The False Heir of the Mafia

POV Isabella:

I look around the room carefully as my father speaks. We are in the private room of a restaurant, where five important families discuss territories and business. I memorize faces, names and possible weak points, it's what my father taught me since I was a child.

The other men just nod, no one ever dares to contradict my father. Although our fortune has declined somewhat in recent years, our family name is still the strongest of all. We are backed by too many years of dominance over the other families.

I stand silently with my back straight and my face impassive. Here I am Isidro Ricci, the son of the fearsome Antonio Ricci, the perfect heir. No one in this room knows that under this expensive suit Isabella has always hidden. No one knows that I exist under this facade.

"Right, son?" says my father, turning to me.

I nod curtly. "That's right."

My words, few and precise, make one of the men lower his gaze. I know what they see: a stern-looking young man, heir to a criminal empire. They fear my silence more than the screams of others.

"The Castellanos are expanding north," comments one of the men. He has a round face and fidgety hands.

My father makes a dismissive gesture. "Matteo can try, but that won't last."

I notice how they look at me out of the corner of their eyes when no one is talking. Do they suspect something? No way. I have perfected every gesture and every movement over the years. My voice is deep and controlled. My walk is firm and purposeful. Nothing gives Isabella away.

The bartender brings more whiskey and I take a small, unhurried sip. The alcohol burns, but I keep my expression neutral. It's all about staying in control.

"The federales have a new chief of operations," my father says. "Isidro will be in charge of paying him a courtesy call."

Everyone is looking at me now. I tilt my head slightly. They know what it means: bribe if possible, eliminate if necessary.

My reputation as an efficient enforcer is part of the lie we live, and it is precisely what makes up for my shortcomings. My father has taken it upon himself to spread all sorts of rumors about my ruthlessness for years, so no one questions anymore why I'm not as tall or why I'm thinner than the average man.

The meeting ends two hours later with handshakes and pats on the back that I endure without changing my expression. The driver waits for us outside.

"You did well," my father says in the car.

I don't respond, I know his compliments are orders in disguise. I did well because I acted as he expects his son to act, not his daughter.

We arrive at the mansion at night. The garden lights illuminate the path to the door. Two guards greet us with respect. To them I am also the young Isidro.

"I'll give you the details about the fed tomorrow," my father says before walking into his office. "Rest up for the day."

I nod and walk up the stairs to my room. I lock the door and then check that the curtains are completely closed. Only then do I allow myself to breathe.

I take off my suit jacket and hang it carefully. The tie follows, then the shoes. Each garment is a part of the armor that keeps me alive.

In front of the mirror, I unbutton my shirt. The bandages tighten my chest until it hurts. I slowly unroll them, feeling my body release. I take a deep breath for the first time in hours. I also undo my hair, black and short, the way I've always been forced to have it.

The face that looks back at me is mine and at the same time that of a stranger: Isabella Ricci, a woman who only exists within these four walls.

I put on a simple robe and sit on the bed. The silence of the room is heavy, in here there is no one to impress and no one to fear. Just me and my thoughts.

"Damn it," I whisper, rubbing the red marks the bandages have left on my skin.

My mother died when I was five years old. My father said it was an accident, but years later I discovered the truth: she wanted to leave him, to take her little daughter away from this world, and he found out. That's why he killed her without remorse, to show the world that the Riccis don't forgive betrayal, much less if it comes from someone close to them.

"Women are weak and no one respects them," he told me one day. "That's why you will be my son, not my daughter."

This is how my transformation began, and this is how I have continued to live until my twenty-fourth year. Classes in fighting, in intimidation, in the use of weapons. I learned to walk, talk and think like the son my father needed.

I get up and walk to the window. I open a small space between the curtains. The night is clear and the stars are shining far away. What would it be like to just go out and not come back?

The answer is: impossible. My father would find me wherever I went. Just as he found my mother when she tried to escape. As he has found everyone who ever betrayed him.

My father does not accept failures or weaknesses. And being a woman, for him, is the greatest weakness of all.

I turn away from the window and walk to my closet. In the back, hidden behind suits and shirts, is a red dress I secretly bought. I have never worn it, nor will I ever be able to wear it. But on rough nights, like today, I allow myself to pull it out and fantasize a little about what it would be like to wear it someday.

I carefully put the dress away, lie down and turn off the light. In the darkness, I allow myself a moment of weakness. I sigh deeply.

Tomorrow I will be Isidro Ricci again, the relentless executioner of all the bastards in the city. The man-child my father always dreamed of. Because there is no way out.

But tonight I'm just Isabella. And for now that's more than enough.

POV Isabella:

The silence in the private room of the Castellano casino is too dense. I watch my father's hands hold the cards with apparent calm, but I detect a slight tremor in his fingers.

On the other hand, Matteo Castellano, our host and rival, keeps his face impassive as he raises the stakes. This game stopped being a simple pastime hours ago, now it is a battle of power, and we are losing.

