"From the day Lucrezia set foot in this house, when have you ever known your place? You slipped her something to make sure she couldn't carry. You spread filth about her to every Capo's wife who'd listen. You pushed her down those stairs and killed the child she was carrying."
"All I did was give her your children as compensation, and you threw a fit, cut your own hair, and threatened to end your life."
Lucrezia delicately wiped the blood from her face, her voice catching in a pitiful sob as she added:
"The Don was merciful, all things considered. He still let you keep the title of blood-bound bride, for old times' sake."
"But you only behaved yourself for a month. The moment the fifth daughter was born, you threatened him with your life again."
She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with three fingertips pressed to her collarbone, her tone laced with indignation on Dante's behalf:
"The Don was so shaken those days he could barely function. He canceled three sit-downs in a row. And in the end, it was nothing but a ploy to keep him to yourself."
Malice churned behind my eyes. I let out a cold scoff.
"Chiara was pure-hearted to her core. She would never stoop to something so vile. Every word of it is slander."
"But from this day forward, every last thing you've accused her of, I will make you experience firsthand. Then you'll learn what true cruelty looks like."
The moment the words left my mouth, the household girl beside me dropped to her knees with a heavy thud.
She pressed her forehead to the marble floor, her voice trembling as though she could barely contain her fear:
"Don Griffin, Signora Moreno, this servant has something urgent to report..."
"The blood-bound bride... she has harbored a grudge against the Signora for the fifth daughter's death. In secret, she has been meeting with people outside the family. Passing information."
With shaking hands, she pulled a small ledger from the folds of her jacket. Names. Dates. Phone numbers that didn't belong to anyone in the Griffin organization.
I recognized this girl.
She had been eight years old, selling herself into service to pay for her father's burial.
It was my sister's kindness that saved her, kept her close, and sheltered her all these years.
Dante stared at the ledger, then turned his gaze to the girl kneeling in testimony.
"This is the very girl your sister rescued. Now even she has come forward to testify against you. Do you still intend to deny it?"
His eyes were bloodshot, and the way he looked at me held nothing but bone-deep revulsion and disappointment.
"Lucrezia told me you bullied her and her mother when you were children. I didn't believe it."
"But now the proof is undeniable. Every shred of your kindness was a lie."
My chest seized without warning, a dense, blunt pain splitting open across it.
A mouthful of blood surged up and sprayed out, spattering across Dante's face, already twisted with shock and fury.
I watched the terror flare in his eyes.
I wiped the blood from the corner of my lips.
This was the last protective ward my sister had left inside this body.
Not to shield herself. To shield everyone else.
She had thought of every single person except herself.
Between my fingertips, the strand of hair stained with blood burned white-hot.
Every ounce of pain my sister endured.
I would make them feel it all over again, from beginning to end.
Dante's mouth opened and closed. His throat bobbed. His left hand drifted to the scar on his palm and pressed there, hard, as if the old burn could anchor him to something solid.
A nameless, bone-piercing chill crawled up through his chest.
Right on cue, Lucrezia dissolved into whimpering sobs:
"Dante, why is she staring at us like that... that cold, hollow look... Something is wrong with her. Something is very wrong."
Dante lifted his gaze and went rigid.
Tears of blood streaked down my face. My eyes blazed red, and a spectral chill clung to me like mist, flickering at the edges of perception.
He seized Lucrezia by the arm and staggered back several steps, his voice tearing out of him in a ragged shout:
"Soldiers! Now! Get Alaric in here!"
I closed my eyes.
My lips moved soundlessly, shaping the syllables of something older than any oath sworn in this house.
This was a curse I had mastered when I was still the other one. The ghost. The half they locked away.
Within moments, Alaric Costello came rushing in.
He held a rosary and a leather case of old instruments before him like a shield, his face white with terror. He wiped his hands once on his handkerchief before he even spoke:
"Don Griffin, the instant I set foot in this wing, I felt it. An overwhelming wave of resentment. Rage. Something that should not be contained in a living body."
"But fear not. The fury is contained within the bride's body."
"We need only bind her to the stake in the burn room. Four iron bolts through the limbs. Then set the fire. That will purify her."
He meant to burn me alive.
