She stood before the mirror, trying on dresses for the meeting. There was no rush; the impression she made on Moretti’s allies had to last.

She expected beasts at the table, the kind that wouldn’t hesitate to bite.

Especially their leader.

He would be there. Of that, she was sure.

A knock came at the door.

She looked over her shoulder.

“Open.”

Matteo, the butler, stepped inside.

“She’s here,” he said quietly. “Alessia Moretti.”

Mara handed the chosen dress to her stylist. “How many bags?”

“None. She said she isn’t staying long.”

She better not, Mara thought.

She turned to Matteo. “Where is she?”

“She’s downstairs,” he replied.

“Give me fifteen minutes. I’ll be down.”

The door closed.

“I feel bloated.” She checked her figure. “Must be all the feeding from the leeches.”

A short while later, Mara descended the stairs in a short white gown, slightly above the knee; her hair was tied into a tight bun, she kept her makeup light, and she barely wore any jewelry.

Alessia watched her approach without rising. “You should be in black,” she said.

Mara’s heels tapped across the floor. “Good morning to you, too,” she said with a forced smile.

“You should be wearing black,” Alessia repeated.

Mara took no offense to it, but her smile faded.

“No need to be performative. I’ve always hated the color. Just because Victor is dead doesn’t mean I’ll pretend to wear it,” Mara said.

She searched for an empty chair and sat.

“I always knew your true colors would show someday.”

“Really? Mrs. Garcia—sorry, Alessia. I keep forgetting you’re divorced.” Mara kept a straight face. “I have chosen to wear this to mourn my husband.”

“Spare me the façade. We both know you’re mourning no one.”

Mara held her tongue. Alessia was in trouble, and it was too early to start a war with Victor’s family.

“Tea or coffee?” she asked, shifting the tone.

“Save it. I wouldn’t touch anything you offered.”

It was hard getting on her good side.

Mara was trying her best not to be riled up by Alessia’s reaction to her, but deep down, she knew Alessia was doing this on purpose.

“You don’t like me,” Mara said, adjusting her seat. “Let’s not pretend otherwise.”

Alessia chuckled and crossed her legs. “Glad we understand each other.”

“Yes.”

Alessia tilted her head, glancing around. “He would’ve preferred her here, you know.”

Mara didn’t ask who she meant. She already knew.

“I know,” she said with a nod. “But she left. Remember?”

“She was chased out,” Alessia’s voice didn’t waver.

Mara held her gaze. “Then you should’ve fought to bring her back.”

“Suddenly, you have more than one word to say,” Alessia said with a dry laugh.

She rose from her seat, moving about the house while Mara sat there watching.

Alessia paused by the large framed portrait of her brother. She touched it gently, and a tear slid down her cheek.

“He’d still be alive today,” she said quietly.

Mara rolled her eyes; she checked her phone. Time was ticking; she had people waiting on her.

“I don’t believe it was a heart attack,” Alessia said. “Victor was perfectly fine the week I visited.”

He was close to seventy… Mara thought to herself.

“I know what I was told. The doctor said it was an attack. The reports are there.”

“And you believed that?”

“It was in the report. I’m not a doctor, Alessia. I can only go by what I’m told.” Mara rose to her feet.

“I have a meeting.”

“Of course. Taking over Victor’s property must be sweeter than finding out what killed him,” Alessia said.

“I never said that.”

“He married you because of your father. I looked in those cold eyes and saw what you are. You never cared for him. When you were supposed to be here, you disappeared. Five years gone. Seven years of marriage—and you were barely present,” Alessia said.

It didn’t sting. Her words never had.

Mara married a man older than her father. She learned to care for him, but never in a way Alessia appreciated her for.

“I heard you’re not staying long,” she said, steering the conversation elsewhere.

“I’m sure you’re thrilled. You’ve been trying to get rid of me since I walked in,” Alessia said. “You couldn’t even offer me a cup of coffee.”

“I did. You rejected it.”

Alessia paused.

“If you’d brought it instead of asking, would I have said no?” she replied.

Mara stayed quiet. Alessia was reaching—bored, maybe, or bitter.

“What was I expecting from you?” Alessia said, brushing past. “You’ve always been one-dimensional. Nothing behind those eyes. And now you own everything my brother and his wife built.”

“I’m his wife. Legally.”

“Not you. You don’t even know what built the Moretti name. You’re just reaping where you never sowed,” Alessia said bluntly.

She remembered it word for word. Nikolai had said the same thing.

“My brother’s mistake led to his downfall. He died alone. And now, an imposter takes over what he worked for—someone who knows nothing of this family.”

“You underestimate me.”

“Well, if the shoe fits.”

Alessia turned away, picking up her bag.

“Enjoy the house, Mara,” she said, voice soft but cutting. “Your name’s on paper. Mine is in blood.”

She didn’t wait for a reply.

The staff followed, closing the door behind her.

Mara didn’t move.

She allowed herself to breathe.

After a full minute, she crossed to the window and watched the black car vanish beyond the gates.

She picked up her phone and dialed.

When the line connected, she skipped pleasantries.

“I need everything on Alessia Moretti,” she said. “Where she’s been. Who she’s seen. How she’s paying for it.”

Silence.

“Yes. Start from a year ago.”

She ended the call. Her eyes stayed on the window. Her voice was cold.

“They’re all coming for me.”