The morning sun shined beautifully through the curtains when I opened my eyes. My body felt exhausted both physically and mentally, especially with all that had been going on, but there was no time to linger in bed. Today, I'm supposed to follow Mr. Moretti to the office today. Even with my keen hatred for the job, I didn't want to spoil the optimism he had. It's been a while I saw him that way since mum left.

I got up, prepared and got dressed in corporate before heading down to get breakfast. He was already seated, his black coffee steaming, a newspaper folded beside him like it held secrets instead of news.“Sit,” he ordered softly. I did. A servant placed breakfast in front of me, though I hardly had an appetite. “You’re rising faster than most ever did,” my father said, his voice deep, unreadable. “But speed attracts enemies." Some will doubt you. "Some will despise you. He paused, sipping his coffee. “Let them.” I lifted my fork, my hand steadier than I expected. “And if they try to challenge me? His gaze cut into me like steel. Then crush them. That’s how leaders are made. Sometimes it's charisma, other times it's fear. My fork hovered in midair. Was that what he wanted me to become another shadow of him? A leader forged in fear instead of love? The idea curdled in my chest, but the hunger in his eyes told me it didn’t matter what I wanted.

The weight of his words settled over me heavier than the food I barely touched. Hours later, in the heart of the office, the air shifted when I walked in. Men in tailored suits straightened. Women glanced at me, lips curling with hidden sneers. My father called me forward. “From this day,” he announced, his voice echoing against the marble walls, “Elisa will hold the rank of Vice president of this company." She speaks with my authority. A ripple of murmurs swept the room. Some bowed their heads in respect. Others exchanged sharp whispers, their envy thick enough to choke on. My palms itched. I wanted to shout, to tell them I’d survived things that would’ve broken them in half. Instead, I let their words carve into me like fresh scars. I promised myself I’d make them regret it.

“She’s too young.”

“She’s only here because she’s his daughter.”

“She’ll crumble…” I heard every word. Each syllable pressed against my skin like a blade. But I kept my head high, refusing to flinch. My father’s voice boomed again. “Whoever doubts her… doubts me.” The room fell silent. His threat was the kind that didn’t need repeating. Still, I could feel the resentment coiling in the corners of the room. It was a warning, clear and loud, my fight wasn’t just against outsiders anymore. It was within these walls too. And somewhere deep inside, I decided: let them doubt me. I would make them choke on it. If there was one thing I hated, it was being underestimated. It sparks something wild within with an urge to prove whoever is concerned, wrong!

I sank into the leather chair in my office, fingers tracing the edge of the desk like it might tell me who I was supposed to be now. The silence was heavy, but for once it didn’t feel like a cage. It felt… mine. A knock broke it. The secretary leaned in. “Miss Elisa, your father requests your presence.” My pulse jumped. When Mr. Moretti requested, you didn’t keep him waiting. I walked into his office, the smell of cigars and power clinging to the walls. He didn’t look up immediately, just swirled the whiskey in his glass like he was weighing my future inside it. Finally, his eyes found me. “Elisa,” he said, voice steady, sharp, “the time has come for you to step further." The Mafia world has an old tradition of playing games, conducted from generation to generation. Games I played when I was your age. Games you will play too.

“Games?” My pulse stumbled. Games. That was his word for blood. For traps. For survival matches where the prize was breathing another day. My childhood ended the moment my mother walked out, but this… this felt like the nail in its coffin. “Yes, games. Made to rest you and train you to become a mafia. The statement twisted in my stomach. This wasn’t about fun. It was survival, power dressed up like sport. He leaned forward, gaze burning. “Tomorrow night is the Gala." Every family, every empire worth something will be there. You will be there too. Beside me. After that, you'll be traveling with the other kids to participate in the games. My throat tightened and it felt like I was gasping for air.

The Gala wasn’t just a party. It was a stage. A test. A place where enemies shook hands with smiles, and daggers hid beneath silk. “Prepare yourself, figlia mia,” he said, softer now but deadlier. “After tomorrow, there will be no turning back." They will see you. Judge you. "Challenge you.” His words pinned me where I stood. I nodded, but inside, I felt the ground shifting, pulling me into a world I couldn’t climb out of.

I was still replaying my father’s words when the door burst open. Valerie didn’t even knock, she just barged in, a flash of red silk clutched in her arms. She spread it out on my desk like it was some holy offering.

"Oh great, she's a murderer and a designer. Great multitask babe" I chipped in.

