Chapter 2

I was roughly shoved down onto a cold stainless steel exam table. Blazing overhead surgical lamps blazed straight into my face, making it nearly impossible to keep my eyes open.

The underground lab beneath the Constantine estate had once served as a dungeon. The air reeked of a sharp, cloying mix of formaldehyde and aged, dried blood that lingered year-round.

Several underground chemists running the trials stood by in medical masks, their eyes cold and detached, like they were sizing up a slab of meat on a butcher's block. Thick leather straps cinched tight around my wrists, ankles, and waist, pinning me firmly to the table. Cold metal instruments glided across my skin as they hunted for a usable vein.

“First dosage, ten percent concentration,” one chemist droned without an ounce of emotion.

A thick needle pierced the skin of my arm, and frigid liquid slowly pumped into my bloodstream.

At first, there was only a faint stinging ache. Seconds later, the fluid morphed into liquid fire, racing through my veins to burn every inch of my body. My insides felt as if dozens of rusted saw blades were tearing back and forth through my organs—my pancreas, already ravaged and fragile from cancer, erupted in searing, unbearable agony.

My body convulsed violently against the restraints, cold sweat soaking through my thin hospital gown in an instant. Still, I clamped my jaw shut tight, refusing to let out a single scream. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth, dripping onto the steel table in stark, horrifying streaks.

Between waves of crippling pain, my mind drifted unwillingly to the past.

When we turned ten, my father, Don Vincenzo, the mafia don of our family, brought Sicily's most renowned astrologer to read birth charts for me and my twin sister Cataleya. 

After reviewing our natal astrology, the blind Romani astrologer recoiled in horror. 

"Pluto in the fourth house, opposing Mars and Uranus," he choked out, pointing a trembling finger at me. "The karma of absolute destruction. The elder twin is a detonator. She will unearth every hidden blood debt and buried murder. She will obliterate the Constantine empire."

Then, he turned toward Cataleya, his terrified expression melting into pure, awe-struck reverence. “But the younger sister… Sun and Jupiter conjunct in her second house of wealth, forming a flawless Grand Trine with Venus. She possesses an exalted, blessed fate. She is fortune's beloved, the golden shield of this bloodline, destined to not only wash away the sins of your empire but to double the Constantine family's fortune.”

From that day forward, my fate had been sealed. I existed only as Cataleya's shadow, her stand-in, her human shield.

At twelve, Cataleya shattered our mother's prized antique vase. Father flogged me until my back was raw and bleeding.

At fifteen, Cataleya tangled with the son of a Mexican cartel leader, who put a hit out on her. I'd worn her coat and taken a bullet to the chest—barely two centimeters away from my heart.

At eighteen, Cataleya got behind the wheel drunk and killed a politician's daughter. They plied me with alcohol, stuffed me into the driver's seat, and I served a full year in juvenile detention taking the fall for her.

Forty-eight scars marked my body, every single one earned protecting Cataleya. 

I'd once clung to the foolish hope that if I stayed obedient and useful long enough, my parents might finally see me, that Rafael might truly grow to love me. But I'd been wrong. To them, I was nothing more than a disposable tool they could toss aside whenever convenient.

“Vital signs dropping, heart rate spiking to one hundred sixty. Push a stimulant, ramp up the concentration,” the chemist's flat, cold voice dragged me back to the present.

Another syringe of fluid flooded my veins. My vision blurred at the edges, and heavy footsteps echoed through the room.

The iron lab door creaked open, and Rafael stepped inside. He walked up to the stainless steel table, his heavy gaze landing on my writhing, sweat-drenched body and the blood staining my lips. 

For a fraction of a second, a rare crack appeared in his icy facade. He reached out, his black leather-gloved fingers surprisingly gentle as they brushed the damp, matted hair from my forehead. 

"Just endure it a little longer, Isolde," he murmured, his voice softening into a deceptive, almost agonizing tenderness. "Once this trial is over, I’ll take you to Florence. We’ll see the art, walk the cobblestones... just like you’ve always begged me to. Okay?"

I stared at him through my blurred, pain-filled vision. Before that cruel illusion of warmth could even settle in my chest, he turned his head away.

“How's the serum holding up?” he turned to ask the chemist.

"Not good, sir," the chemist replied hesitantly. "Her body is rejecting it. The reaction is far too severe, and she might not stabilize."

Rafael frowned, his jaw tightening. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the iron door banged open again. 

Cataleya’s maid rushed in, frantic and breathless. "Mr. Rafael! It's Miss Cataleya! She's tossing and turning in absolute agony upstairs! She keeps crying your name, begging you to come!"

In an instant, whatever trace of warmth Rafael had just shown me evaporated into thin air. His face hardened into stone. 

He snapped his gaze back to me. The exact same hand that had just tenderly stroked my hair now clamped brutally around my jaw, his grip like a steel vise forcing me to look at him. 

Rafael's gaze snapped back to me. He reached out, black leather-gloved fingers wrapping around my jaw to force my eyes to lock onto his. “You heard her. Cataleya is suffering. You'd better behave down here and don't try any dumb tricks. If you deliberately fight the serum and drag this process out…”

“What will you do to me?” I cut him off weakly, my voice raw and scratchy.

Rafael froze, clearly caught off guard that I dared talk back. A cold smirk tugged at his lips. “I'll make you wish you were dead, Isolde. I'll dump you in the brothels of the slums and let you experience what real hell feels like.”

I stared at his icy face, and a bitter, absurd thought bubbled up. Wish I were dead? Wasn't I already living in hell right this second? I barely had three months left to live, and he thought he still had something to threaten me with?

“Go ahead then,” I huffed out a mocking grin, blood staining my teeth crimson. “I'm waiting.”

Rafael's pupils narrowed. His grip on my jaw tightened instinctively. He searched my eyes for the fear and desperate begging he'd grown used to seeing—but there was nothing left, only empty, lifeless desolation. 

He wrenched his hand away as if burned, let out a sharp scoff, and spun on his heel to storm out of the lab.

I closed my eyes, letting the third dose of poison flood my veins.

Hurry up, I thought. Just end it all.