The Stomachless Princess

I was born with a lethal allergy to our Mafia family's signature golden narcotic.

My body treats the drug like battery acid, but my mother, the ruthless Boss of the Chicago Outfit, called my allergy a pathetic weakness.

She secretly laced my soup with the poison, convinced she could force my immunity and mold me into a perfect heir.

When my throat seized and I coughed up blood onto the dining table, my cowardly father just scolded me for disrespecting the Boss.

My mother locked me inside a reinforced bathroom, leaving me to suffocate as my airways rapidly swelled shut.