“Don’t you dare. You think I wanted that blood on my hands? Your father gave the order, Selene. I did it for you. To keep you alive.”

“Don’t you dare pin this on me or my father. You pulled the trigger, Valerie. Not him. Not me. You. Save me?? He's my father. He wouldn't have done anything to me or you”

"I'm sorry okay. Maybe I panicked, please let's get past this"

"It won't be that easy "

“Well tonight, you’re not just showing up, Elisa you’re arriving,” she continued, her grin wicked. I stared at the dress. It was bold, too bold. “This? It’s… a little much. Valerie arched a brow. “Much is exactly what you need." You’ll be hot. S*xy. Irresistible.

Who knows,

Maybe even catch yourself a romantic partner, a prince charming, between all those boring mafia speeches.” She winked, like the thought amused her. I rolled my eyes, but my chest tightened. A prince charming? In this world? More likely a wolf in silk. Before I could speak, she tossed her hair back, revealing the garment bag slung over her other shoulder. “Relax, I’m not leaving you to burn alone." I’ve got my own dress. We’re both going to shine tonight. Then she grabbed my hand, tugging me out of my chair with the kind of confidence I wished I had. “Come on." Hair, nails, the whole work. If we’re stepping into the lion’s den, we might as well look like we own it. I clutched the red silk at my chest. I wasn’t sure if it was armor… or bait. Deep down, I knew Valerie hadn’t just brought me a dress. She’d wrapped me in a weapon. And every weapon, sooner or later, has to draw blood. The next day was blurred by perfume, hairpins and sharp laughter. Valerie fussed over my curls while Olivia added her finishing touches: powder, gloss, a swipe of red that made me look nothing like the girl I used to be. “You’ll shut down the whole room,” Valerie declared. “She’ll own it,” Olivia corrected, fastening the last clasp on my necklace. I stared at the girl in the mirror. Perfect hair, flawless skin, lips painted in someone else’s courage. She didn’t look like me. She looked like who my father needed me to be. And I wasn’t sure if that was a victory… or a funeral.

I tried to smile, but my chest felt like a storm. Then the door opened, and my father stepped in. For a moment, his eyes softened, but his voice was steel. “Tonight, the world will see you." "Walk beside me, not behind.” For the first time, his words almost sounded like love. But love didn’t come with chains. Was I beside him because he wanted me there… or because he wanted everyone to see he owned me? He offered his hand. My pulse hammered as I slid mine into his.

The limo waited outside, black and endless. Valerie slipped into another car, flashing me a grin of encouragement. As I stepped in beside my father, his grip tightened. “This is the beginning, Elisa." Don’t falter. The city lights blurred past the tinted glass. My reflection stared back at me in the window, painted, polished, and unrecognizable. And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if I was walking into a dream… or a trap. The deeper we drove into the city, the more it felt like we weren’t headed for a celebration but an execution. Every glowing light outside the window looked like another candle at my vigil. The limo slowed, and the sound of cameras, chatter, and violins bled into the night. My father stepped out first, towering, untouchable. Then his hand reached back for me. When I emerged, the room shifted. Eyes tracked us, some sharp with envy, others heavy with judgment. I felt them all slice across my skin, but my father’s grip anchored me.

“Tonight,” he murmured, “you step into power.” The announcer’s voice boomed: “Ladies and gentlemen, the boss himself, Mr. Moretti, and his daughter, Elisa.” Gasps, applause, murmurs... like a wave crashing around me. I forced my chin higher, fighting the tremor in my stomach. Each whisper felt like claws raking across my skin. For a second, I wanted to shrink, to vanish. But then something sharp inside me snapped. I would rather burn this place down than let them see me break. Then, moments later, Valerie appeared, radiant in her own silk. The announcer’s voice rang again: “Accompanied by his right hand, Mr Romano and his daughter, Valerie.” She winked at me across the floor, lips curling into a mischievous smile. But even in her glow, I caught whispers curling in the shadows questions, disbelief, mockery barely masked. I smiled anyway.

The hall hushed, the kind of silence that didn’t belong at a party. Glasses froze midair. Even my father’s jaw tightened. Whoever was about to step into the light wasn’t just another guest, they were a threat everyone recognized. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer said, “Matteo DeLuca.” Our eyes locked. He winked at me, his lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. I was highly disgusted. Such Pride! And in his eyes, I saw it, a promise of a game only he knew the rules. And just like that, I knew: this night wasn’t a celebration. It was a war disguised as a dance.