Betrayed By Blood, Claimed By The Don

Serafina POV

Vincenzo cleared his throat and walked, the hard heels of his dress shoes scraping a dull line across the floorboards, over to the family safe. It was time to distribute the illicit cuts from the family's recent operations.

He pulled out thick stacks of hundred-dollar bills, each bound in heavy rubber bands. He handed a massive stack to Serena.

Serena feigned a gasp of innocence. She clutched the money to her chest and clung to Rosa's arm. "Oh, Papa, this is too much." She turned her large, doe-like eyes toward me. "How much did you get, Serafina?"

I looked down at the two crisp bills Vincenzo had tossed onto the table in front of me. "Two hundred," I replied, my voice flat.

Serena burst into laughter. She covered her mouth quickly, masking her cruelty with a sweet smile. "Oh, I'm sure Mom and Dad just didn't want you to attract the wrong kind of attention." She patted her massive stack of cash. "They trust me with twenty thousand because I know how to handle it."

Rosa wrapped an arm around Serena's shoulders. She kissed the top of Serena's head. "That twenty thousand is a reward for your decryption score, sweetie." Rosa turned her gaze to me. Her smile vanished, replaced by a tight-lipped scowl. "You barely scraped by, Serafina. You should be grateful we give you an allowance at all."

Serena shook Rosa's arm gently. She played the saint flawlessly. "Don't be mean, Mom. It's still something that Serafina managed to secure a basic Associate position at all."

A cold wave of disgust rolled through my stomach. I knew exactly how much manipulative poison dripped beneath her words.

The heavy oak door swung open without a knock. Salvatore walked in, his combat boots thudding against the hardwood floor. He tossed two boxes onto the center of the dining table. One was a sleek, heavy black case. The other was a flimsy cardboard box.

"State-of-the-art surveillance and encryption gear for my favorite sister." Salvatore pointed to the black case.

Serena squealed and jumped out of her chair to hug him.

Luca smiled proudly. "That gear is worth twenty-eight thousand dollars." Luca looked at Serena with pure adoration. "That's a single week of Salvatore's extortion cuts."

Salvatore puffed out his chest. "Nothing is too expensive for my princess."

I looked at the flimsy cardboard box left on the table. I reached out and opened the flap. Inside was an outdated, gray burner tablet. It was the kind of cheap tech they handed out to street-level runners. I felt the sting of the blatant disparity.

I chose the safety of the Omertà. I set my jaw and remained silent. I shoved the gray tablet back into the box. I pushed my chair back and stood up to leave for my room.

No one even glanced my way.

"Is something wrong?" Serena asked in a falsely sweet tone.

"I'm just tired," I muttered.

Salvatore sneered. He grabbed a bottle of beer from the table. "She's just dead weight with a miserable attitude." He pointed the neck of the bottle at Serena. "Don't waste your breath on her."

Luca nodded in agreement. He didn't even look at me. "She's eccentric and a total buzzkill anyway."

I walked down the hallway and shut my bedroom door. The heavy wood cut off the laughter and warmth of the family I no longer belonged to.

An hour later, a call for dinner dragged me back to the dining table. Rosa had prepared a lavish spread of imported delicacies. Everything on the table was Serena's favorite. There were creamy pastas, delicate seafood, and sweet pastries—dishes heavy with creams and sugars that always made my stomach turn.

I looked at the rich food. "Can I have a simple, spicy dish?" I asked quietly.

Rosa slammed her serving spoon into a bowl. "Stop being so difficult." She glared at me from across the table. "Why can't you learn some grace from your sister and just eat what is served?"

I bit my tongue. I stared at my empty plate, fully accepting the reality that my mother had never cared for my survival.

That night, I lay awake in my bed, my hidden screen glowing beneath the covers. The New York Syndicate had sent me a preliminary dossier—building schematics, personnel files, operational weak points. They were already testing me, feeding me fragments to see what I could piece together. I worked until my eyes burned, and for the first time in years, the exhaustion felt like hope. Somewhere beyond the walls of this house, a different world was already sharpening its claws for my arrival.