Chapter 3
The guards threw me onto the cellar floor.
Every bone in my body seemed to ache. I curled up in the corner, struggling to stay conscious.
The darkness brought back memories I'd spent months trying to bury.
The men in Scampia. Their cruel faces. Their laughter. The helplessness of knowing that no one was coming to save me.
The memories played over and over in my mind until I could barely tell them apart from the present.
I tried to make a sound, but no one came.
I had no idea how much time passed before a sudden burst of pain dragged me back to consciousness.
When I opened my eyes, Lucia was standing over me.
She held a leather riding crop stained with blood.
"Well, well. Look at you, Isabella." Her lips curled into a cruel smile. "Aren't you supposed to be the proud daughter of the Falcone family? How did you end up like this?"
Instinctively, I curled tighter into myself.
"Why?" My voice was barely audible. "I've always tried to be good to you..."
Lucia didn't answer. She simply raised the crop again.
The blows came so quickly that my vision blurred.
"You're the one who shouldn't exist!" she spat. "You were born into the right family, and that was all it took for you to get everything I've ever wanted!"
Her eyes burned with resentment.
"Do you have any idea what it's like to watch you take everything while I have to pretend to be grateful for scraps?"
Lucia had been brought into the Falcone household when we were young. Officially, she was my cousin, a girl who'd lost her parents and needed a home.
From the moment she arrived, everyone treated her like a precious treasure.
My parents indulged her. Marcello protected her. Even Dante seemed unable to resist her tears.
She was given everything she asked for, while I gradually became the person everyone blamed whenever something went wrong.
I'd been the one pushed aside, the one ignored, the one sacrificed to keep her happy.
And somehow, it still hadn't been enough.
"You have no idea what you've done to me!" Lucia screamed.
The pain became unbearable. My consciousness flickered, and the cellar floor seemed to tilt beneath me.
Through the haze, I thought I saw Marcello standing in the doorway.
My older brother looked startled. "Lucia, what the hell are you doing?"
Lucia froze. "I—I came to check on Isabella. This wasn't me. I didn't do this!"
Marcello's gaze shifted toward me.
For a moment, I hoped he'd come to my side.
Instead, he looked at me with the same cold contempt I'd seen in everyone else.
"Forget it. She needs to learn a lesson. If she got beaten, she probably brought it on herself." He spoke as casually as if we'd been arguing over dinner.
There wasn't a trace of concern in his voice.
I lay on the freezing floor, too weak to respond.
All I could feel was the cold, seeping into my bones.
When I woke again, I was in a hospital bed.
Marcello stood beside me, looking down with an expression that held no warmth.
"I know Lucia was the one who hurt you," he said. "But don't you dare tell anyone."
I stared at the ceiling.
"After everything you've done to her, you got what was coming to you."
My throat felt raw as I asked, "What exactly have I done to her?"
Marcello frowned impatiently.
"You've bullied her since the day she came into our family. You even took Dante away from her. How much more do you think she has to put up with?"
I was so tired of those accusations.
Ever since Lucia had arrived, every time she cried, I became the villain.
If she fell, I'd pushed her. If a toy broke, I'd broken it. If she failed an exam, I'd somehow sabotaged her.
And Dante?
I'd been drugged that night, too. I'd never planned for any of it to happen. But nobody wanted to hear the truth.
To them, every explanation was just another lie.
I closed my eyes.
I was tired of fighting. Tired of defending myself. Tired of hoping that someone in my own family might finally believe me.
After Marcello left, a doctor entered with my examination results.
He looked grave. "Is there a family member we can speak to about your condition?"
"I don't have anyone," I replied quietly. "It's just me."
The doctor hesitated. "All right. I'll explain it to you directly."
He glanced at the report.
"You have extensive internal injuries. Several organs have been damaged, and your kidneys are in particularly bad shape. Some of these injuries appear to have gone untreated for a long time."
I tried to smile, but the muscles in my face barely moved.
The repeated fevers I'd suffered in Scampia had left me with serious facial nerve damage. Even making a simple expression had become difficult.
"What happens to me now?" I asked.
The doctor took a slow breath.
"If your condition stabilizes and you receive proper care, you might have six months. But if things continue to deteriorate at their current rate..."
He paused.
"You may have as little as two weeks."
I stared at him.
Then, unexpectedly, I felt a strange sense of peace.
So it was true.
I really was going to die.
