Colino paused at the door, his hand resting on the carved mahogany frame. "What did you throw away?"

I didn't even look at him.

"Just some garbage I should've gotten rid of long ago."

He didn't seem to care. As if suddenly remembering something, he added casually, "I heard Piper accidentally damaged the wedding gown. But don't worry. I've asked the seamstress to rush a new one. It'll be ready in time for the ceremony."

He slung his jacket over one shoulder, the silk lining catching the dim light.

"Remember, tomorrow night's the gathering at the estate. Don't be late. I've got business, so I'm not coming home tonight."

He grabbed his keys and left. Not once did he glance at the overflowing trash bin behind me—filled with everything he'd ever given me.

The next night, 8:00 PM.

I arrived at the Marconi Family's grand hotel alone.

The moment I stepped into the garden, I saw them.

Colino and Piper.

Dressed in matching custom couture, bathed in warm lawn lights like royalty holding court. The cream of the Five Families milled about them, champagne flutes glinting like scattered diamonds in the evening air.

Carmela Marconi's face twisted the moment she saw me.

Her smile dropped like a cracked mask.

She wore the Bulgari necklace Piper had gifted her—a gaudy thing dripping with stones that screamed new money trying to buy old respect. Her eyes ran over me with undisguised disdain, cataloging every flaw, every perceived slight against her precious bloodline.

"You're an hour late. No surprise. No manners at all—just like your mother the thief."

But Colino told me the gathering started at eight.

I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms.

A long time ago, I'd mentioned in passing that Piper's mother had been a mistress—a comare who'd spread her legs for a married man. The next day, Carmela Marconi's missing jewelry "miraculously" appeared under my mother's pillow.

Colino knew my mother had been framed.

He never defended me. Not once.

But now—I didn't grovel. I didn't bow my head like a good little servant's daughter should. I looked straight into Carmela Marconi's cold eyes, then right at Piper's smug little face.

"I'm not here to be insulted," I said, my voice cutting through the garden's polite murmur like a blade through silk. Then I looked Piper dead in the eye. "My mother was not a thief. She didn't raise me to seduce men like some women raise their daughters."

The words had barely left my mouth when a vicious slap exploded across my cheek.

My ears rang. My body hit the ground hard, the manicured grass cold and damp beneath my palms.

The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

Colino stood over me, expression cold and condescending—the face of a man who'd been raised to believe his word was law, his judgment absolute.

"You spread rumors about her! Don't you know it makes her suffer? How long are you gonna keep this going? Do you want her to kill herself?"

I pushed myself up, my face burning with rage.

"She suffered? She?!" I barked out a laugh, bitter and broken—the sound of something inside me finally snapping. "She suffered from her own stupid choices! And you—you know exactly what she did. My mother is dead! I lost everything and you're just going to stand there and let her play the victim?!"

The whispers started—quiet at first, like a ripple across still water, then louder as the crowd leaned in. In this world, gossip was currency, and I'd just handed them a fortune.

Colino's jaw clenched tight, a muscle ticking beneath his skin.

"Leave," he growled under his breath, his voice barely above a whisper but carrying the weight of a threat. "Go calm yourself down. You've embarrassed yourself enough in front of the guests."

The garden buzzed with elite chatter—the connected people of the Five Families, all watching the spectacle with barely concealed delight.

Bertram and Carmela Marconi quickly stepped in with flutes of champagne, smiling stiffly like puppet masters smoothing over a minor disruption.

"Let's not ruin the evening. Come, everyone—drink up!"

Guests swarmed Colino and Piper with congratulations.

"Cheers to the happy couple!"

"Congratulations to the future Mr. and Mrs. Marconi—such a perfect match!"

Colino had always said he wanted our arrangement to be a "surprise."

He never told a soul about us.

And now?

He smiled like a gentleman, standing next to Piper like she'd always been the promised bride—like the blood debt his Family owed my mother had never existed.

He didn't even try to explain.

