Massima Gallo's profile now hung among the other specialists—her photograph positioned beneath soft lighting that made her look almost angelic. The daughter of disgraced associates, clawed back into favor through means I understood all too well.
I looked at it for a moment longer than I should have.
Then I saw her list of publications, and my blood turned to ice water in my veins.
That thesis.
My undergraduate graduation thesis. The research I had poured eighteen months of sleepless nights into, the work that should have secured my place in the Family's legitimate medical operations.
I checked the author's name and the date again and again, my injured hand trembling at my side.
The timing matched almost exactly with my graduation year.
"Miss Mancini, hello."
A woman's voice pulled me out of my shock—smooth as silk wrapped around a blade.
I turned.
Massima.
She stood in the corridor like she owned it, her white coat pristine against the marble floors, her dark waves styled to perfection. Everything about her screamed legitimate, but I knew better. I knew what she was.
"Care for a chat?"