The following morning, the air in the foyer was heavy, suffocated by the looming departure.
Dante stood near the door, a briefcase gripping his hand, looking every inch the king preparing to leave his castle.
"I am going to New York for the Commission meeting," he said, his voice clipping through the silence. "I will be gone for three days."
He looked down at me.
I was on my knees, clad in a simple, coarse grey uniform, scrubbing the marble floor. I made myself small, invisible.
"Elena is in charge," he continued, his gaze boring into the top of my head. "Do not test her."
I didn't look up. I focused on the swirling pattern of the marble.
"Safe travels, Don Moretti."
He hesitated. I could feel his irritation radiating off him like heat. The formality irked him. He didn't want a servant; he wanted me to beg. He wanted the old Sera, the one who would have clung to his lapels, eyes wide with worry, pleading with him to stay safe.
But that Sera was dead. She had died in the cold dark of the cellar.
Without another word, he turned and left. The heavy door clicked shut, sealing my fate for the next seventy-two hours.
Elena wasted no time.
She sat at the head of the dining table for lunch, posturing like a queen on a stolen throne. She rang the little silver bell, the sound sharp and demanding.
"Clear the table," she ordered.
I stood up, wiping my damp hands on my apron, and walked to the table. I reached for her half-eaten bowl of tomato bisque.
Just as my fingers brushed the porcelain, she flicked her wrist.
The bowl crashed to the floor.
Porcelain shattered with a violent crack. Thick, red bisque splattered across the pristine white rug, looking disturbingly like an arterial spray.
"Oh dear," she said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy, her eyes dancing with malice. "You are so clumsy. Clean it up. On your knees."
I stared at her for a heartbeat. Leo was watching from the next chair, grinning as he chewed on a chocolate bar, his face smeared with sugar.
Slowly, I knelt. I began to pick up the larger, jagged shards.
Leo jumped off his chair. He scrambled over, his movements quick and erratic, and before I could brace myself, he shoved me hard.
I fell forward.
My hands slammed down onto the jagged porcelain.
Pain sliced through my palms, hot and sharp. Blood bloomed instantly, dark and rich, mixing with the red soup until I couldn't tell where the food ended and I began.
I gasped, sitting back on my heels, breathless. Shards of fine china were embedded deep in my skin, glistening under the chandelier light.
Leo laughed, clapping his sticky hands. "Mommy, look! She's bleeding!"
Elena sipped her wine, unbothered. "That is what happens when you are useless, sweetie."
Something snapped.
It wasn't a loud snap. It wasn't a scream. It was a quiet, metallic click in the back of my mind, like the safety being flicked off a gun.
I stood up.
Blood dripped from my hands, hitting the pristine floor with a rhythmic *tap, tap, tap*.
I walked toward Elena.
She faltered. The dead, hollow look in my eyes must have finally pierced her arrogance, because she set her wine glass down with a tremble.
"What are you doing?" Her voice pitched higher. "Back off! Or I will tell Dante you attacked me again!"
I leaned over the table. I placed my bloody, lacerated hands flat on the white tablecloth.
I pressed down, leaving two perfect, crimson handprints staining the linen.
"You think you have won," I whispered, the words scraping out of my throat. "You think because you have his ear, you have his soul. But you don't know Dante. You don't know what he does to things that lie to him."
"I'm not lying!" she screeched, shrinking back.
I smiled. It felt jagged, a broken thing on my face.
"Mutually Assured Destruction, Elena. That is where we are," I said softly. "You can play the Queen while the King is away. But when he comes back... make sure your story holds water. Because my silence is the only thing keeping you alive right now."
"Get out!" she screamed, pointing a shaking finger at the door. "Get out of my sight!"
I turned and walked away, leaving the blood and the fear behind me.
I went to the servant's quarters. I sat on the narrow cot and pulled the shards out of my hands with tweezers, stifling every whimper. I wrapped the wounds in clean bandages, pulling them tight.
Then, I knelt by the bed and pried up the hidden floorboard. I pulled out the burner phone Lorenzo's secretary had slipped me at the Gala.
One message blinked on the screen.
*The boat leaves at midnight on Friday. Be at the docks. Pier 4.*
Friday. That was the day Dante returned.
I looked at my bandaged hands. I looked at the grey uniform that marked me as property.
I had forty-eight hours.
I had forty-eight hours to burn his empire to the ground.
And I wasn't going to use fire. I was going to use the truth.
And then, I was going to vanish like smoke.
