Eight Years of Leeching,One Night of Revenge

Clara POV

The front door of the penthouse opened and slammed shut, the sound reverberating through the space. Heavy footsteps echoed across the cold marble floor.

Lucian strode into the master bedroom, roughly loosening his silk tie. The cloying scent of expensive whiskey and cheap cigars followed him in.

He spotted me standing by the open vault and immediately started scolding me.

He snapped that I had broken protocol by leaving the banquet early, claiming I had humiliated him in front of the Underboss. He then lavishly praised Livia and his mother for saving his face and smoothing things over with the elders.

Walking over to his dresser, he unclasped his watch and took it off.

He turned to me with an entitled sneer and demanded I transfer funds from my laundering accounts by tomorrow morning. He insisted he needed the cash to entertain his uncles and his soldiers for the rest of the week.

I picked up a cleaning rag from the vanity and threw it directly at his face.

It smacked against his cheek before dropping harmlessly to the floor.

Lucian's eyes darkened instantly as he stepped toward me.

I stood my ground. I demanded to know if he was aware that Livia had stolen my untraceable gold and my luxury goods.

Lucian stopped, calmly brushing down the lapels of his suit jacket. He dismissively admitted that he already knew about it.

He told me I was an established woman now, arguing that I did not need to dress up or use expensive creams anymore. The gold and the goods, he claimed, were better suited for a young, fresh girl like Livia.

He actually had the audacity to tell me that my using them was a waste of syndicate resources.

I stared at him, utterly paralyzed by the sheer disbelief of the words coming out of his mouth.

Lucian pointed an accusatory finger at me, deflecting the blame entirely. He said I was the one who had ordered him to keep an eye on Livia in the first place, calling me paranoid and hysterical for even checking my own vault.

My chest heaved as anger flared hot and bright in my veins.

My voice was level, each word a chip of ice. "The contraband she took is valued at precisely eighty-eight thousand dollars."

I gave him a strict ultimatum. I told him to return the goods by midnight, or I would bring the theft directly to the Consigliere.

Lucian's posture shifted immediately. The stark threat of the Consigliere getting involved sobered him up in a heartbeat.

His tone softened into something sickeningly sweet as he took a step closer and reached for my hand.

I yanked my hand away in disgust.

He immediately played on my sympathies, calling Livia a tragic soul from the slums who had never had anything nice in her life. He promised me he would discipline her tomorrow.

He begged me not to break Omertà, insisting that ruining his standing before we officially wed would destroy our future family.

He relentlessly attempted to manipulate my emotions, highlighting Livia's pitiful background and reminding me of how much she supposedly looked up to me.

I stared at his hypocritical face, feeling my heart harden into solid stone.

I remembered exactly how he had manipulated me into sponsoring Livia in the first place. He had told me his mother respected a charitable woman, weaponizing my desperate desire for a real family against me. Sponsoring a slum girl, he had promised, would be the perfect stepping stone to secure the Don's approval for our marriage.

I recalled the day Livia was accepted into the Family's clean scholarship program.

She had sat in my living room, weeping uncontrollably. She had held my hands, swearing absolute loyalty to me and Lucian, calling us her saviors.

Now, I began to deeply question her true nature. I remembered my own painful sacrifices—giving up my education to run illicit operations on the unforgiving streets, all so I could survive and build the network of casinos and safe houses that now bore my name.

I did not turn. I simply walked away from him, leaving him standing there, and told him to use the guest room.

In the dead of night, the penthouse was completely silent.

I sat in the nursery in the dark, holding my daughter close to my chest as I fed her a bottle.

Through the gloom, I noticed a thin strip of yellow light spilling from under the door of Lucian's study down the hall.

I carefully put my daughter back in her crib. Walking quietly down the hallway, I pressed my back against the wall next to the study door.

I heard Lucian speaking, his voice a low, hurried rasp. He was on his burner phone.

He was talking to the Matriarch.

He warned his mother to tell Livia to back off, insisting that she needed to stop stealing from my vault immediately.

He sounded absolutely terrified, whispering that if Clara brought the Consigliere into this, they would run a full investigation.

He warned that if the syndicate investigated the theft, they would find out the truth about Livia's rigged scholarship. They would inevitably discover their treason against the Family.

I pressed my palm flat against the cold wall, steadying my breath. Eight years of my life, my fortune, my youth—all poured into a man who was now conspiring with his mother to protect a thief. My eyes drifted back toward the nursery, where my daughter lay sleeping. I had been a fool for love. But I would not be a fool as a mother.

The blueprint for their destruction began to take shape in my mind before the sun had even risen.