"Smile, Sienna," my father, Massimo, rumbles from beside me, his voice a low and warning. He doesn't look at me; his eyes arealready scanning the crowd, calculating political moves. "We are here to show strength, not your petulance."
I grind my teeth, forcing my lips to curve into a hollow mask. On my left, my sister Camilla shifts uncomfortably, her fingers tightly gripping her evening bag. We all know the rules. We all know the script.
Across the glittering floor, I spot Rosalia.
As always, she looks dignified and commanding, her dark chestnut hair styled in flawless, polished waves that frame her sharp cheekbones. She wears a structured, high-status midnight blue gown that screams seniority and elegance.
To the rest of the high society guests sipping champagne, she is the perfect mafia wife—controlled, diplomatic, and seasoned. She speaks carefully, tilting her head as she listens to an underboss's wife, her steady eyes assessing everything.
But I see right through the armor.
I see the slight, rigid tension in her shoulders. I see the way her hand flinches ever so slightly when Luciano approaches her from behind. He is a grotesque contrast to her—shriveled, sneering, and dripping with an unearned arrogance.
As we walk over to pay our respects, Luciano slides a heavy, possessive arm around Rosalia's waist. He digs his fingers intoher hip, hard enough that I notice the subtle catch in her breath, though her face remains an impenetrable wall of marble.
"Massimo," Luciano croaks, offering a dismissive nod to my father before his cruel, watery eyes slide down to Rosalia. "Tell your father how much you enjoyed the diamond necklace I bought you for my birthday, little bird. Tell him how good you’ve been."
The humiliation is loud, spoken just low enough to remain a private cruelty between families, but loud enough to pierce my chest like a knife. He treats her like property, a trophy to be broken and displayed. My stomach twists with a violent hatred for this man. I see a muscle tick in my father’s jaw. I hope he’s happy.
Rosalia doesn't blink. Her voice is smooth, entirely devoid of emotion as she nods at her husband and responds, “The diamonds are exquisite, Father. Luciano is... very attentive."
It makes me physically sick. She is completely miserable, trapped in a living hell that was manufactured for her when she was only seventeen years old to secure an alliance.
Seeing her like this is like staring into a dark mirror of my own future. In less than two weeks, I am supposed to belong to Alessandro. Will I be standing in a room like this, dead-eyed and hollowed out, thanking a monster for my own gilded cage?
Or should I be happy my husband is ridiculously hot, at least?
The pathetic, intrusive thought flashes through my mind before I can stop it, fueled by the lingering, phantom hum of the night he snuck into my room. I mentally shake myself. No. Hot or not, a monster is a monster.
Thankfully, my father and Luciano end up drifting away toward the dark wood of the cigar lounge to discuss business, leaving the four of us standing by the marble columns.
The moment their oppressive presence vanishes, our stiff masks drop. We immediately throw our arms around each other, pulling into a tight, fierce embrace. Since childhood, through every cold dinner and terrifying baseline of our lives, we’ve always known we only have each other.
Rosalia pulls back first, her hands lingering on my shoulders as she pins me with a sharp, protective gaze.
“You need to stop wearing your emotions on your face,sorellina,” she says softly. “It will get you into trouble one day.”
I scoff, crossing my arms over the front of my silk gown. “I can't help it. I don’t like him.”
“I don’t like him either,” Daniela chimes in, wrinkling her nose as she glares toward the cigar lounge.
Rosalia hums playfully, a rare glint of mischief breaking through her eyes. “My husband... or our father?”
We burst into sudden laughter, the sound light and loud against the suffocating, arrogant atmosphere of the ballroom.
“Shhh!” Rosalia chides immediately, though her lips twitch. “Don’t laugh like that in public. Compose yourselves, ladies. Eyes are always on us.”
Daniela sighs loudly. “I need a strong drink. Preferably vodka.”
“That’s not happening,” Rosalia answers.
“What? I’m old enough to drink!” Daniela argues.
“I don’t care.”
Camilla rolls her eyes at Rosalia, her face wrinkling in playful defiance. “You are so the elder sister,ugh. I miss Eleonora. When is she even coming back?”
Rosalia’s expression softens instantly. She reaches out, gently taking Camilla’s hand. “She’s coming back in a few days. Just in time for Sienna’s wedding.”
