Chapter 1

Born seven minutes apart, my twin sister Fiorella and I were supposed to share everything.

But in the Vescari family, there was never enough love for both daughters.

I was the healthy, capable twin who never needed help. Fiorella was the fragile one who needed protecting. 

So our father, New York's most feared Don, gave her everything—his attention, his protection, and eventually, the future I had worked so hard to earn.

Even Adrian Moretti, the man who had once fallen in love with me at first sight, couldn't resist Fiorella's tearful eyes.

I had a prestigious job offer from a London research institute owned by another powerful mafia family. 

But I kept waiting for my own family to give me a place in theirs.

They never did.

So I finally accepted the offer and walked away from New York.

...

I had just sent my acceptance email to Bellandi Advanced Materials Institute when my eyes began to sting.

For seven days, I had left the offer unanswered, waiting for someone in my family to ask what I planned to do after graduation.

No one had.

"Lavinia!"

My mother's voice came from the drawing room.

"Why are you still upstairs? Your sister needs comforting. Come down."

I locked my phone and went downstairs.

Fiorella sat on the sofa, her eyes red. Adrian Moretti, my fiancé, was beside her, rubbing her back. Mother held her hand, while Father and my brother Marco stood nearby.

A rejection email was open on Fiorella's phone.

"I didn't get the job," she whispered. "Maybe I'm just not good enough."

Mother pulled her into an embrace. "Don't say that. That company clearly doesn't know talent when it sees it."

Fiorella had applied to the company without using the Vescari name. She wanted to prove she could get a job on her own. But she hadn't made it past the interview.

Father took the phone from her and glanced at the email.

"Forget that place. I've already arranged something better. You'll be joining Vescari Holdings as Director of Strategic Partnerships. Marco will help you settle in, and we'll announce your appointment at the Winter Gala."

Fiorella looked up, startled. "Really, Papa?"

"Of course. You're my daughter. You shouldn't have to settle for less."

Marco smiled. "I'll have an office prepared for you. You can work with my team until you get used to the business."

Adrian brushed a strand of hair from Fiorella's cheek. "See? You don't need to worry. We're all here for you."

I stood a few steps away, still holding my phone.

No one had asked whether I had found a job.

Mother finally noticed me. "Lavinia, why are you just standing there? Say something. Your sister is upset."

"Congratulations," I said.

Fiorella gave me a small, tearful smile. "Thank you, Lavi. I'm sorry for making everyone worry."

"It's fine."

Mother frowned at my tone. "You don't have to sound so cold. She's had a difficult day."

I said nothing. In this family, even my silence could be considered an offense if it failed to comfort Fiorella.

We were twins, born seven minutes apart. I was the healthy one, the capable one. Fiorella had been sickly since birth, and every fever or fainting spell sent our parents into a panic.

They had spent our childhood protecting her from every possible disappointment. If Fiorella had a fever, Mother canceled appointments and Father sent for the family doctor. If I was sick, I was told to rest and stop making a fuss.

I learned early not to ask for the same attention.

When we applied to university, I earned my place at MIT through my grades. My parents secured Fiorella's admission to a prestigious private college through a generous donation.

They celebrated her acceptance with a family dinner and a diamond necklace. When my MIT letter arrived, he merely told me to keep working hard.

At university, I spent long nights in laboratories, often staying after my classmates had gone home. I earned research awards and graduated with honors in Materials Science. I had thought that might finally make them proud.

Apparently, I was wrong.

And Adrian hadn't always overlooked me. Three years ago, at a charity gala, he had fallen for me at first sight. He was the eldest son of the Moretti family, one of our closest mafia allies.

He pursued me, remembered every detail about me, and was the one who asked me to marry him.

But Fiorella had always known how to draw his attention.

Whenever she felt unwell or looked close to tears, he forgot whatever plans he had made with me.

During my third year at MIT, I once suffered an acute bout of gastritis outside the laboratory. I could barely stand, so I called Adrian and asked him to take me to the hospital.

He hesitated.

"Fiorella has an important presentation tomorrow. She's nervous, and she needs me to help her practice. You're independent, Lavinia. Can't you take a cab?"

A stranger driving past saw me doubled over and helped me into the emergency room.

My fiancé had not.

Perhaps I had been too good at pretending I never needed anyone. They had grown used to it.

After a while, Mother finally asked, "What about you, Lavinia? Have you found a job?"

Before I could answer, Father waved a hand.

"With that major, what kind of position does she expect to find? She can start somewhere ordinary."

Marco glanced at me. "You should find something soon. You can't keep living at home after graduation."

Adrian offered, "If you can't find anything, I can ask my company about an administrative or receptionist position."

He sounded as though he were doing me a favor.

I looked down at my phone.

Bellandi Advanced Materials Institute was based in London and owned by one of Europe's most powerful mafia families.

The Bellandis and Vescari had business ties, but their family was independent of ours. Working for them meant stepping outside the protection and expectations of my own family.

The institute had offered me a research position in its advanced materials division. The salary was excellent, and I would be joining an international project I had spent years hoping to work on.

I had hesitated for seven days.

I wanted to join Vescari Holdings. Our family had its own materials division, and I wanted to earn my place there through my work—not because I was Don Vescari's daughter. I also knew what people in New York would say if I went to work for another family.

But my father had already made room for Fiorella. He had never even asked what I wanted. At the Winter Gala, he would stand before New York's most influential families and announce her new title. I wondered whether he would remember to mention that I had graduated at all.

I reopened the acceptance confirmation and read it once more.

No one in the room noticed when I put my phone away.

Let them arrange Fiorella's future.

In three days, I would leave the Vescari estate and begin a new life in London.