I was 'Nine', the deadliest assassin of The Syndicate. But yesterday, my boss faked my death in an explosion and sent me to New York. I was ordered to infiltrate the Russo family as their long-lost biological daughter. But my biological parents didn't want me. They loved the fake daughter they had raised in my place. My mother called me a feral stray and tried to shove me into a mildewed servant's quarter, while the fake daughter lived in a grand suite. When the fake daughter cried upon seeing me, my father pointed a finger at my face, yelling at me for disrespecting his precious replacement. "You are nothing but a crude, uncultured mistake trying to ruin her life!" They treated me like garbage, trying to assert dominance over a girl they thought was a helpless stray. But when I cornered my mother and whispered my question, her reaction changed everything. "If I hadn't been stolen all those years ago, would you have even needed a replacement?" She didn't cry for the child she lost. Instead, all the color drained from her face, and her eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated terror. She knew. Even if she hadn't orchestrated it herself, my mother knew exactly why I was kidnapped eighteen years ago. They thought they could bully a pathetic orphan. They didn't realize they had just invited a monster into their home.
Seraphina POV
The crystal tumbler shattered against the polished concrete floor of my quarters, the amber whiskey bleeding into the grey dust.
'Three' was dead.
The confirmation had just echoed through the island's encrypted comms. I stared at the glittering shards, but the scent of the spilled liquor suddenly morphed into the damp, freezing stench of the underground Cistern.
I was ten years old again, standing at the muddy edge of *La Fossa*-the fighting pit. We had been starving, driven by a foolish, nascent bond to let 'Eight', the weakest of us, win the daily bare-knuckle scrap for a single plate of food. But Silas, our Don and our creator, saw through the deception.
I can still hear the heavy chains rattling. I can still see 'Eight' suspended by his wrists over the black, freezing water of the Cistern for two days and two nights. His spirit broke in that dark water. It was the day Silas carved his ultimate doctrine into my very soul: in The Syndicate, compassion is a fatal flaw. Alliances are a death sentence.
Now, out of the original nine, only four remained. 'Two', the rabid dog; 'Five', the smiling snake; 'Seven', the cold tactician; and me. 'Nine'. The Culling-Silas's Darwinian succession game-was reaching its bloody crescendo.
The intercom on my steel wall buzzed, glowing with a harsh red light. Silas.
I navigated the brutalist corridors of the main tower to his Sanctum. The top-floor office was a cavern of dark marble and bare concrete, dominated by a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the stormy sea of Isola della Morte. Silas sat behind his desk, a man whose eyes were as deep and unforgiving as a grave.
He didn't offer condolences for 'Three'. Instead, he slid a thick manila folder across the black marble.
"Your time on the island is over, 'Nine'," Silas said, his voice devoid of inflection. "Inside is your new life. You are now Seraphina Russo, the long-lost daughter of Giovanni Russo, a minor family head in New York."
I kept my face a mask of stone, though my mind raced. "New York, Don Silas? The Culling is in its final stage."
"You will leave for New York within twenty-four hours. In absolute secret." He opened a drawer and placed a custom Browning M1910 pistol on top of the file. The metal gleamed under the single desk lamp. "Maintain a low profile. Infiltrate the Russo family. Wait for my orders."
It felt less like a gift and more like a tool for a suicide mission. Why remove me from the board now, when the throne was within reach? Was I being discarded, or repositioned? Wrestling with my instincts, I picked up the heavy weapon.
"Yes, Don Silas."
I bowed my head and exited through the heavy oak door, slipping immediately into the hidden maintenance stairwell that ran parallel to his office. I didn't descend right away. The acoustics of this concrete shaft were a secret I had kept since childhood; it caught every whisper from the Sanctum through the ventilation grates.
I stood perfectly still in the darkness, my hand gripping the cold steel of the Browning.
Inside the office, I heard the soft hum of a hidden wall panel sliding open.
"Dante," Silas's voice echoed, cold and absolute.
A heavy silence followed, the kind that only belonged to the Don's elite, masked enforcers.
"Become her *Ombra*" (Shadow), Silas commanded. "Follow her to New York. Protect her with your life. She must not know you are there."
I held my breath. A shadow? To protect me?
Then, the heavy footsteps of Silas's Butler entered the room.
"Prepare the announcement," Silas instructed the Butler, his tone shifting to one of dark amusement. "Once her transport departs tonight, inform the others that 'Nine' is dead. A tragic mechanical failure on her speedboat. No remains."
"And the remaining heirs, Don Silas?" the Butler asked smoothly.
"Let the lions roar over the prize," Silas mused aloud, the sound sending a chill straight to my marrow. "The viper will be safe in the grass, waiting to strike. Let us see if 'Two', 'Five', and 'Seven' are foolish enough to believe the game is theirs."
My grip tightened on the file. He was faking my death. He was unleashing the remaining monsters on each other, while sending me into the heart of the American Cosa Nostra as a ghost. I wasn't just a soldier anymore; I was the bait, the blade, and the blindfold.
The Phantom Heiress: The Underboss's Obsession
Xiao Youzi
Mafia
Chapter 1 1
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Chapter 2 2
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Chapter 3 3
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Chapter 4 4
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Chapter 5 5
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Chapter 6 6
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Chapter 7 7
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Chapter 8 8
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Chapter 9 9
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Chapter 10 10
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Chapter 11 11
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Chapter 12 12
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Chapter 13 13
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Chapter 14 14
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Chapter 15 15
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Chapter 16 16
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Chapter 17 17
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Chapter 18 18
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Chapter 19 19
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Chapter 20 20
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Chapter 21 21
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Chapter 22 22
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Chapter 23 23
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Chapter 24 24
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Chapter 25 25
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Chapter 26 26
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Chapter 27 27
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Chapter 28 28
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Chapter 29 29
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Chapter 30 30
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