Chapter 3

I had barely taken a step deeper into the shadows of the alley—hadn't even gotten a clear look at the child curled up in the muddy water—when everything above me suddenly went dark.

A sack was yanked over my head.

Several hands clamped down on my arms and dragged me into a car. I fought with everything I had, but a hard punch slammed into my stomach. A sharp sting hit my neck, and my consciousness dropped straight into darkness.

When I woke up, my hands were tied tightly to an iron chair.

Once my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw the three people standing in front of me.

Isabella. Victor.

And seven-year-old Lucas, tucked affectionately into Isabella's arms.

"You spent seven years in this family, Emma. You know too many secrets you were never meant to know. That makes you a liability." Isabella threw a thick file onto my lap.

"Go ahead. Take a look. It's a full confession, detailing exactly how you used shell companies tied to the Castellano family to embezzle eight million dollars and move it into offshore accounts." She smiled. "If you say even one word about this family to the police, the FBI, or the press, this file will be on a New York prosecutor's desk before the day is over. I promise you, you'll rot to the bone in the women's unit on Rikers."

I glared at her furiously, but before I could speak, two thugs stepped forward. One locked a hand around my throat while the other wrenched my right thumb open, pressed it into red ink, and then forced my fingerprint onto the bottom of the document.

"You filthy devils..." I spat through gritted teeth.

Then Lucas stepped out from behind Isabella.

The same seven-year-old boy who had once wrapped his arms around my neck and begged for a goodnight kiss suddenly leaned forward and spat on the hem of my dress.

"Liar." Lucas's childish voice cut through my ears like a blade. "You said you loved me, but it was all fake. You just wanted to steal our family's money."

Isabella stroked Lucas's blond hair in approval. "Very good, my little warrior. One day, you'll become the greatest boss Corsica has ever seen."

Victor stepped out of the shadows and said quietly, "She signed it. Let her go."

"Let her go?" Isabella let out a cold laugh. She pulled a handgun straight from the pocket of her coat and pressed it hard against my forehead.

"Isabella!" Victor grabbed the barrel and pushed it down. "For the sake of the fact that she did give birth to Lucas, don't shoot her. Don't ruin the carpet in front of the child."

Mockery filled Isabella's eyes as she looked at him. "What is it, darling? Don't tell me you've suddenly developed sympathy for this breeding tool."

Victor released the gun without expression. "She's nothing but a useless shell."

Isabella turned and looked at Lucas with exaggerated tenderness. "Did you hear that, sweetheart? Do you hate this woman who tried to steal your future?"

Lucas stared at me.

"I hate you," he shouted, one word at a time, each one carving into my heart. "You were always so mean when you disciplined me. You forced me to learn all that useless stuff. Mama Isabella was right—you were only torturing me because you were jealous of us. You're a completely evil woman. You deserved to be thrown out. I wish you had never given birth to me!"

My heart seemed to stop beating.

I didn't even have the strength to cry.

In the end, stripped of every last shred of dignity, I was thrown out of the basement. Dragging my bruised and battered body behind me, I wandered without knowing where I was going until I ended up on the Brooklyn Bridge.

Below me, the East River churned wildly, its black water like a giant mouth waiting to swallow every bit of pain I had left.

I had lost everything. At that moment, death felt like the only escape left to me.

I climbed over the railing, closed my eyes, and prepared to let myself fall into the abyss.

Just as I was about to let go, a faint sound of crying came from a dark corner beneath the bridge.

It was the boy from last night again, curled up inside a discarded cardboard box.

He reached out a tiny hand, covered in mud and cuts, stretching weakly into the air.

"Mommy... don't leave me..."

Hot tears came crashing down my face, mixing with the rain.

I had lost my own child—a child who wanted me dead—but God had not sent me straight into hell just yet.

Maybe He had placed this abandoned child in front of me instead. A child the world had cast aside, just like me. A child who needed me.

"I'm not leaving. Mommy's here." I wiped my tears away wildly, rushed down from the bridge, wrapped my coat around his freezing body, scooped him into my arms, and ran like a madwoman toward the nearest hospital.

Meanwhile, in Manhattan, inside a hotel blazing with gold and light, the grand heir-investiture ceremony was in full swing.

Camera flashes burst one after another. Dressed in a luxurious evening gown, Isabella rested a hand on Lucas's shoulder, leaned down, and whispered to him with a smile:

"From today on, my little boss, remember this—that woman was never your mother."

The harsh fluorescent lights of the ER flooded over me and the little boy in my arms.

As a nurse pushed over a gurney, the emergency physician checked the boy's vital signs and called out, "Ma'am, what are you to this child?"

I gripped the boy's small hand tightly.

"I'm his mother."