MARTINA

Martina’s POV I watched Emma as she rolled slowly into the living room of our tiny third-floor apartment in Queens. The wheels of her wheelchair made a soft scraping sound against the wooden floor. The apartment was small enough that every noise felt louder than it should be—the hum of the refrigerator, the distant sirens from the street below, the city pressing in on us even at night. Emma’s neck tilted slightly to one side, the way it always did now. Her lips were drawn just a little crooked, and no matter how many times I told myself I was used to it, my chest still tightened every time I saw her like this. Her eyes met mine. “Martina,” she said. Her voice was slower than it used to be. Softer. Like each word had to travel a longer road to reach her mouth. “Yes, Em?” I answered immediately, already moving toward her. “You’re staring again,” she said, attempting a smile. It didn’t quite work—but she tried. My throat burned. “Sorry,” I whispered. “I was just… thinking.” She studied me the way only a younger sister could—like she could see through every lie I ever told. “You always think too hard when you’re angry.” I froze. This wasn’t who Emma was supposed to be. She was supposed to be loud. Stubborn. Always running ahead of me down cracked sidewalks, scraped knees and wild laughter. She was supposed to dance barefoot on cold tiles and climb trees Grandma warned her about from the fire escape. Not this. This wasn’t an accident. This wasn’t fate. Someone did this to her. And whoever did would pay for it. I knelt in front of her wheelchair, forcing my hands to stay steady as I brushed her blond hair away from her face. My thumb traced her cheek—warm, soft, painfully real. “Does it hurt?” I asked quietly. Emma hesitated, then shrugged one shoulder. “Some days,” she said. “Today is… not too bad.” That almost hurt more. “You shouldn’t worry so much,” she added. “You make that face like you’re about to start a war.” I let out a breath that sounded dangerously close to a laugh. “Maybe I am.” She frowned. “Promise me something.” I stiffened. “What?” “Don’t disappear,” she said. “Every time you go out late, I feel like you’re leaving for good.” My heart cracked. “I’m not going anywhere,” I said quickly, cupping her face. “I swear. I’ll always come back to you.” She searched my eyes, then nodded—slow, careful. “Okay. Just… don’t forget us when you’re being brave.” Behind me, a door creaked. “Are you going out?” Grandma Margaret asked. “Yes, Grandma,” I replied, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. She shuffled into the living room and lowered herself onto the only sofa that fit the space. The apartment had never been big, but it had felt even smaller since tragedy moved in with us—claiming corners, stealing air. I adjusted the strap of my backpack, leaned down, and kissed Emma’s cheek. She stared at me the entire time, like she was memorizing my face. That nearly broke me. I turned toward the door. “Sweetheart, where are you going at this hour?” Grandma asked. My hand froze on the handle. I closed my eyes for half a second. I didn’t want to lie—but the truth would destroy what little peace she still had. “Don’t worry about me,” I said carefully. “I won’t be long. You and Emma watch some TV until I get back.” Grandma studied me, searching my face like she might find the truth written between my breaths. Then she nodded. “Be careful.” “I will,” I promised. Outside, the night air hit my skin the moment I shut the apartment door behind me. New York never slept—it just watched. Sirens wailed somewhere far off. A train rattled underground. I exhaled slowly, then dropped my backpack beside the building. Under the weak glow of a streetlight, I changed quickly—plain clothes replaced with a short black dress that shimmered just enough to belong somewhere expensive. I slipped on heels, hid the backpack behind the old tree by the fire escape, and ran. I barely waited before a taxi pulled over. Only after I slid into the back seat did the thought hit me. Do I even have enough money? I counted the bills in my purse. Enough to get there. Not enough to come back. I gave the driver the address anyway. Thirty minutes later, the city changed. The taxi slowed inside a gated estate that didn’t feel like New York anymore—massive mansions standing cold and flawless, untouched by struggle. I paid quickly and stepped out as the car disappeared into the night. The mansion loomed before me like a stone monster. This was the sixth time I had come this far. Six times I’d stopped at the gate. Six times I’d turned back. But tonight, something inside me snapped into place. Tonight, I go in. Armed guards stopped me instantly. My hands trembled as I handed over the invitation Gabriel had given me. “You’re expected,” one of them said. The gates opened. The moment I crossed the threshold, dizziness slammed into me. Run, Martina. My father’s voice echoed in my head. “Run. Get away from here. They’ll hurt you.” My mother’s voice followed, shaking with fear. “Don’t stay here. Please.” My heart shattered all over again. They’d been gone for six years—but their warnings still lived inside me. My father’s final words burned the loudest. The Harrisons. And here I was. Martina Harper—standing inside the house of the family I had sworn to destroy. The realization hit me all at once—sharp, violent, dizzying. The world tilted. My vision blurred at the edges as if someone had reached inside my skull and shaken everything loose. My knees buckled without warning, striking the cold marble floor hard enough to send pain shooting through my bones. For a second, I thought I was falling into darkness. Then— A hand. Firm. Strong. Catching my wrist mid-collapse. I felt myself being pulled upright, steadied before my body could fully give up. The scent reached me before the voice did—something