"Two hundred thousand," Castellano says, pushing chips toward the center of the table.

My father takes a deep breath, I know well that he doesn't have that amount. The last shipments were intercepted, our coffers are empty and the only money we have left is invested in property. Still, he nods and pushes his own chips.

I stand behind my father, like his silent shadow. From my position, I can see the cards of both of them. Castellano has royal flush, and my father has only two pair. It will be a crushing defeat.

Castellano reveals his hand and the room freezes. My father's face hardens until it seems to be made of stone.

"Looks like luck is not on your side today, Antonio," Castellano says with a cold smile.

"A bad night can happen to anyone, even me," my father replies, trying to sound casual.

Castellano gestures to one of his men, who places a ledger on the table. "That's five hundred thousand in total. I expect full payment by Monday."

Three days. It is impossible to achieve that amount in such a short time.

"I need more time, Matteo," my father says. His voice sounds strangely humble. "You know I always pay my debts, but I'm not a banker, I'm just a man of my word."

"Business is business, Antonio. Monday, or I'll have to take action."

My father runs a hand over his face. I see him thinking, calculating and despairing in silence. Then his gaze drifts to me. A shiver runs down my spine, that doesn't promise anything good.

"I have a proposal," he finally says. "A deal that would benefit both families."

Castellano arches an eyebrow, interested. "I hear you."

"Your daughter Sofia needs a husband. My son Isidro needs a wife. A union between our families would be... quite strategic."

I feel the ground wobble under my feet. Is he offering me as payment? Me?

Castellano watches me with appraising eyes and I stand my ground, even though inside I'm screaming.

"Interesting," he finally says. "A marriage alliance might be beneficial, but it doesn't cancel your debt."

"Of course," my father quickly replies. "The debt will be paid. I only ask for time."

Castellano leans back in his chair, thoughtful. "The wedding could take place in three months. In the meantime, I need a guarantee."

"What guarantee?"

"Your son," Castellano says, pointing at me. "He will live in my house until the wedding. As a guest, of course."

As a hostage, he means. A prisoner exchange disguised as a courtesy.

"Father," I try to interject, but his gaze silences me.

"I accept," says my father, without consulting me.

The agreement is sealed with a handshake. I feel nauseous just thinking about it.

"Tomorrow afternoon we expect him," Castellano says, getting up. "My daughter will be delighted to meet her fiancé."

The word "fiancé" echoes in my head like a gunshot. A farce on top of another farce. A man who doesn't exist engaged to a woman I don't know.

The trip home is spent in stony silence, but as soon as we enter my father's office I explode with rage.

"How could you do this to me?" I scream, forgetting to keep my voice low. "Sell me like I'm merchandise?"

"Keep your voice down," my father commands. "The walls have ears."

"I don't give a shit! You offered me to Castellano to save your ass! What do you think will happen when they find out I'm a woman?"

My father slaps me. The slap echoes in the room.

I stand still and bring my hand very slowly to my cheek.

"They'll never find out," he says quietly. "Because you won't let them. This is temporary, Isidro. I just need time to raise the money and pay off the debt."

"And then what?" I reply in a defeated voice. "Will you call off the engagement? Castellano will kill us both."

"I'll find a solution," he replies simply, pouring himself a scotch. "I always do."

I want to scream, to break things, to run away. But where would I go? The whole world knows me as Isidro Ricci. Isabella doesn't exist in any document, in any memory except mine.

"What if I refuse?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

My father looks at me with cold eyes. "You won't refuse. It's for the family. For our survival."

The same excuse as always: the family. As if I were part of it and not just a tool.

"Pack your bags," he says. "Tomorrow you'll leave with them."

"What about my identity? The bandages, the clothes..."

"You'll take what you need," she interrupts me. "You'll keep your room locked. You're smart, you'll find a way."

As always, the practical problems are mine, he just gives orders.

I go up to my room and slam the door. I want to cry, but the tears won't come. Maybe I've forgotten how to cry and have become an unfeeling robot after all. Or maybe I've already cried so much during my life that I've run out of tears.

I open the closet and take out a suitcase. I pack in it several suits, shirts and ties, everything that keeps the lie alive. I also pack the bandages, the shoes with discreet elevators, the razor that I never use but must always be visible in my bathroom.

I sit on the bed, holding in my hands the only photo I have of my mother. She was beautiful, with a sad smile. What would she think of me now, of the life I have been forced to live?

I keep the photo in an inside pocket of the suitcase. At least I'll have something of mine in that strange house.

The next day comes all too soon. I hide my chest with special care and put on one of my best suits. I must be perfect, more convincing than ever.

"Remember," my father says as the car waits outside at dusk. "This is temporary. Keep your eyes open, don't do anything suspicious and learn their weaknesses. It could come in handy later."

