Adrian's POV(Dante's mind)
The bells wouldn't stop ringing.
I pressed my hands against my ears, but the sound kept drilling into my skull. Except it wasn't just the bells anymore—it was voices. Hundreds of voices screaming inside my head.
"The useless prince strikes again!"
"Adrian can't even hold a sword properly."
"What a disappointment to the crown."
Memories that weren't mine crashed through my brain like a tsunami. I saw a little boy crying in a corner while older kids laughed at him. I saw a teenager dropping books in a hallway while servants whispered. I saw a young man standing alone at parties, invisible to everyone.
Prince Adrian Valerian. That was the boy's name. No—that was MY name now.
"No, no, no," I muttered, backing away from the mirror. "This isn't real. I'm Dante Russo. I'm—"
More memories slammed into me. A cold father who barely looked at him. A brother who smiled while saying cruel things. A sister who acted like he didn't exist.
And death. I saw Adrian's mother dying when he was eight years old. She'd thrown herself in front of assassins trying to kill him. Her blood had splattered across his face while she whispered, "Run, my sweet boy. Run."
He'd been broken ever since.
My chest tightened. Not from physical pain—from emotion. This kid had lived through hell too. Different from my hell, but just as bad.
"Your Highness?" A voice called from outside the door. "Are you awake?"
I froze. Someone was here.
My mafia instincts kicked in immediately. I couldn't let them know something was wrong. In my old life, showing weakness meant death. This world probably worked the same way.
I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Think. I had Adrian's memories now. I knew how he acted—quiet, scared, apologetic for existing.
I could pretend. I was good at pretending.
"Come in," I said, making my voice soft and uncertain. Just like Adrian would.
The door opened and a young servant girl entered, carrying a breakfast tray. She kept her eyes down, not looking at me.
"Good morning, Your Highness," she said quietly. "I brought your meal."
She set the tray on a table near the window. I noticed her hands shaking slightly.
Adrian's memories told me why. Servants who worked for the "useless prince" got mocked too. This girl probably hated being assigned to me.
"Thank you," I said.
She looked up, surprised. Adrian rarely spoke to servants.
"You're... welcome, Your Highness." She turned to leave, then hesitated. "Prince Cassian requests your presence in the throne room. Immediately."
Ice ran through my veins.
Prince Cassian. Adrian's older brother. The crown prince.
More memories flooded in—Cassian's cruel smile, his "accidental" shoves, the way he made Adrian feel worthless without ever raising his voice.
"Did he say why?" I asked carefully.
The servant's face went pale. "No, Your Highness. But he seemed... eager."
Eager. That word choice made my skin crawl.
"I'll go right away," I told her.
She bowed and left quickly, like she couldn't wait to escape.
The moment the door closed, I rushed to the breakfast tray. Dante's instincts screamed warnings. I'd been poisoned twice in my old life—you don't survive the mafia without learning to be paranoid.
I examined the food carefully. Eggs, bread, juice. Everything looked normal.
But there—a faint shimmer in the juice that shouldn't be there.
I dipped my finger in it and touched it to my tongue. Just barely. A weird metallic taste hit immediately.
Poison.
Someone had just tried to kill me at breakfast.
My hands clenched into fists. I'd been in this body for less than an hour and someone already wanted me dead.
No. Not me. Adrian. They'd been trying to kill Adrian.
"Who?" I whispered to the empty room. "Which one of you wants me dead?"
But I already knew the answer. Adrian's memories showed me everything. Cassian wanted the throne secured. Adrian was technically still in line for the crown. As long as Adrian lived, he was a potential threat.
The hunting trip. Adrian's memories showed me the plan—next month, Cassian would take Adrian hunting. There would be an "accident." Adrian would never come home.
Except... the servant said Cassian wanted to see me immediately. And someone had poisoned my breakfast.
Were they moving up the timeline?
I looked at the food again, then at my new reflection in a small mirror on the wall. This weak body. These soft hands. This boy who'd never fought back against anyone.
But I wasn't that boy anymore.
I was Dante Russo. I'd built a criminal empire from nothing. I'd survived wars between families, assassination attempts, and betrayals.
If Cassian wanted me dead, he'd have to work a lot harder than poisoned juice.
I grabbed the tray and threw the whole thing out the window. Let them find that and wonder if I knew.
Then I straightened my shoulders and headed for the door. Time to meet my "loving" brother.
But as I reached for the handle, the door slammed open.
A man in golden armor stood there—tall, handsome, with cold blue eyes that reminded me of Vincent's right before he'd pulled the trigger.
Crown Prince Cassian.
"Little brother," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I've been waiting for you. We need to talk about your... future."
Two guards stepped into view behind him. Their hands rested on their sword handles.
This wasn't a request.
This was a trap.
And I'd just walked right into it.
Cassian's smile widened as he saw the fear flash across my face. "Don't look so worried, Adrian. I promise this won't hurt."
He was lying.
I could see it in his eyes.
Whatever he'd planned for next month—he was doing it today.
And I had no weapons, no allies, and a body that had never won a fight in its entire life.
"After you," Cassian said, gesturing down the hallway with mock politeness.
The guards moved closer, boxing me in.
I had two choices: go with them and probably die, or refuse and definitely die right here.
My new heart pounded against my ribs.
I'd just gotten a second chance at life.
I wasn't ready to lose it yet.
"Of course, brother," I said in Adrian's meek voice, even as my brain screamed at me to run. "Lead the way."
As I walked past Cassian, he leaned close and whispered in my ear: "Mother would be so disappointed to see what you've become. But don't worry—you won't be a disappointment much longer."
The guards fell into step behind me, cutting off any escape.
And with each step down that hallway, one thing became crystal clear:
If I wanted to survive this world, I'd have to become someone new.
Not Dante Russo.
Not Prince Adrian.
Something deadlier than both.