I ran from Chicago the night I found my husband with my own sister,

The basement of the Bellini compound was not a damp, medieval dungeon; it was a secure, soundproofed interrogation suite built with concrete and reinforced steel.

The heavy iron door swung open with a hollow clang.

Clara sat bound to a metal chair beneath a harsh overhead spotlight. Her expensive silk blouse was wrinkled, her designer makeup smeared with stale tears, and her eyes wide with animalistic terror.

When the door clicked shut behind us, Clara looked up.

When she saw me standing beside Marco—alive, breathing, and radiating absolute power—her breath hitched.

"E-Elena?" Clara stammered, her voice trembling. "How... how are you alive? The Moretti men said the house in West Virginia was leveled—"

I walked slowly toward her, my heels clicking against the concrete floor like the ticking of a doom clock. I stopped two feet away from her chair, looking down at my sister with absolute, freezing contempt.

"You thought you killed me twice, didn't you, Clara?" I said softly. "Once in Chicago with the scopolamine, and once in West Virginia with a squad of hitmen."

Clara shook her head frantically, tears spilling over her cheeks. "It wasn't me! It was the Morettis! They forced me! I had no choice!"

"Don't lie!" I snapped, the three years of built-up agony finally breaking through. I slapped her across the face with a sharp, stinging crack that echoed off the concrete walls. "You poisoned Marco! You tried to steal my husband, my life, and my home! And then you hunted us down like animals!"

Clara winced, holding her stinging cheek, her facade completely shattering. A hideous, ugly sneer twisted her features. "Fine! Yes, I did it! Do you know what it’s like growing up in your shadow, Elena? Always the smart sister, the pretty sister, the one everyone loved! Marco was supposed to be mine before you ever batted your eyelashes at him!"

"He was never yours," Marco growled, stepping out of the shadows, his amber eyes blazing with murderous rage. "He loved me," Clara screamed hysterically. "And you ruined it all!"

I leaned down, my face inches from hers, my voice dropping into a chilling whisper. "You didn't win, Clara. And you never will."

I turned to Marco. "Hand me the tablet, Marco."

Marco handed me the digital tablet containing the comprehensive financial audit Enzo’s team had compiled over the last twenty-four hours.

"Clara," I said, scrolling through the screen. "Did you know that the Moretti syndicate never intended to share their empire with you? According to these bank records, your accounts in the Cayman Islands were frozen by Julian Moretti yesterday morning. They were planning to eliminate you the moment I was out of the picture."

Clara’s face went ghost white. "No... that's a lie. They promised me protection—"

"They promised you nothing," I said, tossing the tablet onto her lap. "And now, you're going to spend the rest of your life in a federal penitentiary for conspiracy to commit murder, wire fraud, and treason against two syndicates."