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:
The morning sun filtered through the towering windows of the castle's grand dining hall, pouring in like golden judgment on the worst sleep I'd had in days. The long wooden table was already laid out-lavish as always, too much food, too many chairs, too many people I wanted to strangle. The clink of silverware and occasional scrape of a chair was the only soundtrack for the tension pressing down on all of us like a slow, suffocating fog.
Amir walked beside me in silence, like we hadn't spent the whole night whispering plans and pretending not to be bothered by the fresh bruise forming on his mouth.
Correction: He wasn't bothered. I wanted to kill someone.
I didn't even try to fix my expression. My jaw was locked, my fingers twitching like they were itching to hold a weapon. The memory of Enzo pulling that gun... the burner computer in Luca's hand... the betrayal written all over Nicolo's face as he landed that punch...
I was still replaying it all in my head.
I took the seat next to Amir and across from Dante-who gave me a suspiciously warm nod, as if he could sense the ice radiating off my entire soul and decided to thaw it with a half-smile.
"Morning," he said. Calm. Polite. That annoying parental calm I used to hate when I was little.
I grunted something in response and reached for a slice of bread like it had personally offended me.
Next to me, Amir adjusted in his seat. I could feel the discomfort radiating off him, but he wore his usual blank expression-tight-lipped, eyes focused on the table. He looked... neutral. Almost too neutral.
Which meant he was thinking.
Across the table sat Enzo.
His gaze cut toward me like a blade, quick and sharp, but said nothing. Not a word. Not even an insult. His jaw was still clenched from last night.
Nicolo was doing better. He had the nerve to be smirking slightly, like he knew something we didn't-or maybe just liked the chaos. He was slicing a piece of fruit with his knife like he hadn't tried to rearrange Amir's face ten hours ago.
Luca wouldn't meet my eyes.
Gino signed something to him-I couldn't catch it, but it was quick-and Luca just shook his head and looked down. I didn't blame him. He always had the decency to look guilty.
"What was the commotion last night?" Dante asked, taking a sip of his coffee and glancing between me and Amir like he was casually investigating a murder.
I opened my mouth, but before I could fire back something defensive and rude-
