Chapter 2

"Come get it yourself."

I stumbled forward in desperation, my throat closing tighter with every breath.

Suddenly, they clutched their faces and burst into loud sobs.

"Papa, Mama just hit us!"

When I turned my head, I saw clear handprints on their cheeks.

Adriana rushed over and slapped me hard, her rings catching my cheekbone. "Sister, how could you strike the children?"

"You'd fake a fit just to dodge blame, to buy Lorenzo's pity? How could you treat him this way, in his own house?"

I gritted my teeth through the pain and looked at Lorenzo.

"I... didn't... I really am allergic..."

My face was so swollen I could barely speak. A small smirk tugged at the corner of Adriana's lips.

She was the only one who knew I was allergic to roses.

"Enough."

He told his soldier to bring me the medicine. For a second, I felt a flicker of warmth.

"You believe me? I really didn't—"

His cold voice cut me off.

"Giving you the medicine is only so you don't die and make a mess I have to clean up."

"Stop pretending, Serafina. Do you really think the boys would lie about this?" He smoothed the lapel of his jacket with a single flat stroke of his palm, the way he always did before he was cruel and called it reason.

He locked me in a room, saying it was for reflection.

After a full day and night without food, his soldier arrived with a dress.

"Madam, the Boss is holding a sit-down to welcome Miss Vitale back to the Family. Your presence is required."

Clutching my aching stomach, I weakly shook my head.

"I'm not going."

The soldier tossed the dress down carelessly onto the floor.

"The Boss said if you don't come, you'd best start worrying about your adoptive father..."

He didn't need to finish his sentence. I already understood.

Using Don Vitale, the man who raised me and now lay dying, had always been their leash on me.

When I arrived at the sit-down in that dress, I realized it was an old white gown, yellowed with age and stained with faint traces of blood.

"Who's that? Dressed so cheap."

"Oh, that's Serafina. The one who crawled into the young Falcone's bed and stole her sister's arranged union."

The murmurs moved through the room like smoke, and I understood right away that this was exactly what Lorenzo wanted.

He wanted every made man and their wife to see how far beneath Adriana I sat.

Just then, Adriana came down the staircase hand-in-hand with Lorenzo.

The butterflies stitched across her gown sparkled under the chandeliers, and Lorenzo smiled the warm smile he never once turned on me.

"Adriana deserves all the most beautiful things in this world."

The twins ran to her, eyes shining.

"Mama, you're so pretty."

Lorenzo looked at me on purpose, letting the room feel the shift.

"Well? Aren't you going to pour the drinks?"

Every head turned toward me. The girl serving beside me hesitated, glancing between us.

"Boss, we're the ones who pour for the—"

Lorenzo sipped his wine and said it casually, the way he said everything that cut deepest.

"She enjoys serving people. Isn't that right?"

I stiffened. The threat sat under the calm of his voice, plain as a blade left on the table.

"Gutter-born girls love to serve, don't they?"

"Look at her. Pathetic. Not fit to carry Adriana's shoes across the floor."

The laughter rang in my ears, sharp and pleased.

Shame burning through me, I picked up the bottle and followed behind Lorenzo, pouring wine and setting plates before men who watched me like a stray let in from the cold.

Adriana couldn't hold back her laugh.

"I heard sister used to work tables in some restaurant. No wonder she's so skilled at this."

Lorenzo sneered. "That's all she's good for."

Adriana walked up to me, glass raised.

"Sister, I'd like to make a toast. Thank you for raising the children these past nine years."

Instinctively, I looked at Lorenzo. He was the first who ever learned how badly wine poisoned me.

But he just looked at me coldly.

"Are you deaf or blind? Drink it."

My hands trembled as I reached for the glass, but Adriana let go on purpose. Red wine spilled all over my head.

My hair clung to my scalp, soaked and sticky, carrying a sour, unpleasant smell.