I Took His Crime, He Took My Family Fortune

"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."

I stood before the Cicelyan-style wrought-iron gates, the cold wind cutting straight through my thin gray prison uniform.

The Browning M1911 had been mine since I was 18 years old. On the day of my coming-of-age, my Papa engraved the family crest into the grip with his own hands and placed it in mine.

Now, it was spinning between the fingers of a woman who looked barely 20. The muzzle drifted carelessly past my brow, like she was eager for some fun.

I could even smell Rosa da Sparo—Gunpowder Rose—on her. It was my perfume, the only bottle in the world, custom-made to celebrate my ascension as the Donna.

"Crazy woman?"

I digested the word, my gaze sliding down to the legs wrapped in expensive stockings. "If I remember right, everything within 1,640 feet of this estate is a controlled zone. Even a fly needs my permission to get in."

Her name was Sofia Ricchi. I had seen it on the family roster before I went to prison. Back then, she was nothing more than a casino dealer, an Associate at most.

Sofia leaned against the doorframe, idly toying with the cocked gun. Her eyes were full of contempt, with a hint of naive cruelty.

"That was before, hag," she said, lips curling. "This territory belongs to Lorenzo now. Oh, right—I should've said 'your ex' instead. He told me you cried your eyes out writing him letters while you were inside."

She chuckled. "He said just seeing your letters pissed him off. 50 dollars a month—that's what he wired you, just enough to keep you from starving in there. He didn't want you coming out, looking like a skeleton, and embarrassing him."

50 dollars… I took the fall for Lorenzo Moretti, and in return, I slept with bedbugs and psychos in that women's prison. I ate every interrogation the cops threw at me.

When two of my ribs were broken, he was out drinking and screwing his way through the city. When I bribed guards with that 50 dollars to get painkillers, he was popping champagne in this very estate with this woman.

"Move."

I had no interest in wasting breath on a bimbo playing guard dog. I reached out and pushed at the gate.

"Hey! Don't touch my gate with those filthy hands!" Sofia shrieked and slammed the iron gate shut.

The crash of metal rang through my skull, sharp enough to make my ears buzz. She stared at me through the bars, as if she were looking at a stray mutt.

"Get lost now, or I'll have security treat you like an intruder. This place no longer welcomes trash like you anymore."

I dug the satellite phone out from the sole of my shoe and dialed Lorenzo. "Why did you delete my iris scan, Lorenzo? And who's this idiot pointing a gun at me? You'd better have a damn good explanation."

The line crackled with chaos, somewhere between a meeting and a hedonistic party. Seconds dragged, then his magnetic voice came through with unmistakable impatience.

"Vittoria? How the hell are you out already? I'm in the middle of a sit-down with some Capos. The signal's bad here."

He paused, showing none of the relief, guilt, or surprise I had expected—only irritation at a plan gone awry. "Find a hotel for the night. The estate… isn't suitable for you to enter right now."

I laughed through the ache twisting my stomach. "Isn't suitable, you say? That property is mine—my Papa left it to me. And you're telling me I can't enter?"

"Enough, Vittoria. Calm down. Sofia just joined the family, and she doesn't have a place to stay. You know the streets aren't safe right now, so I lent her the estate temporarily to keep her protected. She's young and alone—our rivals might prey on her."

Protection? Since when did protecting a new member mean letting them stay in my bedroom, wear my clothes, and sleep with my man?

"Lorenzo," I said coldly, "you'd better show up in ten minutes. Otherwise, don't blame me for forgetting the years we shared."

"Vittoria!" he shouted into the phone. "Can you relax for five seconds? You just got out! It's my birthday today, as well as the family's victory celebration. Do you have to ruin everything now?"

With that, he hung up decisively.

I stared at my home screen, and the last shred of hope I had left for him vanished. Those three years in prison were ground under his feet like nothing.

The iron gate creaked open again. This time, Sofia appeared with a glass of red wine in hand. She sipped it slowly, looking at me as if I were inferior to her.

"You hear that? He told you to get out of here. This place is our love nest. Meanwhile, you're a washed-up hag who doesn't even qualify to be our maid."

Then, just for flair, she tilted the glass, letting a stream of dark red spill over my shabby shoes. "Oops. How clumsy of me. Don't worry, this is an '82 Lafite. Consider it a bargain for you."

I took a deep breath and made a gesture. The sniper received the signal. A loud boom sounded the next second.

The wine glass in Sofia's hand shattered, and the broken shards flew and glided along her delicate cheek. She screamed, covering her face as blood trickled through her fingers.

I kicked down the unlocked gate, stepping across the pool of wine and glass shards, and clutched Sofia's hair. Without mercy, I flung her to the ground.

"Listen up, puttana. This gun is so sacred that not even that son of a bitch dared to touch it. Who do you think you are to play with it?"

I seized the Browning from her grasp. Clearing the chamber, I racked it with practiced ease and positioned the muzzle beneath her jaw. "Tell Lorenzo that his Donna is back."