She clung to his arm like she belonged there, her fingers curled possessively around his sleeve.

Under the glittering lights, they looked like a picture-perfect couple—the heir apparent and his beautiful bride, a union that would strengthen the Marconi name for generations.

While I stood there like a wet stain on a white rug.

I let out a breathless, bitter laugh and turned to go, but a hand blocked my way.

Piper.

She smiled like she'd already won—like she'd been winning since the day she first spread her legs for my fiancé.

"Leaving so soon?" she cooed, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "But I haven't told you how that old woman died."

My heart stopped.

The garden noise faded to a dull roar, replaced by the thundering of my own pulse.

"What did you just say?"

She leaned in close, her perfume cloying and thick, her voice low enough that only I could hear—a whisper meant for the damned.

"I told her if she wanted the money back, she'd have to film herself doing something… special. You know, the kind men pay for." She grinned, her teeth white and sharp in the lamplight. "But she got all high and mighty. She refused and even had the nerve to insult me and my mom."

A twisted laugh escaped her painted lips.

"So I gave her what she deserved."

She sighed dramatically, as if recounting a minor inconvenience rather than a murder.

"Did you know? She barely made it through fifty men before she collapsed. Still had the nerve to clutch my leg and beg—beg—me to return the money to her 'sweet daughter.'"

She made a clicking sound with her tongue, savoring the memory like fine wine.

"Pathetic, really."

Her words struck like a blade between the ribs.

For a moment, rage consumed me—a wildfire that burned through every nerve, every thought, every shred of restraint I'd ever possessed. No sound escaped my throat. Only fury, raw and blinding, coiling in my chest like a serpent preparing to strike.

Then I snapped.

I lunged at Piper.

Fists clenched. Nails sinking into flesh like talons.

I seized her hair, wrenched her down, clawed at her face, her throat—anywhere I could reach. The silk of her gown tore beneath my fingers like the lies she'd woven around my life.

"You monster! Give me my mother back, you stronza!"

But before I could draw blood—before I could carve the truth into her treacherous skin—agony exploded through my spine. Then my ribs. The soldiers were on me in an instant, their polished shoes connecting with bone, their fists driving me to the cold marble until I curled into myself like a broken marionette.

Gasps rippled through the gathering like wind through dead leaves.

Colino shoved past the crowd, his face carved from granite.

He didn't spare me a glance.

He went straight to Piper—sobbing, trembling, performing the role of wounded dove with practiced perfection—and gathered her into his arms as though she were spun from Venetian glass.

When his eyes finally cut toward me, they held the warmth of a midwinter grave.

"You've gone too far." His voice was quiet. Lethal. "Kneel. Apologize to her. Now."

I stared at him through blood-matted hair, disbelief clawing at my throat.

He wasn't finished.

"Your mother was weak. She got cast aside and died chasing scraps. Now you're blaming Piper for your own blood's failures? Everyone here witnessed what you did." His lip curled with disgust. "Are you proud of yourself, Anneliese? Is this the respect you bring to our union?"

The room hummed with whispers, growing louder and uglier with each passing heartbeat—vultures circling carrion.

"I heard her mother once lifted jewelry from Donna Carmela's collection," one woman murmured, her voice deliberately carrying across the marble hall. "Word is she died during some botched snatch job—turned up with her organs harvested like livestock. Honestly? Sounds like she had it coming. Disloyal blood runs true."

"And the daughter's cut from the same cloth," another voice added with venomous satisfaction. "Ungrateful little puttana. Raised to sink her claws into men above her station. Just like her whore of a mother."

I remained on my knees, the cold seeping through silk into bone. I wanted to scream—to tell them they were wrong. That my mother wasn't a thief. That Lucia Giordano had served the Marconi household with more loyalty than any of them would ever understand. That I wasn't some scheming woman trying to climb above my place.

But my throat was dust. My voice, stolen.

Colino's patience frayed like old rope.

"Apologize, Anneliese. I'll count to three." His words fell like hammer blows. "One... two—"

Disappointment seared through every fiber of my being—a betrayal more complete than any blade could deliver.

