The Mafia's Forgotten Daughter is Back

Aria POV:

They put me to work in the kitchens. Peeling potatoes, scrubbing floors—a punishment disguised as a chore. The physical labor was grueling, my leg a constant, screaming agony, but I welcomed the burn. It kept the memories at bay.

For a fleeting moment, I remembered a time before I was lost. A time when my mother's hands were gentle, when my father's smile still reached his eyes. I crushed the memory. That family was dead.

One evening, as I limped back to my shed, Dante intercepted me at the edge of the woods. A sleek black town car idled nearby, its engine a low purr.

He held out a small box. Inside was a tiny cake with wild berries, my favorite from a childhood that felt like someone else's life. It was a clumsy, pathetic attempt at peace.

"I also got you this," he said, holding out another box.

Inside, nestled on black velvet, was a gown of crimson silk. The kind of dress I once dreamed of wearing as his wife, the Queen of this city.

My mind flashed back to the ambush when we were teenagers. The sting of a silver-tipped bullet meant for him. He never knew it was me. Serafina had claimed the glory, and with it, the life debt he now felt honor-bound to repay.

"I don't like red," I said, pushing the box back at him. The confusion on his face was a small, bitter victory.

"Let's go for a drive," he suggested, his voice softer than I'd heard it in years. "To Moonlight Lake. Like we used to."

I got in the car. A bitter curiosity propelled me. I wanted to see how long the performance would last.

We were halfway there when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and his entire body went rigid.

Of course it was her. Serafina needed him.

His focus, his entire world, snapped back to her. The brief warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by the cold authority of the Don.

"Turn the car around. Now," he barked at the driver.

He didn't apologize. He didn't explain. He wouldn't even look at me.

The driver pulled over onto the dark, empty shoulder of the road. Dante gestured sharply toward my door—an order, not an invitation. Get out.

I did.

The heavy door slammed shut behind me.

He left me there on the side of the road as the town car sped back toward the estate, back toward her.