Mafia Parents Traded Me For An AI

In the days that followed, I had become the most useful tool in the household.

I cleaned more effectively than Serafina did when Mamma gave the order. I reorganized the entire library in sequence by myself at Papa's request. I moved faster than his hunting hound when Dario asked me to retrieve an item from the car.

Mamma said with a smile, "Viviana is even more obedient than Serafina now! How wonderful!"

Papa and Dario agreed to Mamma's statement.

That was until the night Dario neglected to issue the command for me to power down.

I sat on the living room couch from nightfall until daybreak while the others were asleep. It was eerily quiet throughout the estate, save for the faint gurgle of water in the radiators and the foghorn of a freighter on the distant Howling River.

It was early in the morning when Mamma came downstairs with her coffee and saw me still sitting there. She noticed that my posture hadn't shifted since the night before; even my fingers were in the exact same spot. She suddenly dropped her cup, sending shattered porcelain and coffee across the floor.

I remained entirely devoid of reaction, though.

It was then that a woman dressed in a black skirt suit came to the house. She introduced herself as Felicita Russo, my Famiglia's long-term psychiatrist. She possessed a gentle voice that had a magnetic pull to it, capable of tempting one to lower their guard. "Hello, Viviana."

I remained utterly silent.

Mamma intervened from the sidelines, sounding anxious. "You have to give her a command; otherwise, she won't respond to you."

Dr. Russo looked at Mamma, her brow furrowing slightly. She then commanded me, "Please tell me your name."

"I'm NS-5."

Dr. Russo's writing paused briefly. "I see. What is your original name then, NS-5?"

"I was Viviana Moretti, though that name is no longer in use. In accordance with the academy's regulations, graduates are required to use their designation as their official name."

Dr. Russo was visibly taken aback by the statement, while everyone in the famiglia looked grim.

In the end, they moved into the study—the space typically reserved for Papa's business consultations—and as the thick oak door closed behind them, the soundproofing swallowed all sound.

I didn't have to hear them to know what they were talking about, though.

Dr. Russo sighed deeply before leaving. "Viviana is presenting with PTSD, depersonalization, and dissociative identity disorder. She'll require extensive treatment, which could take years—or she may never recover completely."

In the days that followed, everyone in the household behaved strangely. They began to act as if they were walking on eggshells around me; they lowered their voices, and their gazes toward me became noticeably different.

Mamma would hesitate upon passing me, seemingly on the verge of speaking before choosing silence. Papa would steal extra glances at me during dinner before looking down at his plate. Dario stopped issuing me commands, though he didn't speak to me either.

It was on Serafina's birthday that everything changed—they had made a difficult decision to send Serafina away.

They threw Serafina one last birthday party, with the living room decked out in champagne gold and cream-colored balloons, colors Serafina supposedly "liked." There was even a three-tiered cake on the table, featuring floral piping of remarkable realism.

Serafina approached me, maintaining her characteristically soft demeanor. "Happy birthday, Viviana."

I looked at her as a sudden realization struck me—it was my birthday as well, though nobody remembered it.

I was shoved into a black SUV and sent to the behavioral correction academy two years ago. I tearfully asked Mamma if I could have my birthday cake first before leaving, only to be told that I could eat it once I had learned to behave and returned home.

I had become perfectly well-behaved and obedient, just as they wanted, yet they still forgot my birthday.

Serafina suddenly smiled and said, "You should push me, just like you did two years ago, Viviana. You can consider that my birthday wish."

I looked at her face, and within those eyes on that perfect, synthetically generated face, there appeared to be a momentary flicker of something.

I put my hands on her shoulders as she had requested me to push her as a birthday gift, but before I could even push her, she fell on her own.

Serafina's dress lay spread across the floor like a wilting white rose.

It was then that the living room door swung open, and Dario stood at the doorway, holding a plate of sliced fruit in his hands. He looked from the platter to the ground and finally at me, his expression ignited by a sudden, intense fury. "What the hell did you do, Viviana?"