Aliana POV:
The screen of my laptop flickered in the dark.
Debi's face appeared, pixelated but resolute, illuminated by the harsh blue light.
I had rigged a secure line using the hospital's VPN, tunneling right under the estate's firewall.
"I have it," Debi said, her voice tight with tension.
"Aliana, the numbers... they're staggering. Ivan has been skimming from the cartel for years. If the other families find out, he's a dead man walking."
"That's the plan," I whispered.
I was sitting on the floor of my walk-in closet, surrounded by hanging dresses that felt less like couture and more like silk shrouds.
"And Kiera?"
"She bought a villa in Tuscany last month," Debi confirmed.
"Cash. The money came directly from a shell company linked to your father's personal account."
I closed my eyes for a second, letting the betrayal settle in my chest.
My father paid for his mistress's retirement home while plotting my death.
"Okay," I said, opening my eyes.
"Here is what we do. I need you to compile everything into a single dossier."
"Financials, the birth certificate, the emails, and the toxicology report on my blood."
"Toxicology?" Debi asked, confused.
"I drew the sample myself yesterday," I said, my voice clinical, detached.
"I ran it using a test kit I swiped from the med room. It's arsenic. Low dose, chronic exposure."
"Jesus, Ali," Debi breathed, horror washing over her features.
"Get out of there. Now."
"Not yet," I said firmly.
"If I run, they hunt me. They have reach everywhere. The only way out is to burn them down so completely they can't chase anyone."
"The Charity Gala," I continued.
"It's in forty-eight hours."
"Everyone will be there. The Five Families. The politicians. The press."
"You're going to do it live?" Debi asked.
"It's the only way to ensure my safety. Witnesses. Thousands of them."
"I need you to prepare a new identity for me."
"Name?"
"Hope," I said, the word tasting strange on my tongue.
"Hope Andersen."
"It's done," Debi promised.
"Be careful."
The screen went black.
I hid the laptop under the loose floorboard beneath a stack of shoe boxes.
Standing up, I practiced my walk in the mirror.
Shoulders hunched.
Eyes downcast.
The shuffle of a dying woman.
I went downstairs.
Maria, the maid I had confronted earlier, was dusting the hallway.
I pulled her into a shadowed alcove.
I pressed a roll of cash into her hand-money I had siphoned from my mother's purse over the last week.
"Maria," I whispered.
"I know you see what they are doing to me."
She trembled, looking at the door.
"Miss Aliana, I cannot..."
"You don't have to do anything," I said, gripping her hand.
"Just leave the back service door unlocked during the Gala. That's all."
She looked at the money, then up at my pale, gaunt face.
"They are evil," she whispered, crossing herself.
"God will punish them."
"I am going to help Him," I said.
She nodded solemnly and shoved the money into her apron.
Step one complete.
That evening, Ivan came to dinner.
He was in high spirits, practically vibrating with arrogance.
He talked about the honeymoon.
A private island.
No phones.
No people.
Just us.
It sounded less like a vacation and more like a grave.
"We will have children right away," he said, sawing into his steak.
Red juice ran out of the meat, pooling on the white porcelain.
"Strong sons. To carry the name."
I looked at him, feeling a cold fire in my gut.
"Like Leo?" I wanted to ask.
But instead, I lowered my eyes. "Yes, Ivan. Whatever you want."
My mother smiled, sipping her wine.
"See?" she said to my father.
"She is learning."
My father grunted, barely looking up.
"Good. The merger is finalized tomorrow at the Gala."
"Once the vows are exchanged publicly, the assets transfer."
They were so confident.
So arrogant in their power.
They forgot the first rule of surgery: never turn your back on a patient with a knife.
I went to bed early.
I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling as the house settled around me.
I could hear the wind howling outside.
A storm was coming.
Fitting.
I thought about my life before this.
The antiseptic smell of the hospital.
The bitter coffee at 4 AM.
The profound gratitude in a patient's eyes when I told them they would live.
I missed it so much it hurt physically, like a phantom limb.
But that Aliana was gone.
She died the moment she stepped back into this house.
The woman lying in this bed was cold.
She was calculating.
She was dangerous.
I rolled over and looked out the window at the sprawling lights of the estate.
They looked like stars.
But they were just electric bulbs.
Artificial.
Fragile.
I raised my hand and made a pinching motion, extinguishing a distant light between my thumb and forefinger.
"Pop," I whispered.
The empire was glass.
And I was holding a hammer.
Forty-eight hours.
Then the world would shatter.
