Elena Vitiello POV
The microphone felt like a shard of ice in my hand.
The air around me smelled of stale beer and acrid fear.
I stood frozen on the small stage, the spotlights searing into my retinas, blinding me.
Below, hundreds of eyes watched from the shadows.
Judgmental.
Amused.
Predatory.
Dante stood like a sentinel at the back of the room, his phone in his hand, his thumb hovering dangerously over the screen.
He was waiting.
If I didn't kneel, he would destroy the only thing left of my mother.
He would desecrate her grave.
I looked at Sofia.
She was smirking, her arms crossed over her chest, enjoying every second of my humiliation.
She was a monster, and I was feeding her.
I took a breath.
It rattled in my chest like a dying engine.
"I..." My voice cracked.
I swallowed the acidic bile rising in my throat.
"I want to apologize to my sister, Sofia."
A low murmur went through the crowd.
"I am... mentally unwell," I lied, the words tasting of ash. "I made accusations that were unfounded. I am jealous of her spirit."
Dante nodded once, imperceptibly.
"Sofia," I said, turning to face her. "I am sorry."
I lowered myself.
My knees hit the hardwood floor with a sickening thud.
I bowed my head.
I was the wife of the Underboss, kneeling before a murderer.
It was the ultimate submission.
The ultimate defeat.
"That's sweet," Sofia chirped.
She walked up to the stage with a bounce in her step.
She stood over me.
"But words are cheap, Elena."
She pulled a small remote detonator from her glittering clutch.
It looked like a garage door opener.
My blood ran cold.
I looked up.
"What is that?"
Dante frowned. He stepped forward, his posture shifting from observer to enforcer. "Sofia, put that away."
"You promised her you wouldn't make the call, Dante," Sofia giggled. Her eyes were glazed, manic. "But I didn't promise anything."
"Sofia, no!" Dante shouted.
He started running, shoving people aside.
She pressed the button.
A dull thump echoed in the distance.
It wasn't loud from here, but the ground trembled beneath my knees.
The windows of the hall rattled in their frames.
A plume of black smoke began to rise in the distance, visible through the glass doors.
From the direction of the cemetery.
"Oops," Sofia laughed, the sound sharp and cruel. "Happy birthday to me."
I didn't think.
I didn't breathe.
I scrambled up and ran.
I ran past Dante, who was staring at Sofia in paralyzed shock.
I ran out the doors, down the steps, and threw myself into my car.
I drove toward the smoke.
I drove until the road ended and the rubble began.
The Vitiello mausoleum was gone.
It was a crater of shattered marble and twisted iron.
Dust hung in the air like a shroud, choking out the moonlight.
I stumbled out of the car.
"Mom?" I whispered.
I fell to my knees in the debris, ignoring the sharp stones cutting into my skin.
I dug with my bare hands.
I found a piece of stone with her name on it.
Maria.
Broken in half.
There was nothing else.
Just dust.
Dante had promised to protect me.
He had promised to protect her memory.
He had failed.
He had handed the match to the arsonist.
My vision blurred.
The world tilted on its axis.
The grief was too big for my body.
It crushed my lungs.
I curled up on the cold, broken stones.
And let the darkness take me.
