Part 3Don’t Mess With a Falcone

"Vanessa! Come with me to the police station and turn yourself in!"

A familiar voice came from behind Tom.

Preston strode through the crowd, grabbed my arm, and started dragging me.

"You made a huge mistake, and you need to take responsibility! Stop causing trouble for everyone!"

He put on a show of righteous justice, but his eyes glinted with calculation.

I shook his hand off in disgust, like flicking away a contaminated rag.

"Don't touch me."

"I did nothing wrong. Turn myself in for what?"

Lexi followed right behind Preston, her eyes red and her face streaked with tears.

"Vanessa, just confess," she sobbed, her words a pretense of kindness. "Don't make things worse. That was a human life, you have to answer for it. If you admit what you did, we'll all ask for a lighter sentence for you."

Just then, a heart-wrenching scream erupted from the edge of the crowd.

"A life for a life!"

A gray-haired, grief-stricken middle-aged man charged forward like a madman.

His eyes were bloodshot. He pulled out a pistol and aimed it straight between my eyes.

"It was you! You bullied my daughter, and you pushed her off that roof! I want blood for blood!"

The dark steel of the muzzle seemed to radiate a deadly chill.

Screams erupted as the crowd scattered in terror.

Facing a gun that could go off at any second, I forced myself to remain calm. The composure of a mafia heiress was in my bones. I looked at the man coldly.

"Look closely. I've been in the ICU for days." I held up my right wrist, showing him the hospital band with the dates clearly printed on it. "I was never on any rooftop."

The man froze. Staring at the wristband, his gun hand began to tremble uncontrollably.

Seeing him waver, Lexi shrieked, fanning the flames.

"Sir, don't listen to her! Her family is ridiculously wealthy. Faking a medical record at some fancy private hospital would be nothing to them!"

Preston immediately stepped forward, his face a mask of pain as he backed her up.

"As her boyfriend, I'm so sorry. Vanessa has always been arrogant and bullied others at school. I even heard her bad-mouthing your daughter myself."

The onlookers, not knowing the truth, exploded into a frenzy of curses.

"Does being rich mean you can just kill people?!"

"A vicious woman like her should be executed!"

Just as the scene was about to spiral out of control, the wail of police sirens cut through the air.

Several armed officers rushed into the garden, quickly subduing the distraught father.

The lead officer holstered his weapon, pulled out a pair of cold handcuffs, and walked straight toward me.

"Miss Vanessa, you are a suspect in a premeditated murder. The security camera in the corner of the rooftop clearly captured your back and your globally limited-edition trench coat. We also have multiple eyewitnesses."

My brow furrowed.

I had that coat packed and sent back to the estate that night. How could it have been at the crime scene?

"I am a Falcone," I said, ignoring the handcuffs and staring the officer down. "You won't touch me, and I won't say a word until my lawyer is present."

Hearing the name "Falcone," the officer's face changed instantly. His outstretched hand froze in mid-air.

In New York, no one dared to disrespect the Falcone family.

But Preston let out a sneer, his voice loud and mocking.

"Officer, don't listen to her. She's just desperate and making things up. I'm her boyfriend, I know her. She's just some rich kid, not a mafia princess!"

The officer's expression turned cold again. He raised the handcuffs, about to move on me by force.

Just then, a set of urgent, authoritative footsteps approached. A powerfully built couple, impeccably dressed, appeared, flanked by more than a dozen men in black suits.

The man's eyes were sharp, his voice like ice.

"What do you think you're doing to my daughter?"