He Used Me to Rise, Then Knelt to Beg

The contents of my trunk were carefully selected pieces I had acquired at private auctions through the Family's art-laundering channels, items I hadn't yet had the chance to display at the estate. Each one was valuable beyond measure.

But my warning only seemed to provoke her further.

"It's an insult for something like you to own a masterpiece!" Serafina snapped, her face twisting with disdain. "Trash like you should only have trash!"

Before I could react, she tore the painting apart right in front of me, ripping it into pieces without the slightest hesitation. Then she threw the shredded fragments to the ground and stomped on them repeatedly, her expression filled with vicious satisfaction.

Teresa, who had been watching from the side, suddenly gasped as she leaned closer to the ruined pieces. Her thumb rubbed quick and nervous against the side of her forefinger. "That painting... it's an original from a master," she said, her voice shaking. "I heard it started at a three-hundred-million-dollar auction."

Serafina didn't even flinch. She simply shrugged, completely unconcerned. "So what if it's worth three hundred million?" she said dismissively. "That's still my husband's money."

She crossed her arms, her tone arrogant and absolute. "And what belongs to him belongs to me. I can do whatever I want with my own things."

Her words were so absurd that for a moment, I didn't even know how to respond.

Damian, the man they all worshipped as some powerful Don, was nothing more than an opportunist with no real foundation. Even after being given control of the Bellandi operations, he had managed to bleed nearly half the value from the Family's legitimate fronts through sheer incompetence. If not for certain constraints my Bellandi had imposed, I would have had him stripped of his crew long ago.

Yet in their eyes, he was a figure to admire, someone worth envying.

With Serafina taking the lead, the others eagerly followed, tearing through the remaining contents of my trunk, destroying everything they could get their hands on. Laundered collectibles, church gifts meant for display in the compound's private gallery, pieces that had passed through three intermediaries before reaching me. Watching them descend into such madness, I realized there was no point in trying to stop them.

Silently, I took out my phone and prepared to call the police.

But before I could even dial, Serafina suddenly lunged at me, snatching the phone from my hand and smashing it onto the ground with force. The screen shattered instantly.

"Calling the cops now?" she scoffed, glaring at me. "You shameless goomah. What right do you have?"

Her gaze then shifted downward, landing on the pendant around my neck. The cross my Blackwood had carried back from her pilgrimage. Serafina's eyes lit up with interest, a greedy glint flashing across them. "That necklace looks expensive," she said slowly. "Did you buy it with my husband's money too?"

Before I could react, she reached out and yanked the necklace off my neck with brutal force.

The sudden pain caught me off guard. My breath hitched as I instinctively reached for it, my face paling. "Give it back!" I shouted, my voice sharp with urgency.

My thumb found nothing where the jagged edge of the cross should have been. Just bare skin, and a rawness at my throat where the chain had torn free.

Seeing the panic flash across my face, Serafina's lips curled into a slow, satisfied smirk. Her eyes gleamed with unmistakable malice, as if she had finally found the reaction she'd been waiting for.

"Getting nervous now, are we?" she mocked, lifting the necklace slightly as it dangled from her fingers. "This must be worth quite a lot, huh?"

A surge of urgency and desperation rushed through me, tightening my chest. I shook my head immediately, my voice trembling despite my effort to stay composed.

"It's not about the money," I said quickly, my eyes fixed on the necklace in her hand. "It's important to me. Just give it back."

Without thinking, I stepped forward and reached out, trying to snatch it from her grasp. My movements were instinctive, driven by something far deeper than reason.