Always calculating, always manipulating. I wonder if he ever saw me as his daughter and not as a piece on his board.

"I will," I reply dryly.

I get into the car without looking back and the driver starts. I watch the mansion where I have lived all my life drive away through the window. My familiar jail will be replaced by an unknown one.

I have never been so imprisoned as I am now.

POV Marco:

From my wheelchair I watch the arrival of the black car. My sister's fiancé, Antonio Ricci's son, has just arrived. I rest my hands on the wheels and move closer to the window, I've heard so much about him that I can't wait to see him.

My father believes that I am harmless, an invalid who poses no threat and is of no use. That's precisely why I see things that others don't notice. And there is something about this Isidro Ricci that doesn't add up from the very first moment.

The driver opens the back door and Isidro Ricci gets out. He is tall, but not as tall as I expected. His black suit is perfectly cut, hiding the details of his physique. He walks with measured steps towards the entrance of our mansion.

"Marco, come say hello to our guest," my father calls from the hallway.

I turn my chair around and head down the hall. My father doesn't know that I could get up and walk if I wanted to. In fact, no one does. That's my biggest secret, my advantage.

In the lobby, my father and my sister Sofia stand waiting. She looks like a porcelain doll, with her light blue dress and gentle expression. Always obedient, always perfect in my father's eyes. I stand next to them in silence.

The front door opens and the butler announces, "Mr. Isidro Ricci."

Up close, I notice details that I could not appreciate before. His hands are small for a man in his position. His jaw, though defined, lacks the hardness typical of men in our organization. His green eyes scan the room with calculated caution.

"Welcome to our home," my father says, extending his hand. "It is a pleasure to formalize our alliance."

"The pleasure is mine," Ricci replies. His voice is gravelly, but there is something artificial in his tone. As if every word is rehearsed.

My father introduces him: "My daughter, Sofia, your fiancée."

Sofia takes a small bow. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Ricci."

Ricci takes her hand and kisses it briefly. The gesture is precise and mechanical, like everything about him. "The charm is mine, Miss Castellano."

"And my son, Marco," my father says with a tone that betrays his disinterest.

Ricci looks at me. For an instant, our eyes meet. I lean forward slightly in my chair.

"My pleasure," I say, extending my hand.

He hesitates for a second before squeezing her. His grip is firm but not crushing, like that of most men trying to demonstrate their strength. Kind of interesting, I'd say.

"Likewise," he replies, quickly releasing my hand.

"Marco had an accident two years ago," my father explains unnecessarily. "His spinal cord was damaged. A tragedy."

I detect the usual lie in his words. My father never considered my "accident" a tragedy. It was an inconvenience, a blemish on his perfect lineage.

"I'm sorry," Ricci says.

"Don't be sorry," I reply. "It's given me a new perspective on life."

My father gives me a warning look. He doesn't like it when I talk like that, with double meanings. Or when I talk too much in general.

"Martina will show you your room," my father says, pointing to the housekeeper. "Dinner will be served at eight o'clock."

Ricci nods and follows the woman. I watch his gait as he walks up the stairs. His posture is rigid, as if he is aware of every movement. Men in his position usually move with a careless confidence, sure of their power. He seems to be constantly watching himself.

"Don't make him uncomfortable with your questions, Marco," my father warns as Ricci disappears from sight.

"I'm just being nice," I reply with feigned innocence.

"You're never just nice." My father approaches. "This agreement is crucial. Sofia will marry him, the families will be united, and our position will be unbreakable."

"What if he turns out not to be who he says he is?" I ask.

My father frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing specific. It's just a feeling."

"Your feelings don't interest me, his damn last name does," my father cuts in. "Stay out of it."

He leaves with Sofia, leaving me alone in the lobby. I smile to myself. Out of it, on the sidelines, is exactly where I can observe best.

I move my chair to the elevator my father installed after my "accident". I use it to go up to the second floor, where my room is. Once inside, I lock the door.

I get up from the chair. My legs work perfectly. I walk to the window and look out at the gardens. The recovery was slow and painful, but complete. I decided to keep it a secret when I realized the power it gave me. My father ignores me as weak, and his enemies don't even detect me as a threat.

And now we have this mysterious Isidro Ricci under our roof. There is something about him that intrigues me deeply. The way he moves, talks and observes everything around him, as if he were playing a role.

I return to my chair. From here, I can move freely around the house without arousing suspicion. Everyone is used to the invalid son wandering the halls, listening to conversations, observing meetings. I am invisible.

Isidro Ricci has a secret. I know because I have mine too, and I can recognize the look of someone who is hiding something important.

I don't know what exactly he is hiding, but I will find out. I have time and patience. The advantage of everyone underestimating you is that they never see your moves coming.

My father believes he has brought this man here to secure an alliance and save his business. Little does he know that he has just handed me a new project, a puzzle to solve.

And I always solve my puzzles.