Chapter 1

My daughter Lily was shot while she was performing on her own stage.

I rushed forward to shield her, and a speaker crashed down onto my right shoulder. The bone shattered.

My husband, Vincent, “shot the gunman dead” at once and sealed off the entire opera house.

When I woke up in the hospital room, the pain almost suffocated me. My right shoulder was wrapped in thick bandages, and when I tried to raise my arm, all I felt was a numb.

“…This isn’t what we agreed on.” The doctor’s voice was low and unsteady. “We only needed her blood sample for matching. Why did it have to go this far?”

“Lily’s blood type is a perfect match. This is the best possible outcome,” Vincent said. “I married Elena for this moment. I’ve been waiting for it.”

The doctor was silent for a few seconds. “But she’s your daughter… even if she is a Salaceno.”

Vincent cut him off. “You know how long an artificial heart can last. Camila’s daughter won’t hold out for long. I can’t put her through another surgery.”

“Camila’s child is the one I should cherish.”

At that moment, my blood ran cold. In his eyes, my daughter was nothing but an organ container.

He had no idea. All that talk about protecting his precious daughter—she wasn't even his.

—

When the doctor examined my wound, his brows were tightly knitted.

“The situation is very bad,” he said urgently. “The blood vessels in her shoulder are badly damaged. We need that special batch of anticoagulant. Sir, should we transfer some from Ms. Camila’s stock?”

Vincent stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes resting on my pale face.

“No,” he said. “Elena recovers quickly. She doesn’t need it.”

The doctor froze. “This concerns whether she’ll be able to use this arm in the future—”

“That’s enough.” Vincent interrupted him. “I’m keeping that medication for Sofia. She’ll need it after surgery. You know how rare that kind of anticoagulant is. There won’t be a second batch.”

“Right now, you should be focusing on the post‑operative survival rate and rejection in the heart transplant, not wasting energy on a broken arm.”

At that moment his assistant came in and handed him a phone.

I heard the voice on the other end—the same man Vincent had supposedly “shot dead” at the opera house.

“Thanks for the setup,” the hoarse voice laughed. “The place was cleared nice and clean, and the lights went off right on time.”

“The money and new identity you promised me—”

Vincent turned and walked out onto the balcony, lowering his voice. “You’ll get everything I promised you. Just keep your mouth shut. I don’t want any complications.”

The doctor and nurses finished bandaging me in a hurry and almost fled the room.

Once the door closed, I finally broke down.

Hot tears slid down my cheeks and dripped onto my wound. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the emptiness inside me.

Years of marriage had been a carefully planned lie.

Just yesterday, Lily had asked, “Mom, I’ve practiced this aria for so long. Do you think Dad will be proud of me tonight?”

The light in her eyes had been so bright.

Vincent Corleone, you are not worthy of being a father at all!

Hearing me sob, Vincent came in from the balcony, wearing exactly the right look of concern on his face.

He sat down by the bed and reached out to gently wipe the tear tracks from my face. His fingers were ice‑cold.

“Don’t cry,” he said hoarsely. “Does it hurt that much? Just bear with it a little longer. It’ll pass.”

“I failed to protect you two. I’m sorry.” He lowered his eyes. “I won’t let you go through anything like this again.”

But isn’t he the one who brought all of this down on us?

I used all my strength to lift my left hand and hammered it against his chest. “Lily… where is my Lily?” My voice was completely broken.

He didn’t dodge. He let me hit him until I was utterly spent.

“Don’t do this to yourself, Elena,” he said softly. “For Lily’s peace, I’ve already made the proper arrangements. She’s been cremated.”

He had even taken away my last chance to see my daughter.

Pain and fury made my whole body shake. Cold sweat soaked through the hospital gown.

I struggled up from the bed, “Take me to that opera house. She must still be there, right? I’m going there to find her.”

Vincent stopped me, “Elena, that opera house… no longer belongs to us.”

“That building cost a fortune,” he said flatly. “Now it’s lost its meaning. I’ve donated it—for charitable music education. Very soon, it’ll be filled with children’s singing, instead of sad memories.”

He even tried to make all of this sound reasonable.

“This is what Lily would want to see,” he said. “She was so kind. She definitely wouldn’t blame me for this.”