I gave in.

My knees cracked against the unforgiving marble. I lifted my chin—then drove my forehead down in a bow so violent I tasted copper flooding my mouth.

"I'm sorry. I was wrong. I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

Blood mingled with tears, blurring the world into watercolors of crimson and gold.

I raised my head with a smile that felt like broken glass cutting my own face.

"Is that enough, Colino? Did your precious comare receive sufficient tribute?"

He froze. Something flickered behind his eyes—a crack in the ice, a ghost of the boy who'd once held my hand in his mother's garden. His pupils contracted as though he finally saw me. Saw the ruin he'd made of us both.

He took half a step forward.

But Piper's fingers dug into his arm, her voice quivering with manufactured terror.

"Colino, I'm frightened... look at her eyes. She's lost her mind..."

He hesitated. The crack sealed over, smooth as fresh ice on a winter pond.

He stepped back. Drew her closer against his chest.

His gaze slid away from mine like oil on water. When he spoke again, his voice was hollow. Mechanical. The voice of a man already washing his hands.

"Go home. Try not to cause any more disgrace to this Family."

I rose. Somehow. My legs trembled like a newborn foal's, but I refused to fall. Not here. Not before these jackals in their designer gowns and hand-stitched suits.

I turned to face him one final time.

The man I'd loved for a decade. The heir I'd been promised to since girlhood. The future Don who couldn't recognize loyalty when it knelt bleeding at his feet.

Then I walked away.

The crowd parted before me like the Red Sea—not from respect, but from revulsion. As though my grief were contagious. As though my mother's murder might somehow stain their precious reputations.

Let them look.

Let them remember this moment when the reckoning came.

The night bit with savage cold when I reached the crematorium on the outskirts of the city. I stood in silence as my mother—Lucia Giordano, faithful servant, devoted parent, woman who'd once saved a Marconi heir from a rival Family's snatch job and received nothing but contempt in return—turned to ash.

The flames consumed her. Orange and gold and terrible.

When her remains scattered into the dark waters of the harbor, so did the last tether binding my heart to this world.

Gone. Just like that.

At midnight, I slipped the engagement ring from my finger—the three-carat symbol of a blood pact that had never been honored. I set it gently inside the nightstand drawer of the bedroom I'd shared with Colino's ghost for three hollow years.

No need for formal dissolution. His devotion had never been real to begin with.

How convenient.

I wheeled my single suitcase to the front door of the Marconi estate, my footsteps echoing through halls that had never truly been my home.

My phone buzzed.

Colino: [Did you get your wounds treated? Piper says she forgives you. Let's put this behind us and focus on tomorrow.]

Colino: [I picked up a new gown for the ceremony. Hand-beaded Venetian lace. Gorgeous. I'll have it sent over.]

No reply.

A moment passed. The phone buzzed again, more insistent.

Colino: [Asleep already? Why aren't you answering? It's our union ceremony tomorrow—the alliance between our Families becomes official. Be good, Anneliese. Don't embarrass me again.]

I blocked him. Every number. Every account connected to his name. I extracted the SIM card, snapped it cleanly in half between my fingers, and dropped the pieces down a storm drain as I walked to the waiting car.

Just like him. Discarded. Forgotten.

A black sedan idled by the iron gates, its engine purring like a patient predator.

I slid into the leather interior.

"To the private airfield."

The city lights raced past my window, smearing into ghosts against the rain-streaked glass. Ten years of memories—of stolen kisses in moonlit gardens, of whispered promises, of love that had rotted from the inside like a poisoned apple—dissolved into shadow.

I watched the Marconi compound disappear in the rearview mirror.

"We will never meet again, Colino." My voice was steady now. Cold as the harbor waters that held my mother's ashes. "And by sunrise, your wedding gift will arrive. Right on time."

The car merged onto the highway, carrying me toward a new life.

Behind me, a dynasty prepared to burn.