I didn't exactly choose to be stolen at four years old.
But the French underworld isn't big on consent.
One minute I was Donatella Acardi, Mafia royalty. The next? Just another stolen kid bleeding in someone else's basement.
That's where I met Ami...
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Donatella POV:
I was going to kill someone. Six in the damn morning. Not even the birds were awake yet.
The alarm blared at exactly 5:59, and by 6:00 I was sitting up with a scowl carved into my face so deep it could've sliced marble. Amir was already groaning from the other side of the bed, slapping at his alarm like it had personally insulted his bloodline.
"Why are we up?" he mumbled into his pillow.
I didn't respond. I was too busy dragging myself toward the uniform hanging off the closet door like it had been mocking me all night.
Fitted white button-down. Charcoal blazer. Plaid skirt. Knee-high socks.
I was gonna die.
I glared at the outfit for a solid ten seconds before reluctantly putting it on. I had to admit-objectively-I looked good. Skirt sat right, waist snatched, collar crisp. I even threw on a few rings and my chain for some edge. Amir whistled when he saw me.
"Cute," he said, pulling on his own blazer. "Very murder me with a smile."
"Thank you. I feel like crying."
When we both made it downstairs, Gino, Nicolo, Enzo, and Luca were already seated at the massive dining table. They were all dressed to the nines in their own uniforms, surrounded by plates of eggs, toast, and fresh-cut fruit that I was too grumpy to look at without judgment.
Gino just nodded silently at me like always. Nicolo gave a two-finger salute, clearly mid-mouthful. Luca waved enthusiastically like he hadn't seen me in years. Enzo just rolled his eyes.
"Oh, look who finally decided to show up," Enzo sneered, sipping on his espresso like he was eighty years old and ran the household.
"Wow," I said flatly. "Enzo, I didn't realize you could speak without growling."
Luca snorted into his orange juice.
"Buenos días, mi estrella," came a familiar, annoyingly cheerful voice behind me.
I turned to see Armando strolling in like he hadn't just sentenced me to death by high school. He looked freshly showered, fully dressed in a custom suit, and way too happy for someone awake before 9 AM.
"Ugh," I groaned. "Don't talk to me until I've had coffee and committed arson."
He chuckled. "Still not a morning person, I see. You used to be the same when you were little."
