Chapter 2: I Caught That Man's Attention
Vito Castellano:
The hallway spun. Colors bled together, sounds distorted into a roar that filled my skull. My hand found the gun automatically, muscle memory overriding the chaos in my head.
Then—a scent cut through the chemical haze. Subtle. Unfamiliar. Something floral with an undertone of... citrus? Bergamot?
The red fog lifted. My vision cleared.
A girl pressed against the wall in front of me. Champagne dress disheveled, mascara smudged beneath her eyes. She was sliding down slowly, her legs giving out, until she collapsed to her knees and wrapped her arms around my leg.
"Please—" Her voice broke. "Please, Don, I'm sorry—whatever I did—please don't—"
Tears streaked down her face. She was sobbing, the words tumbling out incoherent and desperate, her grip on my leg trembling.
The gun was still in my hand, pointed down at her.
What the hell did I just—
"Don Castellano!" Matteo's voice, urgent. "Sir, we need to move you now—"
I stepped back carefully, extracting myself from her grip. She didn't resist, just collapsed fully onto the floor, still crying.
I holstered the weapon. My hands moved automatically, straightening my jacket, but my gaze lingered on her face. That scent still clung to the air between us, sharp and centering in a way nothing else had been in months.
I turned and walked away, my men forming a protective circle around me as we moved down the corridor toward the private exit. At the corner, I looked back.
She was still there, crumpled on the floor, arms wrapped around herself.
"Matteo," I said quietly as we turned the corner. "Do you smell that?"
He paused, confusion flickering across his face. "Smell what, sir?"
"Nothing." Just me, then. Because I was close enough—her neck, her skin. "Find out who she is. Everything about her."
"Yes, Don."
Aria:
I don't remember reaching the bathroom. One moment I was frozen in that hallway, the next I was on my knees, retching over the toilet. Nothing came up, but the convulsions kept coming—pure terror and the phantom sensation of cold metal against my ribs.
He had the gun. Just like before.
A commotion outside broke through my panic.
"—Rossi's daughter is being challenged!"
"Isabella's going to lose!"
Isabella.
If I don't go out there, it'll happen again. Just like last time.
I forced myself upright, splashed cold water on my face.
The Velvet Room wasn't just a casino—it was a complex. The gambling floor occupied the main hall, but adjoining rooms hosted other entertainments. Tonight, the east wing was reserved for the Annual Luxury Perfume Competition.
That's why Isabella had come. Not for gambling—she'd come for the competition, to represent the Rossi family. I'd only tagged along as her shadow, the bastard sister who stayed two steps behind.
The memory hit me sharp and bitter.
Previous life. Same night.
I'd watched Isabella in that same hall, surrounded by vultures. Camilla—a socialite who'd always looked down on us—had been mocking her, and I'd seen my chance for attention.
"Isabella's cheating," I'd announced loudly. "I saw her buying ingredients from street vendors."
The lie had been so easy. So satisfying, watching Isabella's face crumble, watching her get disqualified.
Camilla had won. Had taken the prize money and thanked me publicly for "exposing the truth."
Isabella had forgiven me eventually. She always did.
But I'd seen the hurt in her eyes every time she looked at me after that.
Not this time.
I pulled open the door and headed toward the exhibition hall. This time, I would help Isabella win. This time, I would destroy Camilla.
The exhibition hall was separated from the casino floor by frosted glass panels. I found Isabella surrounded by predators at her display table. Mrs. De Luca held court at the center, Camilla at her right looking smug, Sophia flanking her left.
"—your family's financial difficulties must be so stressful," Mrs. De Luca was saying, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Is that why you needed your bastard sister's help?"
"I saw her running from the hallway after the shooting," Camilla added, voice pitched to carry. "Looking quite disheveled. Was she helping with the competition, or trying to seduce one of the Dons?"
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Isabella's fingers tightened on her champagne flute, but her smile remained gracious, perfectly controlled.
I stepped into the circle of light, letting my disheveled appearance speak first.
"Mrs. De Luca, you mentioned seeing me run from the hallway?" My voice came out calm, pleasant. "That hallway leads to the ladies' room. When armed men start shooting, the intelligent response is to seek cover." I paused. "Unless you're suggesting staying calm during an assassination attempt is somehow admirable?"
The titters died. Mrs. De Luca's expression hardened.
"I've learned to be pragmatic," I continued softly. "When you're born a bastard in this world, you learn survival quickly. I've never denied what I am—Antonio Rossi's illegitimate daughter. My mother died when I was fourteen, and I was brought to New York to serve my family's interests however they saw fit."
The room went quiet. I kept my eyes on Camilla, on Mrs. De Luca, on Sophia.
"But here's what's interesting about bastards in the New York families—we're everywhere. The Castellano family's old Don Salvatore has three illegitimate sons. One of them is currently a Capo." I paused. "Publicly acknowledging that is poor taste. But it's true."
Mrs. De Luca went pale. I'd just broken the cardinal rule—dragging family secrets into the light. But in doing so, I'd made it impossible to attack me without attacking half the powerful families in New York.
"My birth wasn't my choice," I said quietly. "But how I choose to live—the loyalty I show, the work I do—that is within my control." I looked at Isabella. "My sister has never treated me as less than family. I'm honored to help her."
Camilla wasn't ready to concede. "Everyone knows Isabella's perfume was created by you. That's cheating."
I pulled out my phone, opened the rules. "The official rules state participants may receive assistance from immediate family members. I'm Isabella's family. I followed her specifications. There's no violation."
I set down the phone and stepped toward Camilla's display. "But since we're discussing violations—my mother trained me in Sicilian perfume-making. I have a sensitive nose. Your perfume has interesting notes. Bergamot and vanilla from Chanel No. 5. Rose from La Vie Est Belle. That base—Tom Ford's Black Orchid?"
Camilla went white.
"You took three commercial perfumes, mixed them, and submitted the result as your own work." I met her gaze. "That's not just cheating. That's fraud."
The crowd erupted. Mrs. De Luca grabbed Camilla's arm. "We're leaving."
They swept out. The whispers grew deafening.
Isabella's hand found mine, squeezing gently. "Thank you," she said softly, her eyes bright.
Ten minutes later, the judges announced Isabella's win. Fifty thousand dollars and a magazine feature.
On stage, Isabella said clearly: "This belongs to my sister, Aria Rossi. None of this would have been possible without her."
I stood in the back, watching her glow, feeling something shift in my chest. This is who I should have been. This is what I owed her.
We walked toward the exit together, Isabella's arm linked through mine, both of us still floating on the victory. She was talking about the magazine feature, about how this would help the family's reputation, and I was thinking about how different this felt from my first life—
Three men in dark suits stepped into our path.
The Castellano family crests are on their jackets. The lead man was in his forties, with graying temples, face giving nothing away. Matteo Rizzo—the Don's consigliere.
"Miss Aria Rossi," he said. "Don Castellano requests your immediate presence."
