Chapter 3

Sienna's POV

The days after taking over the family feel like a war with no end in sight. Territory redistribution, internal purges, resource integration—every move could blow up in my face. Those old bastards who wanted to watch me fail? I shut them up with my past life experience and an iron fist. Vincent's harbor rights became the turning point. Within three months, the Moretti family went from second-rate to first-rate.

At the family council meeting, Father announces it publicly. "I should've passed the position to her a long time ago."

Today, Aria invites me to a small party. I'm waiting at the agreed location when a low-key black sedan pulls up.

The window rolls down. Vincent's expressionless face appears.

"My sister had an emergency. I'm here to pick you up."

The head of the Castellano family, personally playing chauffeur?

After I get in, the silence in the car is uncomfortable.

"So... how have you been?"

"Fine."

"Nice weather today."

"Sure."

And that's it. I've got nothing.

The car weaves through several streets. Out the window, I see the territory I just took over—properties that used to belong to other families, now flying Moretti banners. In my past life, I was cannon fodder in turf wars. Now all of this is mine.

"You're doing well."

He speaks suddenly, still staring straight ahead, but there's approval in his tone. "Those old stubborn guys all fell in line. I heard you rewrote the rules."

I smile. "They don't submit to me. They submit to the rules. That's what they respect most."

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. It's the first time I've seen him smile.

My phone rings. Vivian.

Might as well let him see what "women who choose arranged marriage" look like these days. I hit speaker.

"Why aren't you answering my messages?! Are you ignoring me on purpose?!"

Vivian's voice explodes in the car. My tone stays flat. "Get to the point."

"I heard your family's doing pretty well lately. Don't forget—if I hadn't married over and stabilized the alliance, you would've been eaten alive by now! You owe me!"

In my past life, she destroyed the family. This life, she married over and I built the family up. How does she figure I owe her anything?

"And?"

"And you need to pay me back. Transfer me five million. And when I need more later, you better keep it coming."

Five million? She's actually insane.

A message pops up. My contact near the Rossi estate sent a photo—taken ten minutes ago. Marco's got his arm around some young woman, walking into an upscale club.

"Vivian, how are things with your husband lately?"

"We're great, obviously! Not like you—you don't even have a man—"

I send the photo.

A few seconds of dead silence. Then a scream pierces through the phone.

"Where is this?! Who's he with?! When was this taken?!"

I hang up. The car goes quiet again.

He comments lightly, "Your intelligence network's pretty solid."

I shrug. "In this business, you need to know things other people don't."

The corner of his mouth lifts again.

After that call, Vivian goes quiet for a while.

Until the family gathering.

Father's routine meeting with core members. Vivian shows up half an hour late and announces she's pregnant the second she walks in.

She's wearing a designer dress, stomach still flat, but she won't stop stroking it like she's already the godmother of the Rossi family. She sits across from me, superiority dripping from every word.

"What's the point of women killing themselves running families? Honestly, it's just a waste of life. Real women should support their husbands and raise children. Look at you—dealing with shootouts and negotiations every single day. How dangerous is that? When are you going to find a powerful man to protect you like I did? Oh wait, I forgot... you're still single."

I take a sip of wine and don't respond.

It's the middle of summer. The AC's blasting but it barely makes a dent in the heat. Yet she's bundled up like it's winter—long sleeves, high collar, even her neck completely covered. Her makeup's heavier than usual too, especially around her neck and wrists. The foundation's caked on way too thick.

Mother frowns. "Aren't you hot dressed like that?"

Vivian smiles immediately. "Mom, I've been so weak since getting pregnant. The doctor said I need to keep warm. It's all for the baby."

She says it like it's the most natural thing in the world, then glances at me as if to say I wouldn't understand the greatness of motherhood.

My eyes land on the side of her neck. Where the foundation doesn't quite reach, there's a purplish-blue mark. From the shape, it looks like finger bruises. Like someone grabbed her by the throat.

I set down my glass. "Vivian, what's that on your neck?"