The Mafia's Forgotten Daughter is Back

Aria POV: The next day, Lia found me in the kitchens. Scrubbing pots had left my hands raw and my back aching, but the pain was a dull, distant hum. She cornered me by the sinks, her arms crossed over her chest. "You need to stop," she said, her voice low and tight. "You're tearing this family apart. Just leave Serafina alone." I didn't look at her. I just kept scrubbing, the scrape of metal on metal filling the silence. She let out a sigh, sharp with frustration. "Did you hear me, Elara?" I rinsed the pot and set it on the drying rack with a loud clatter. I turned to face her, my expression a mask of perfect emptiness. She flinched, as if my emptiness was a physical blow. She took a step back, her anger faltering. "Does... does your leg still hurt?" she asked, her voice suddenly small. The question hung in the air between us. The memory surfaced, sharp and unwanted: a winter when I was twelve, before Serafina. I'd spent a month carving a small wooden bird for Lia's birthday, my fingers raw with splinters. When I gave it to her, she'd laughed and called it clumsy. She'd tossed it in a drawer and forgotten about it. I turned away from her and picked up another pot. That evening, after my work was done, Dante found me by the woods. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of bruised purple and orange. He didn't speak. He just gestured towards the treeline, where a constellation of fireflies was beginning to blink in the twilight. "Remember?" he said, his voice rough. "When you were little, you used to say they were spelling out our names." It was a memory I had buried, a shared secret from a time when he had been my only friend in a house of strangers. His attempt to unearth it felt like a violation. "I'm sorry," he said. "What I said in your room... it was cruel." He stepped closer. "I do love you, Aria. I always have. But I'm bound by my honor. My life debt to her. You have to understand." Before I could tell him that understanding didn't erase the betrayal, a sweet voice cut through the air. "There you are, Dante!" Serafina emerged from the trees, a smile of perfect innocence on her lips that didn't quite reach her triumphant eyes. She glided to his side, linking her arm through his. "I was looking all over for you." She turned to me, her eyes glittering. "And Elara. Thank you again for your blessing. It means the world to me." She clung to him as we walked back toward the estate, her body pressed against his. Then she stopped and turned to me, her expression one of flawless, patronizing pity. She held out a small, velvet pouch. "I wanted you to have this," she said. "It's a healing crystal. Very expensive. For your... condition." A pittance. A gilded insult. I looked right through her. "I don't want it." My voice was flat. "I suffer because my own parents chose you over me. A crystal won't fix that." The mask of concern on her face crumbled, replaced by a flash of real, venomous anger. Then, just as quickly, it was gone. Her eyes filled with tears. She stumbled back, clutching her chest as if I'd physically struck her. "Dante," she gasped, turning to him. "Did you hear what she said? How can she be so cruel?" Dante's expression hardened. The brief softness from moments before was gone, replaced by the cold, unyielding mask of the Don. He looked at me, and his eyes were chips of ice. "Apologize to her," he said. The words weren't a suggestion. They were a command, infused with the authority of his position, the weight of his family's power. It felt like a physical force pressing down on me, a demand that I bend, that I break. My knees wanted to buckle. My head wanted to bow. I held my ground, my jaw tight. I met his gaze, and for the first time, I let him see the inferno of rage I'd kept locked away. "Is it because I'm the 'disgraced one'?" I spat the word, the label they'd branded me with my whole life. "The weak one? Is that why I must be grateful for your scraps and apologize for speaking the truth?" His face contorted with fury. I saw it then—the flicker of conflict in his eyes as he glanced at Serafina's tear-streaked face, a conflict he immediately buried under a wave of anger directed at me. He was being played, and he was making me pay for it. He took a step forward, his authority crashing down on me like a physical wave, a suffocating force meant to crush my will completely. "I said," he snarled, his voice a low, terrifying growl, "Apologize. Now."