faint, masculine, clean. Cedarwood… or maybe expensive cologne. Either way, it didn’t belong to me or my world. “Are you okay, miss?” The voice was calm. Controlled. Concerned—but not soft. Too composed. I lifted my eyes instinctively and immediately dropped them again. Fast. Dangerously fast. Because what I’d seen—just for a split second—had unsettled me more than the fall itself. Sharp eyes. Blue. Focused. The kind that notice things. My fingers twitched, and I slowly pulled my wrist from his grasp. His hand lingered for half a second longer than necessary, as if he was making sure I could stand on my own. I couldn’t make out his face clearly. The lighting above us was dim, and I hadn’t allowed myself the chance to really look. But his grip alone told me enough. Strong. Solid. This was not a man who hesitated. I didn’t wait. Not even a heartbeat. I turned and walked away quickly, my pulse racing, fully aware—painfully aware—of his gaze burning into my back. I wasn’t sure if he recognized me. But I knew one thing for certain. Neither of us had truly seen the other. And that was good. Because tonight wasn’t about him. --- I found myself standing in the massive garden of the Harrison mansion. The party was already in full swing. Lights strung elegantly through towering trees cast a golden glow over the lawn. Music floated through the air—smooth, expensive, deliberate. Laughter echoed everywhere. Champagne glasses clinked. People moved with ease, confidence, entitlement. I didn’t belong. Not even a little. I walked through the crowd like a shadow, painfully aware of the way I looked next to them. Every person around me screamed money—tailored suits, designer gowns, jewelry that could probably feed my family for years. And me? I was plain. Bare. Exposed. I was the only one standing there without a partner, without laughter, without comfort. Everyone else was enjoying themselves. I was hunting. My eyes scanned every face, every group, every laugh. I was looking for one thing. The Harrison family. Anyone who carried that cursed name. Anyone connected to the blood that ruined my life. My posture must have given me away. Anyone could tell—I wasn’t here for the party. I wasn’t here for the music or the games scattered across the lawn. I wasn’t here for pleasure. I was here for answers. And revenge. I collided with someone. A woman. Beautiful. Polished. Perfect. “Watch where you’re going,” she snapped, her tone sharp enough to cut. “I’m sorry,” I said quickly. Her eyes dragged over me—from my face to my clothes—slow, judging, cruel. “Who are you?” she asked. The question wasn’t curiosity. It was accusation. My lips trembled. “Mar—” Before I could finish— “Miss Moretti, come on. They’re waiting for you.” A woman appeared beside us, her voice respectful, urgent. The girl’s expression shifted instantly. “Okay.” She turned back to me, her eyes narrowing. “You, little stray—I’m not done with you.” Then she walked away. As they disappeared into the crowd, my heart pounded harder. Moretti. The name echoed in my head like a warning bell. A waiter passed by with a tray of drinks. I grabbed a glass of red wine—not because I wanted it, but because I needed to look like I belonged. To disappear. I took a small sip, letting the bitterness coat my tongue. My phone vibrated inside my purse. I froze. Then quickly stepped away from the noise and answered. “Oh, Gabriel.” “Tina,” Gabriel’s voice came through the speaker, tense. “Did you make it inside?” I covered my left ear with my hand and pressed the phone closer to my right. “Yes. Everything’s fine. I’m inside the Harrison mansion.” I heard him exhale. “Why did you even go there?” he asked. “What are you looking for?” “I’ll explain later.” “Tina… are you sure you’re not in danger?” I swallowed. “Even if I am, I’ll find a way out. I just need something before I leave.” A pause. “Okay,” he said softly. “Be careful.” “Don’t worry.” I hung up and slipped the phone back into my purse. I turned to return to the party— And stopped. Two people stood nearby. A man and a woman. They were talking quietly. Something in my chest tightened. I didn’t know why, but I needed to hear what they were saying. I stepped closer, pretending to sip my wine. “It would be best to arrange Elias’s marriage with one of the Moretti daughters,” the woman said. “You know Elias would never agree to marrying into a mob family.” Her voice sharpened. “Then sit him down and explain the situation. We’re in serious trouble if we don’t secure an alliance with the Morettis.” The man sighed. “It doesn’t have to be Elias. Rafael or Harry could do it.” My ears rang. Morettis again. The woman adjusted her stance, her expensive heels glinting. “Rafael is risky. Harry is too young—he’s only twenty.” “Let’s return to the party,” the man said. “It’s time to address the guests.” “The Morettis are here,” she replied calmly. “They’re expecting something worthwhile tonight. When you give your speech, announce the engagement.” He hesitated. She stepped closer, touching his arm. “You should do this, honey.” They walked away. Armed guards followed them. My stomach twisted. Who are these people? Twenty minutes later— A familiar voice cut through the noise. “Good evening, distinguished guests…” I looked up. The man from earlier stood on the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen. My name is Robert Harrison…” My heart slammed against my ribs. Robert Harrison. The murderer. The monster. The man who destroyed my family. Hatred flooded me so fast it burned. If I had brought my gun—if only I had—I would’ve ended it right there. “…we are honored to have you here…” Applause erupted. Then— “And I’m pleased to announce that the Harrison and Moretti families will unite through marriage.” Cheers exploded. I turned away, my jaw clenched— And walked straight into someone. I froze. Four eyes locked. Miss Moretti.