CHAPTER 1

**Rosalla's POV**

The blaring alarm shattered Rosalla's peaceful slumber, pulling her abruptly out of a blissful dream where she and Michael strolled along a chilly shore, exchanging soft laughter and secret smiles. The enchanting scene melted away as reality crashed back in.

“Rosa!!!” Jason's voice boomed from outside her door, his impatient knocking sending a tremor of annoyance through her.

He burst into her room without waiting for a response, tossing her pillow aside as if it were a feather.

“Great, just what I needed,” she thought, rolling her eyes at her stepbrother, the perpetual source of chaos. Jason was a whirlwind of energy, often reminding her of the burdens she faced — especially caring for their ailing mother while their father dealt with the crumbling family business.

“Jason! You’re worse than my alarm clock!” Rosalla groaned, pouting as she delivered a playful jab to his broad chest.

“Of course! I'm way better than that. Come on, baby sis!” he shot back, grinning, and enveloped her in a tight hug. She squirmed, trying to break free from his iron grip.

Sitting up and attempting to tame her unruly hair, Rosalla shot him a curious look. “Why are you waking me up so early? This isn’t like you.”

“Eh, you caught me!” he admitted, throwing himself onto the bed next to her. “I planned to hit the gym with some friends and need you to check on Mom. I’ll be back before noon, but I might swing by somewhere first.”

“Jason, you know I can’t handle it alone,” she protested feebly, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility settle on her chest.

“Sure you can! You’re tougher than you give yourself credit for. Just think of it as some quality time with Mom,” he insisted, his tone both playful and serious. The sibling rivalry between them was always tempered with a strong bond.

“For you, I suppose I can manage. But please be back early, alright?” she conceded, giving him a mock glare.

“Deal!” He opened his arms wide for what he called the magic bear hug, which she willingly fell into. His warmth lifted her spirits, even if only a little.

He left, and as the door clicked shut, Rosalla steeled herself for the day ahead. She was used to caring for her mother; her mother had fallen deeper into her illness and needed constant vigilance. A glance at the clock showed it was already 5:30 a.m., and she decided to take a quick shower.

Just as she reached for the bathroom door, a horrible, strained sound echoed from her mother’s room—a chilling moan that sent a jolt of fear through her. “Not again,” she thought, racing towards the sound.

“Mom!” she cried out, flinging open the door only to find her mother nearly falling off the bed. Panic clawed at her chest. “Please, God, not again. Not like this.”

With trembling hands, she dialed the hospital, her mind racing with fear and confusion. Her mother needed help—immediately.

Minutes later, an ambulance arrived. Rosalla held her breath as paramedics wheeled her mother out on a stretcher. Once again, tears streamed down her cheeks. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing her mother; she had to stay strong for her.

After what felt like an eternity, a doctor appeared. “You can see her now,” he finally said.

Rosalla entered the sterile hospital room, where her mother lay connected to monitors and IV lines. Carefully, she held her mother’s hand, hoping for a stable moment to settle her racing heartbeat.

Time passed slowly. Her stomach grumbled in protest, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the night before. Guilt seeped in as she thought of her mother, but she also needed sustenance to clear her head.

Maybe a quick visit to Michael would be a good idea. A warm meal, a shower, and a short distraction from her worries would give her the boost needed to face the day ahead.

Once she arrived at Michael’s home, she paid the driver and took a moment to glance at her reflection in the car window. Dressed in a simple sleeveless black dress and looking worn out, she knew she had to pull herself together.

Knocking softly on the door, she called out for him. When there was no answer, she knocked again, louder this time. Anxiety tickled her spine. Was he even home?

Without a spare key visible, she turned the knob and stepped inside. The familiar scent of his home enveloped her, stirring a whirlwind of fond memories. But today, she reminded herself that it was not the time for nostalgia.

Climbing the stairs, she approached his room, where the door stood ajar. The sound of laughter drifted from the bathroom, mixed with muffled voices that sounded unfamiliar. Curiosity piqued, she paused outside the door and heard unmistakable sounds of passion—moans, whispers, and laughter.

Rosalla’s heart raced as confusion and disbelief washed over her. “No way,” she thought. Could Michael be… with someone?

Peering through the slightly ajar door, she was met with a shocking sight: Michael stood in the bathroom, water streaming down his chiseled physique, while a woman was leaning against the wall, a lustful grin on her face. Next to them was a familiar figure—Wills, one of Michael’s friends, also half-clothed and clearly complicit in the moment.

“Michael!” Rosalla gasped, her breath catching in her throat. How could he be doing this? Was this what he’d been up to while she worried about her dying mother?

Startled, Michael turned toward the door, eyes wide as he spotted her. The grin slipped from his face, replaced by a mix of panic and guilt.

“Rosalla!” he exclaimed, grabbing a towel to cover himself.

The woman scrambled to adjust her clothing, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Wills looked equally shocked but tried to play it off with a smirk.

“Uh… this isn’t what it looks like,” Michael stammered awkwardly, words tumbling out in a futile attempt to salvage the situation.

“Not what it looks like?” Rosalla shot back, her voice trembling in disbelief. “You’re having sex in the bathroom! While I’m running around trying to keep my family together, you’re here… this!”

THE MAFIA'S HEIR