And as I stood there alone, surrounded by memories of effort, sacrifice, and hope, I finally understood that to survive, I had to let all of it go.
I grew up inside an orphanage owned and funded by the Family, a quiet institution hidden behind iron gates and thick stone walls meant to keep the world—and its dangers—out. I spent most of my childhood sitting in the courtyard with borrowed paints, working beneath the open sky, imagining a future far beyond the reach of the Corell syndicate. I dreamed that one day someone powerful would notice my talent, take me under their wing, and allow me to pursue art without fear or obligation.
More than anything, I wanted to be a painter of consequence—to make a name for myself, to build a gallery that belonged solely to me, a place where my work could exist freely without bearing another person’s shadow.
After I completed the orphanage’s formal education program, fate intervened in the form of a formidable woman: the matriarch of the Corell crime family. She summoned me personally and offered what felt like an impossible gift. She would finance my education at the Accademia di Belle Arti di Firenze—one of the most elite art institutions in the country.
There was, of course, a price.
In exchange, I would be bound to her son, Zaldy Corell—the future Don. He was five years older than me, hardened by loss, and still openly haunted by the woman who had left him years earlier. Maria Lee had gone to Paris, where she refined her influence, sharpened her ambitions, and elevated her status among Europe’s elite criminal circles.
I hesitated. I was barely eighteen. Zaldy was twenty-three and already feared within the organization.
“Does he know about this arrangement?” I asked quietly, my fingers clenched in my lap.
“Yes,” the matriarch replied after a pause. Her gaze softened just enough to disarm me. “He has agreed.”
Out of gratitude—and obligation—I accepted. She had been the only source of kindness I’d ever known, the only person who saw something worthwhile in me. Refusing her felt impossible.
Zaldy and I entered the arrangement as strangers, not lovers. Still, I clung to the naïve belief that time might soften him, that proximity could become affection. While studying, I worked relentlessly to build independence—applying for grants, selling paintings to private collectors, and doing everything in my power not to rely on Corell money.