the ER doctor during his critical report. She yelled in his face. She accused him of acting along with me to beg for attention. Then she ordered everyone to treat only Camilla's "severe trauma." My vision began to darken. The twisted steel beam bit deep into my ribs.