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.