The infant is surprisingly light.
Seated in a quiet corner of the banquet table, I hold this illegitimate child against my chest as she sleeps peacefully.
My eyes drop to the baby's tiny wrist, where a heavy gold protection medallion rests against her pale skin. It features a highly detailed, custom-engraved phoenix crest.
My finger traces the cold metal rim, and a sharp, acidic cramp seizes my stomach.
I know every single ridge of that metal; I recognize the exact weight and polish of the gold.
I commissioned this exact piece seven years ago for my unborn twin daughters. I paid the jeweler in cash. After I lost them, I placed it in my son Leo's room as a sacred protective charm. I had chosen the design specifically to protect them from the violent world we inhabit.
With a trembling thumb, I turn the medallion over. The name Sienna is newly engraved on the back.
Valentina glides back to the table, settling into the empty chair beside me.
She gazes at the sleeping infant with a radiant smile.
"Her name is Sienna," she whispers softly. "Silas chose it himself."
Reaching out, she gently touches the gold medallion. "He specially custom-ordered this piece just for her."
Valentina sighs contentedly, a portrait of domestic bliss.
"You know," she casually mentions, "Silas only stopped traveling for business this past year. He used to be away constantly before the baby was born."
The truth clicks into place with a sickening finality.
Silas's dangerous Syndicate 'business trips' were a complete lie. He had used the sacred law of Omertà as a cloak to leave our estate and play at being a husband in this second home.
The baby shifts in my arms, not with a cry, but with a small sigh, settling deeper into my embrace.
Valentina notices and offers an apologetic smile.
"Would you mind holding her just a little longer?" she asks. "I need to go to the entrance to greet the arriving Bosses."
I nod slowly, a profound numbness creeping into my limbs.
Alone again, I stare at the massive banner strung across the back wall. It reads in huge, glittering gold letters: Celebrating the 100-Day Banquet of Silas and Valentina's Beloved Daughter, Sienna.
The hypocrisy is a physical, burning sensation in my throat. I remember pleading with Silas to throw a banquet for our lawful son, Leo. He had refused, insisting it was too great of a security risk-that rival families would target our boy.
The low thrum of my phone inside my purse pulls me from my reverie.
I retrieve it and see a text message from my mother-in-law.
She aggressively demands that I wire a two-thousand-dollar tribute to a distant relative for their newborn child.
I simply stare at the illuminated screen, my fingers feeling thick and useless. I do not type a reply.
Another text comes through immediately, a tirade. She calls me cold, informing me that I lack the grace and generosity befitting a proper Mafia wife.
Then, Valentina's phone rings on the table. She had left it behind.
The caller ID flashes Silas's name. My hand moves of its own accord; I tap the screen and answer it. I do not speak.
Silas's voice comes through the speaker, warm and affectionate, assuming Valentina is on the line.
"Babe, did you put that blessed gold piece Mom gave us on the baby?" he asks smoothly. "She spent hours yesterday at the sacred shrine having it consecrated by the High Priest."
A wave of pure, visceral nausea washes over me.
My mother-in-law did not just prepare a gift; she stole my lawful son's sacred protection medallion. She had lifted Leo's gold piece directly from his bedroom to gift to this bastard child.
I hear my mother-in-law's voice in the background of the call, a sickeningly sweet confection as she coos into the speakerphone.
"I cannot wait to see you, Valentina," the older woman says. "Thank you for finally giving us a precious granddaughter."
Before the full weight of this final betrayal can settle, the heavy oak doors at the back of the banquet hall swing wide open.
