Chapter 4

"What the hell is going on down here?"

Vincent's voice cuts through the hallway.

The DeLuca consigliere walks in with a black folder under one arm. Gray neat hair, face unreadable.

He looks at the people gathered near the basement stairs. Then he sees the door.

His face changes.

"Damon," he asks slowly, "where is Ava?"

Damon does not move. "In there."

Vincent stares at him. "You locked your future Donna in a wine cellar?"

"She needed a lesson."

"In this heat? With no air?"

"She's faking."

Vincent steps closer. His voice drops low and dangerous.

"Open the door."

Damon smiles without warmth. "Careful, Vincent."

"I am your consigliere," Vincent says. "My job is to tell you when you are about to destroy yourself. Open that door before this becomes a corpse."

Too late, I think.

Too late.

Damon reaches into his pocket and takes out the key.

For one wild second, hope rises in me.

I know I am dead. I know my body cannot be saved.

But I still want that door opened. I'd be satisfied if even one person knew the truth.

Vincent holds out his hand. "Give it to me."

Damon looks at him.

Then he lets the key fall through the drain grate beside the stairs.

The tiny clink echoes from the dark below.

The hallway goes silent.

Vincent freezes.

Mia gasps softly, like she is shocked, but her eyes are bright.

Damon spreads his hands.

"Looks like we wait for bolt cutters."

Vincent's jaw tightens. "Have you lost your mind?"

"No," Damon says. "I am done letting her humiliate me in my own house."

"She is a Romano."

"She is my fiancée."

"She is a person."

Damon's eyes go cold. "She is acting like a child."

Mia steps forward at once.

"Vincent, please don't blame Damon," she says. "Ava heard all of this. She's choosing not to answer."

Vincent turns to her.

Mia lowers her eyes.

She continues. "She shuts down until everyone gets scared. Then Damon feels guilty, and she gets whatever she wants."

A few people murmur.

The dinner has been delayed. The speeches have stopped.

Guests are crowded near the hall now, sweating in their suits and gowns, angry that the night has turned ugly.

One of Damon's cousins mutters, "She picked a hell of a night for drama."

Another woman whispers, "She should just apologize."

Someone else says, "This is why you don't let spoiled girls marry into power."

Their words hit the door like stones.

Vincent ignores them.

He steps to the door and pounds on it twice.

"Ava!" he shouts. "If you can hear me, answer."

Nothing.

Only the smell rolls out from the crack beneath the door.

Blood. Vomit. Heat.

The smell of Death.

Vincent's face drains of color.

He turns to a guard. "Get cutters. Now."

Damon moves in front of him.

"I said no one opens that door until I give the order."

Vincent looks him in the eye. "Then give the order."

"I am the Don."

"And I am trying to keep you from becoming a murderer."

For a moment, the whole hallway holds its breath.

No one talks to Damon like that.

Damon's hand curls into a fist.

Mia rushes in before he can speak.

"Damon," she says, grabbing his arm, "don't let them turn this on you. Ava wants this. She wants everyone to think you're cruel."

"She is not answering," Vincent snaps.

"She is stubborn," Mia says. "She would rather sit there all night than admit she lied."

The guests start again.

"She's holding the whole dinner hostage."

"She's embarrassing both families."

"Someone should have corrected her years ago."

I float above them, curled in on myself.

I used to think if I behaved well enough, Damon would finally see me.

If I smiled through every insult, stayed quiet when Mia touched his arm.

If I sent him my medical reports and used small words and begged instead of demanded.

He would believe me.

Now I know better... I can never expect a heartless man to truly see me.

The moment I show my real needs, even for a second, all he sees is a spoiled, childish woman—not his lover, not his equal.

Vincent sends another guard running for tools despite Damon's order.

Damon watches him go with a cold smile.

Mia stands close beside him, safe in the warmth of his body.

And I hover above the door, dry-eyed and empty.

I cannot cry anymore.

My tears died with me.

All that is left is silence.