My Runaway Groom Came Back I Became His Aunt! novel Chapter 63

Chapter 1

I was experiencing rural life in Tuscany, my hands still covered in clay from pottery, when I was suddenly shoved into a

car-they said I was the long-lost bloodline of the Patrizzi family.

When I was dragged back, bound hand and foot, the fake heiress Elizabeth was nestled in the arms of Senator Mario

Patrizzi, sobbing softly.

Oh? So this was my biological father? He looked… tolerable, I suppose.

But Mario showed no warmth toward me, his real daughter. His voice was cold as he spoke: “Your sister damaged a painting that Prince Alexandro of the Corleone crime family gave to his sister. You will go in her place to atone.”

The fake heiress dabbed at her reddened eyes. “Don’t worry, sister. If something happens to you, I’ll be sure to take good

care of Mom and Dad for you.”

And the man standing nearby-Shawn, the young master of the Sterling family, my so-called “fiancé’-was staring at me

with undisguised disgust.

“Just as I thought-a country bumpkin, reeking of poverty.”

“Elizabeth is delicate and can’t endure hardship. You will go and apologize properly. If you dare refuse, I’ll make your life

a living hell.”

Poverty-stricken?

I looked down at myself in disbelief-head-to-toe haute couture. Just because I’d played with clay for a few days, how did

that make me look poor?

And besides, was my brother Alexandro really as ruthless as they said?

All because someone accidentally damaged a painting he’d given me? Was that really worth tying me up and forcing me

to kneel and apologize?

“Wait!”

Just as the guards flanking me began to steer me toward the door, Shawn’s voice cut through the room.

I’m going with her.”

“The Colleone estate isn’t a village tavern. Their protocols are… significant.” He pinned me with disdain. “This backwoods brat knows nothing of decorum. Who knows what she might do-bolt, or babble nonsense and offend them. Her blunder

would fall on all of us.”

He paused, letting the warning sink in. “Remember this. You will kneel for a full twelve hours at the Colleone residence. That is the only way to show proper contrition. Unless you want something to happen to that… rustic foster mother of

yours.”

The threat hung, unfinished but crystal clear.

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Foster mother?

I blinked.

What foster mother?

My adoptive mother was Donna Lucrezia Colleone, the matriarch of the very family they were so terrified of.

The day I’d gotten lost as a child, I’d wandered into a church. She was there. She’d taken one look, called me a little principessa, and by sunset, the adoption papers were being drawn up.

Interestingly, the very next year, my perpetually sickly brother Alexandro began a miraculous recovery. The whole

family believed I’d brought him luck, and they’d spoiled me rotten ever since.

They must have mistaken Maria, the housekeeper I’d gone to visit in her home village, for my adoptive mother. The

irony was almost delicious.

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