Chapter 2

I kept watch through the night.

By morning, the bruising had crept all the way up my neck and down both arms.

The Moretti household staff arrived early.

Today was the family sit-down Eli had organized — every capo, every underboss, every allied don in the region had been summoned to witness what he was calling a "public correction."

I was supposed to stand before them all and apologize.

The woman they sent to prepare me reached for my hand, then recoiled.

"She's — cold. Mr. Moretti, her temperature is…"

Eli was selecting a tie. He glanced over.

"She spent three months underground. Cold hands are expected."

"She probably trained herself to stay still to sell the suffering angle."

"Just put some color on her face. She looks appalling."

"And those purple patches on her neck—"

Sebastian came down the stairs.

"Bruising from the cellar. Cover it. Today's theme is reconciliation — we're not showing up looking like we ran a torture operation."

The woman said nothing more and pressed concealer into my skin with hands that had not stopped trembling.

Floating at a distance, I found it almost funny.

Concealer could cover the discoloration. Nothing could cover the smell of death.

"Get that jacket off her. She reeks."

Zara came downstairs and pointed at a white dress hanging on the rack.

"Put her in that."

It was something Zara had worn once and discarded. The size was wrong. Too small.

Two housewomen tried to dress me.

That's when the problem became clear.

Rigor mortis. My limbs had locked rigid. They couldn't bend my arms.

One of them tried several times and said, "Mr. Moretti, she's not cooperating."

"Her arms won't move. She's fighting us."

Eli's expression darkened. He set his coffee cup down hard.

"Ava Moretti. How much longer are you going to drag this out?"

"If you won't put the dress on, you can walk in there as you are."

My body, naturally, gave no answer.

Sebastian crossed the room in four steps.

"If you want to play stubborn, fine."

He grabbed my left arm and wrenched it outward.

The sound of bone fracturing carried across the entire hall.

My soul lurched upward. I screamed — then remembered there was nothing left to feel pain.

"There. Strong grip for someone supposedly incapacitated."

Sebastian let go. My arm dropped at a wrong angle, bent where arms should not bend.

"Stop the dramatics and get dressed."

He assumed it was defiance. That was all.

The housewomen, hands shaking, worked the white dress onto my body.

The broken arm required a long glove to hide the shape of it.

They folded both hands over my lap and arranged them as best they could.

I was dressed, positioned, and styled without a single word of protest from me.

Foundation erased the purple of my lips.

Concealer buried the bruising on my neck.

A high collar covered the marks where the restraints had been locked around my throat in the cellar.

Eli walked a slow circle around the wheelchair and nodded.

"That's more like it."

"Three months actually did something. That attitude is gone."

"When she's quiet, she looks just like she used to."

He reached out and patted my face — cold, stiff, unyielding.

"When we get to the venue — if you embarrass this family, or say a single word out of turn, I will make sure you spend the rest of your life wishing you'd stayed in that cellar."

Don't worry, Eli.

In this chair is where I'll stay. And I will never speak again.

"Let's go. Don't keep the families waiting."

A houseman wheeled me out through the front door.

The sun was sharp. But I couldn't feel its warmth.

The hall where the sit-down was being held was already packed — capos, underbosses, allied heads, all of them in good suits with bad histories.

Zara had changed into a fitted black dress; her makeup artist had given her the practiced look of a fragile, grievously wronged woman.

While Eli and Sebastian worked the room, Zara drifted over to my wheelchair and crouched beside me.

"Ava. You're so quiet today. I love it."

She pressed her thumb into my side hard and twisted.

"You always used to call me a pretty face with no spine. Nothing to say now?"

"Tired? Or just out of ideas?"

"Don't worry. There are a few more surprises waiting for you up at that table."

I didn't respond. Zara tilted her head.

"You really can hold a grudge. But then you're about to lose the engagement anyway. Might as well go quietly."

Lose the engagement?

I looked over at Sebastian sharply.

He was standing under the chandeliers, leaning toward Eli, murmuring something low.

I drifted close enough to hear.

"Today's the right moment. In front of every head in the room. The whole commission watching."

"I'm cutting this loose permanently."

Eli was quiet for a beat. He looked toward my corner of the room.

"She brought it on herself. No one else to blame."

In that moment, my soul felt it again — the same gutting pain.

So even the last thing I had left — my name, my place in this family, the engagement you chose for me — means nothing.

I don't even get the dignity of being considered a person worth keeping.