Chapter 1

Every girl in Hudson Port’s underworld knows the rule of the Choosing. The Don’s Heir releases his falcon, and the woman whose glove it lands on becomes his wife.

One bird, one bride. Never two.

In my last life, the falcon landed on my sister’s glove. Then it landed on mine.

A falcon had never chosen two women. Not once. The whole lawn went dead silent. Nobody knew what to do.

The Heir is Dante Carrano, future Don of the Carrano family. His bride will be its next Donna, the boss's wife.

My sister Bianca was the first to step forward, looking every bit the picture of grace and mercy.

"Sisters shouldn't fight over a man," she said. "I'll step aside and let Zoe take my place as the Heir's bride."

So I became Dante's bride.

But on my wedding day, my maid, Pia, dropped to her knees in front of everyone.

"Miss Zoe dusted herself with lure powder to attract the falcon!" she cried.

"She was jealous of Miss Bianca. She couldn’t stand the thought of losing to her!"

I was innocent, and I couldn’t prove a thing.

Bianca stepped in, wearing that same gentle smile.

"Zoe, if you wanted the future Donna title so badly, you could've just asked. I would've given it to you. Why stoop to something so cheap?"

Just like that, I was finished.

From that day on, she became the woman the Heir could never have, while I became the dirt beneath her feet.

Dante blamed me for ruining his chance to marry Bianca. Every day, he had white dresses delivered to my room.

I wore them. I copied her hairstyles. I knelt in the family chapel and wrote out prayers, line after line, until my fingers cramped.

"You wanted her place so badly," he told me. "So go ahead. Be her. And spend the rest of your life atoning for what you've done."

The day I went into labor, Bianca was miles away, running a free clinic outside the city.

But Dante pulled every doctor he'd assigned to my delivery and sent them to her clinic, just to help her put on a good show.

I was left alone with the pain, bleeding through the sheets.

Hours crawled by. By the time the door finally opened, I was barely clinging to life.

A doctor, I thought.

It was Bianca. She should’ve been miles away, at her clinic.

She leaned over my bed.

"Remember your maid?” she whispered. "I put her up to it. The lure powder, too. I had her plant it on you."

I stared at her. I couldn't even scream.

She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a murmur.

"How else was I supposed to become the woman everyone adores? And marry the man I actually want?"

I coughed up a mouthful of blood. It sprayed across the bed curtains.

The room tilted. Everything went black.

When I open my eyes, I’m back at the Falcon Choosing, on the Carrano estate lawn, under the same white tents.

My hands are shaking inside my gloves.

The falcon does exactly what it did in my last life. It lands on Bianca's glove. Then it lands on mine.

The crowd erupts.

"Two women? How is that even possible?"

"Maybe even God can't decide between them!"

Donna Isabella, the Don's wife and the most respected woman in the family, watches us in silence.

Then my sister Bianca steps forward.

White dress. White veil. A tiny red birthmark between her brows.

Her face radiates the kind of gentle goodness that makes people want to believe every word she says.

"Donna, sisters shouldn’t fight over a man," Bianca says softly. "I’m happy to step aside and let Zoe take my place."

The crowd practically swoons.

In the front row, my stepmother, Margherita, sits up straight, beaming at her real daughter.

She leans toward the woman beside her.

"My Bianca’s been this way since she was a baby. Always giving her sister whatever she wants."

"What a generous heart." the woman replies. "Anyone can see your daughter was touched by an angel. She was born for greatness."

Margherita practically glows at the praise.

I lower my eyes and keep my mouth shut.

Bianca was born with a red birthmark between her brows. People called it an angel's kiss, a sign that she was destined for great things.

By the time she was three, she'd started imitating the Virgin Mary in the paintings.

White dresses. White veils. A soft voice. That serene little smile, as if nothing in the world could ever upset her.

When I was little, my grandmother gave me a pearl necklace. Bianca took one look at it and sighed.

"Pearls are beautiful, Zoe. But wearing them every day can weigh down your soul."

Then she offered to carry that burden for me. A week later, she was wearing my necklace.

"A peaceful heart can be happy anywhere," she told me. "Even in a closet."

So I was moved into the old storage room behind the kitchen, and my bedroom became her private prayer room.

That's Bianca's way. She never comes right out and asks for what she wants.

She drops a few sweet little hints, puts on that angelic face, and waits until you hand it over just to make her stop.

And now she's doing it again.

She doesn’t even want the Heir. But she’d never pass up a chance to be the star of the Choosing.

She wants the reputation. She wants the man she actually loves. And she wants to keep the Heir hoping he still has a chance with her.

So instead, she offers me up as the perfect solution.

"Zoe!” Margherita snaps, dragging me out of my thoughts. "What are you standing there for? Say thank you to your sister for being so generous!"

She marches over and grabs my shoulder, shoving me toward Bianca.

I let her push me, then jerk my arm hard. A puff of fine powder shakes loose from my glove, right under my nose.

"Achoo!"

I sneeze three times, hard, my eyes watering as I clap a hand over my face.

"Sorry, Mother. Something’s tickling my nose."

Then I lower my hand and turn my wrist, as if I’ve only just noticed.

A faint dusting of yellow powder clings to the cuff of my glove, sparkling in the sunlight.

I stare at it.

Then I look up, my voice trembling.

"What is that?"

For the first time, Bianca's perfect composure slips.

Margherita goes white.

"What are you talking about?" she hisses.

I stumble back two steps, playing the frightened girl to the hilt. Then I raise my voice so everyone on the lawn can hear me.

"Donna! I have no idea what this is. The falcon landed on my glove. Could this be why? Please, have someone test it right now, in front of everyone. I need to clear my name!"

Donna Isabella raises a hand.

The family’s head falconer steps forward. He rubs a pinch of the powder between his fingers, sniffs it, and his expression changes.

"Donna, it’s lure powder."

I gasp, letting my voice break.

"I don't know who's trying to frame me. Thank goodness I noticed it. If I hadn't, I'd never have known!"

Whispers ripple through the crowd.

"Would she really expose the evidence herself if she were guilty?"

"Looks more like someone planted it on her."

Bianca's lashes flutter, but for once, she has nothing to say.

Margherita panics. She rushes forward and grabs my arm.

"Your sister is offering you the next Donna’s spot! Just thank her and drop it! Stop making a scene!"

Before I can answer, engines purr at the edge of the lawn.

A line of black limousines glides up the drive.

“Dante’s here,” someone whispers.