Chapter Three

Half a month. A forge-heat kind of refining.

In the mornings, Massimo—former judge—taught me legal loopholes and litigation strategy.

“Law is a weapon, child,” he said, spreading out case files from Luca’s businesses. “It depends who wields it, and for whom. Look here—environmental violations. Here—labor disputes. Alone, they’re trouble. Put together, they’re a noose.”

In the afternoons, the family’s finance officer, Antonio, made me dissect reports.

“The Vito construction company’s cash flow is stretched to the limit. They use smuggling to subsidize it. Their docks—every Tuesday and Thursday, there are ‘special containers.’” He tapped the screen. “Cut that off and he bleeds.”

At dusk, the intelligence chief—“Ghost”—demonstrated without expression.

“Chloe. Drug use. Promiscuity. Theft. Photos, videos, witnesses. The charity fund she handled—thirty percent went into her private accounts. The evidence chain is complete.”

Late at night, my combat coach, Riccardo, waited in the basement.

“If you don’t have enough strength, use technique. If technique isn’t enough, use this.” He tapped his temple. “Don’t go head-on. Be cunning. Attack joints, eyes, throat. Stay alive—that’s how you win.”

I learned fast.

Anger was the best fuel. Despair was the final driving force. Every drop of sweat was mixed with my grandmother’s blood.

Outside, rumors had already flipped the world upside down.

Luca’s media machine ran at full power. In tabloids and on social media, I became:

the “vicious granddaughter” who “framed her best friend out of jealousy,” “turned on her,” “stole the elderly woman’s inheritance,” and “vanished mysteriously.”

They used a candid shot of me at trial—hollow-eyed, lost—paired beside a soft-lit “charity angel” photo of Chloe in a community center, crouched to hand a toy to a Black child.

And Chloe appeared everywhere as “Special Advisor for Vito Family Charity Affairs.” She accepted interviews, eyes wet with tears, forcing a smile.

“Luca and I are heartbroken. We’re both devastated, but we choose to forgive Ella. She lost her grandmother, her emotions are unstable… We’ll continue the children’s fund her grandmother cared about in life. Maybe that’s the best comfort for the elderly.”

On camera, she stood arm-in-arm with Luca. Luca faced reporters with a calm, steady voice.

“Ella needs time. We respect her choice. Vito family affairs and our charity work won’t be affected by any private emotions.”

A flawless narrative.

The victim. The saints. The forgivers. The devoted couple.

And I was the deranged, greedy villain, vanished into the crowd—the filthy shadow meant to make their light look brighter.

“They’re stealing your life, Ella.” During a break in training, Salvatore watched the news and said lightly. “Using your kindness, your grief, your reputation, to crown themselves.”

I wiped the blood at my lip from sparring. “Let them steal. Soon they’ll spit it back out—with interest.”

On the eve of the banquet, Salvatore placed a black invitation in front of me.

“Your stage is built. The lead should enter.”

I picked it up. The Vito family’s annual charity gala. Location: Luca’s seaside villa. Guests: the city’s elite—both the white world and the black.

“Is the gift ready?” I asked.

Ghost appeared without sound and handed me a miniature projection control device. “Connected to the main system. Police also ‘happened’ to receive an anonymous tip and location.”

I changed into an evening gown. In the mirror, the eyes staring back were sharp—no softness left.

“Let’s go,” I said. “Time to go back and take out the trash.”