Chapter 1

My home was beautiful, but it never felt like mine. The red door, polished floors, and sweeping staircase looked perfect, but I often felt like they were part of someone else’s story. A chandelier hung above the entry, catching the light in a way that made the shadows feel alive. I used to joke that if the walls could talk, they’d scream.

The sound of the TV in the kitchen brought me back to reality. I wasn’t paying attention until the word murder caught my ear. My chest tightened as I twisted the ring on my finger—a nervous habit I couldn’t break.

This house, my life, all of it was built on secrets and lies. For years, I told myself I wasn’t involved. That I wasn’t part of the damage. But that changed months ago. Now, the guilt haunted me, and the weight of my choices followed me everywhere.

Voices echoed from the front hallway, laughter mingling with the clink of glasses. Guests had arrived for lunch, and I stayed in the kitchen, not ready to face them.

“Why the long face, darling?” My mother’s voice broke through the noise as she entered, her heels clicking on the tiles. Her smile was bright, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

I shook my head. “No reason.”

She stirred the pot on the stove, the rich scent of sauce filling the room. “You’re too young to look so worried all the time. I know you're sad because of how your Father grounded you but he's only doing that because he loves you but right now he isn’t happy with you,” she said suddenly, her tone sharper.

“What did I do now?”

She sighed, turning to face me. “You didn’t greet Salvatore this morning after church or at the party last week like he was expecting you to .”

I tensed at the name. “I didn’t want to meet him,” I admitted. “He’s not someone I want to know.”

“You don’t even know him,” she said, her voice rising. “He’s your sister’s fiancé, Milene. Show some respect.”

I bit my lip, holding back the retort I wanted to make. Respect? For someone like him? Salvatore Russo wasn’t the type of man who deserved respect.

Since his father’s death, Salvatore had built a reputation as a ruthless leader in the underworld. People feared him, and for good reason. Stories of his vengeance weren’t just rumors—they were warnings.

“Why is Adriana marrying him?” I asked, unable to hide my frustration.

“It’s what’s best for the family,” my mother said simply.

“For the family,” I repeated bitterly. I knew what that meant. This wasn’t about love or even Adriana’s happiness. It was about alliances, power, and business.

“Go check if your sister is ready,” she ordered, brushing past me.

“She said she wasn’t coming to lunch,” I replied.

“She is coming,” my mother snapped, her tone leaving no room for argument.

I sighed and left the kitchen, heading upstairs. The chatter from the foyer followed me, growing louder as I passed by. My brother, Matteo, stood near the stairs, his arms crossed as he glared at Salvatore. There was tension in the air, thick and impossible to ignore.

“Milene,” my father’s voice called out sharply. “Come here.”

I froze for a moment before turning to face him. My father stood near the grand staircase, Salvatore by his side. Both men looked at me expectantly.

“This is Salvatore Russo,” my father said. “Salvatore, meet my eldest daughter, Milene.”

I forced myself to step closer, my heart pounding. Salvatore’s gaze was steady, his dark eyes cold and calculating as they met mine. He didn’t smile, but there was a faint smirk in his expression, as if he already knew what I was thinking.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, keeping my voice neutral.

“We’ve met,” Salvatore said smoothly.

My father’s brows furrowed. “When?”

“At the party last night,” Salvatore answered, his tone light but firm. “She made quite an impression.”

Heat rose to my cheeks as my father turned to me, his expression unreadable. I wanted to argue, to explain that I hadn’t even spoken to Salvatore, but the words stuck in my throat.

Salvatore’s smirk widened just slightly, like he was enjoying the moment. “She’s… memorable,” he added, his tone carrying a hint of mockery.

I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay calm. “Yes, we met briefly,” I lied.

My father gave me a look that said this conversation wasn’t over. Salvatore, on the other hand, seemed amused, like he’d just won some unspoken battle.

I didn’t know what game he was playing, but I already hated being a part of it.

I really tried to forget the meeting because he was getting under my skin and I never let anyone rile me up.

Adriana was watching a sad movie and simultaneously folding a shirt and placing it inside a bag . She was wearing a big cartoon t-shirt and Christmas socks, with pieces of toilet paper scattered all over her room.

A few years ago, during her wild years she had cut her hair very short, which upset Mom a lot. Because of that, she lost her credit card, her acting lessons, and had to deal with angry stares for weeks. Now her hair was a smooth bob. I had learned that cutting hair was a big deal in our family.

Her room was painted pink with blue edges, but it looked messy, like a costume shop had exploded. Posters of plays were pinned to the walls, and strange props like feathers and hats covered her makeup table. A huge rabbit head was even lying on her bed. Dad probably didn’t know he was paying for all her theater stuff. As long as she followed the rules, he didn’t pay much attention to her. They just didn’t understand each other.