No One Told the Cripple the Story Was Fake

The five letters burned into my vision, searing through my eyes and making them sting. Falcone. Their famiglia, because it had never been mine, had never carried my blood in the way that mattered.

I drifted back to the estate in a daze, collapsing onto the bed and staring blankly at the ceiling. Time lost meaning, slipping away unnoticed until a familiar voice past the door, low and easy the way a made man's voice is always easy, jolted me back.

They had returned.

The bedroom door creaked open and Lorenzo stepped inside. Without hesitation he crossed to my bedside and bent down, wrapping his arms around me.

"Wife, I'm sorry. Family business has kept me busy these past few days. I haven't had time to be here with you."

"The day after tomorrow is your birthday," he continued. "I spoke with your father and mother. We've decided to throw you a grand celebration."

Silence.

I didn't respond. Didn't even look at him.

He pressed a lingering kiss to my forehead, tucked the blanket around me like I was something fragile, then smoothed the front of his jacket flat with one palm and turned and left.

And then, like a wave crashing through my mind, I remembered.

Five years ago. My birthday.

That was the day my parents had announced my alliance to Lorenzo before the whole Family. The day Vittoria had lost control, blinded by rage, and run me down in the drive, crippling me.

And in the five years since I had been brought back under this roof, I had remained an outsider. No matter how much I tried, I could never behave the way Vittoria did in front of my parents, petted, indulged, sure of her place.

At my own birthday banquet I had always been a shadow, forgotten in the background, while Vittoria stood at the center, surrounded by capos and their wives I didn't even know.

She had once sneered, "Only I deserve this banquet. You, a foundling out of some shelter, deserve nothing."

She had always basked in the thrill of stealing my spotlight. Tonight would be no different, would it?

I knew her too well.

So when she appeared at my birthday banquet, draped in a server's uniform with a mask obscuring her face, I felt nothing. Not a flicker of surprise. Not even a ripple of emotion.

And yet, the moment my family recognized her, their reactions were anything but calm.

"What are you doing here? Are you out of your mind?" My father's voice went sharp with panic, low enough not to carry past our circle. "If she finds out, everything we've buried these years comes back up."

But my mother, ever the doting protector, rushed to defend her.

"She hasn't been home in so many years. She just misses her family," she pleaded softly, her fingers brushing the crucifix at her throat. "Why must you be so harsh?"

"She's dressed like this anyway. Adriana won't recognize her."

Lorenzo, of course, was moved by her act, as he always had been.

And then, in that familiar, saccharine tone, Vittoria murmured, "Honey, today is my birthday too. I want to cut the cake later."

Lorenzo barely hesitated. "Alright," he said smoothly. "Since Adriana's in the chair and it's difficult for her, you can do it."

And just like that, right before my eyes, Vittoria stole what was meant to be mine.

She stepped forward, lifted the knife and cut into my banquet cake, a towering thing over a meter tall.

She took it a step further, her malice on full display as she sliced the chocolate figure of me clean in half.

Then, without warning, a loud bang.

She shoved the cake stand toward me with force. Gasps rippled through the hall and every pair of eyes snapped in our direction. Near the walls, two of the Family's soldiers shifted their weight, hands drifting under their jackets before they read the room and went still.

The metal support inside the stand nearly struck my face.

Lorenzo rushed over, his expression tight with concern. "Wife, are you okay?"

Then, with perfect timing, he turned and snapped at Vittoria.

"Clumsy. You can't even cut a cake properly. Get out of here."

I lowered my gaze, masking the sarcasm flickering in my eyes.

How laughable.

He had seen it. He had watched her do it on purpose, yet his reaction was flawlessly staged. He smoothed his jacket down once more, brushing off something only he could feel.

The ideal son-in-law my parents had chosen was clever, calculating and always knew what to say.

At his outburst my parents exhaled in relief, waving an associate over to clear the mess.

The grand hall buzzed with life once more and Lorenzo slipped back into his role as the perfect host, moving among the guests, refilling glasses, laughing at the right moments.

The air felt suffocating.

I needed to leave.

Just as I moved to wheel myself away, a pair of hands suddenly gripped the handles of my wheelchair.

Vittoria pushed me toward the garden, her grip firm on the handles.

"Sister, long time no see," she purred, smugness lacing every syllable.

"Did you notice? When they sang the birthday song earlier, every single pair of eyes was on me."

"So many years have passed, and still they love me more than you."

"You should've stayed a foundling," she sneered. "Why did you come back, trying to compete with me? Look at you now. Crippled, stuck with a husband who was never yours to begin with. If I were you, I wouldn't have the dignity to live another day."

I pressed my thumb hard against the inside of my wrist, the old spot where the IV line once sat, and tilted my head up. My gaze was steady as I met hers.

"The only one who should be ashamed is you." My voice was calm, but every word hit like a blade.

"The man you wanted was set to be bound to me under the Family's law, so you resorted to the lowest tactics to steal him, and nearly ended up buried in the ground for it. And now?" I let my lips curl into a faint smile. "You're nothing but a ghost. Forced to live in hiding, change your name, never dare to show your real face. Even now, just to stand in front of me, you have to disguise yourself like this."

"Tell me, Vittoria. Who's really the pathetic one here?"