Chapter 3

Two hours pass.

The engagement dinner keeps going upstairs.

Guests eat lobster and veal under crystal chandeliers. Dons and their Donnas drink Damon's wine and gossip.

I float by the door, watching everything from above.

A maid carrying empty glasses steppes out of the service tunnel.

Her face is completely pale. "Don DeLuca…"

Everyone in the back hallway looks over.

"There's blood coming from that wine cellar..."

---

Under the basement door, a dark red liquid is slowly spreading across the stone floor.

It comes out in a thin line at first. Sticky. Thick.

Then more follows, pooling near the bottom step.

In the warm air, the edges turn almost black.

The hallway erupts in whispers.

Marco takes one step forward. "Jesus Christ."

Mia moves faster.

She pinches her nose and steps back. "Oh my God. Ava is unbelievable."

Several people look at her.

Mia points at the stain.

"That's fake blood," she says. "Mixed with outdated red wine. Ava probably smashed a bottle down there."

My soul shakes with rage.

Red wine?

That is from my mouth. From my split lip. From the blood and bile that spill out after my heart stops and my face hits the floor.

But Mia keeps talking.

"She knows tonight matters. She's trying to ruin it because Damon saw through her fake excuse and wouldn't let her leave early."

The fear in the hallway quickly changes to annoyance.

This is Mia's gift.

She does not need people to believe her completely.

She only needs them to doubt me for one second.

Damon comes down the stairs.

His black suit is still perfect. His cuff links shine. His face is calm.

When his eyes land on the dark stain. For one moment, something flickers there.

Then Mia touches his sleeve.

"It's a stunt," she whispers. "You know how she gets."

The flicker dies.

Damon walks to the door.

"Ava," he calls. "Enough."

No answer.

Of course there is no answer.

My body is lying in stale heat, empty of breath.

Damon's patience runs out.

"I said enough."

He lifts his foot and kicks the metal door.

The sound cracks through the hallway.

Inside, the force shakes the door so hard that my body tips sideways. My shoulder drops first. Then my head hits the rusted metal shelf beside me.

A dull, sickening thud rolls through the door.

Everyone hears it.

The maid gasps.

Marco's face goes gray.

Even Mia freezes.

For one second, Damon goes still too.

Then he laughs.

"You hear that?" he says. "Still strong enough to throw things."

Marco's voice is barely a whisper. "Don, that didn't sound like—"

Damon cuts him off with one look.

Marco shuts his mouth.

Mia lets out a shaky laugh. "She's kicking boxes around. She always gets violent when she doesn't win."

I float between them, screaming without sound.

Damon looks up at the narrow vent above the basement door. It is the only place air can pass through.

A thin rectangle cut into the old wall, covered with a dusty metal grille.

His eyes narrow.

"If she wants to hide," he says, "let her hide properly."

He points at two guards.

"Cover the vent."

The guards hesitate.

Damon's voice drops. "Now."

They run.

---

When they come back, they carry a heavy black tarp from the loading bay. The kind they use to cover crates from late-night shipments.

One guard climbs onto a chair. Another passes him rope.

Together they pull the tarp over the vent and tie it tight.

The last thin breath of air disappears.

The basement becomes a tomb.

Inside, the heat has nowhere to go. The smell thickens.

My body lies in the dark with one hand still pressed over my heart, as if I can hold it together after it has already failed.

I claw at the tarp.

My fingers pass through it.

I try again.

Nothing.

I turn on Damon.

I hit his chest, his face, his throat.

My fists sink through him like smoke.

He does not even shiver.

He only looks at the covered vent with satisfaction.

"She wanted to rest," he says. "Now she can rest."

A few men force out low laughs.

Most stay silent. Fear sews their mouths shut.

Mia slips her arm through Damon's.

"You're doing the right thing," she says. "If you give in now, she'll use this for the rest of your marriage."

Damon nods.

He believes her.

He always believes her.

The guests begin to whisper again.

"She is making a scene."

"At her own engagement dinner?"

"Romano girls are too proud."

"She should just apologize."

I look at the dark liquid under the door.

Then at Damon.

Then at Mia.

For the first time since dying, I stop screaming.

My life means less to him than her lie.