When the Don's Pride Crumbled at My Feet

I laid Vincenzo down on the bed without bothering to take off his shoes and socks like I usually did. Without saying a word, I left the room and headed straight to the guest bedroom.

As I closed my eyes, my mind was flooded with memories of how he had spoiled me over the years.

***

Morning light streamed through the glass, warming my face. When I opened my eyes, I found Vincenzo’s gaze fixed on me, intense and focused.

He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Were you upset because last night? I'm sorry. I had too much to drink at the family meeting. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Soft and gentle, as always. I murmured a response and slipped into the bathroom, scrubbing his scent from my skin.

The breakfast table was loaded with a spread of beautifully prepared Italian dishes. There was a time when I would’ve been touched by such a gesture. But after seeing his phone, I couldn’t even force a smile. Every single dish on that table was Bianca’s favorite.

The doorbell rang and Bianca walked in, wearing a high-end designer dress fresh from the latest collection. She sat down at the table like she owned the place, smiling at me.

“Sorry to barge in, Sandra,” she said sweetly. “The boss and I are meeting with a supplier this morning and he told me to come here for breakfast.”

My gaze dropped to the keycard in her hand — the highest-level access card, identical to mine.

Vincenzo noticed the tension in the air and leaned in to explain, his voice low and soothing. “Bianca is part of the family. It’s normal for her to have access to the estate.”

Before he could finish, he suddenly stood up, alarm flashing in his eyes. He grabbed the hot coffee cup from Bianca’s hand.

“You have low blood pressure. You can’t drink espresso,” he scolded. “After all these years, you’re still so careless,” he shook his head.

Bianca smiled coyly. “Yeah, good thing you always remember.”

They locked eyes and it was as if the whole room had frozen.

I stood to leave, but Bianca’s voice stopped me.

“Sandra, the body restoration today requires professional documentation. Can you handle the photography? I don’t trust the new forensic guy.”

After my father’s brutal death, I hadn’t picked up a camera since. Every time I looked through a lens, I remembered how he had taught me to snap evidence in an instant — remembered the agony in his eyes as he was tortured.

Vincenzo knew this.

That’s why he had locked away all my photography equipment, telling me to wait until I was ready. But now, without even asking, he shoved me into the back seat of the bulletproof SUV.

“Sandra, can you sit in the back? You know B gets carsick.”

He’d forgotten. After years of running for my life, my motion sickness was far worse than Bianca’s.

The bumpy ride left my stomach churning.

When we arrived at the morgue, Vincenzo personally checked Bianca’s protective gear, helping her adjust it with meticulous care before leading her into the restoration room. I leaned against the car door, struggling to catch my breath and calm the dizziness.

“Hurry up, Sandra. The restoration is about to start. Stop being difficult,” Vincenzo said, grabbing my arm. “This documentation is critical for both Bia and the family.”

My balance wavered as he pushed me inside and my equipment nearly slipped from my hands.

Five years. Five years since I last held a camera. Fear wrapped around me like a steel vice. My hands trembled so badly, I could barely press the shutter. But I forced myself to breathe, to focus. I began methodically documenting the restoration process. As we reached half the process, Vincenzo left—leaving only Bianca and me in the room. She glanced at my photos with a cold smirk curling her lips.

“Isn't it pathetic how useless you are, just like your father, Alessandra?” her voice dripped with contempt. “The audacity to infiltrate the mafia, only to fail at keeping your cover.”

“The daughter of a traitor like you,” Bianca’s smile sharpened, “doesn’t deserve to stand beside the Godfather of Sicily.”

Then came the sharp crack of skin against skin. My head snapped to the side as a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. Bianca had slapped me.

My breath hitched. My hands tightened around the camera until my knuckles turned white, fury burning beneath my skin.

Bianca’s eyes glittered with malice. “I didn’t think you’d be so pathetic. The second Raffaele tossed you aside, you latched onto Vincenzo like some desperate stray.”

My face burned, but I held my ground.