Sienna POV

The night air was thick with humidity, clinging to my skin like a second layer when I met Gia by the service entrance.

She didn't say a word.

She just pressed a small, cold vial into my palm.

It looked like water.

But I knew better. It was liquid death.

"One drop slows your heart," she whispered, her eyes darting through the darkness, scanning for Dante's guards. "The whole vial stops it. You have a window of four minutes before you hit the floor."

I squeezed her hand.

Thank you.

I slipped back into the estate, the glass vial burning a phantom hole in my pocket.

I needed to hide it.

I was heading toward my bedroom when Valeria stepped out of the shadows.

She was holding a glass of red wine, swirling the dark liquid casually.

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Where have you been, little mute?" she asked.

I tried to step around her.

She blocked my path.

"Dante is in the shower," she said, leaning against the wall with practiced ease. "He told me how you begged for your parents. Pathetic."

I clenched my jaw.

I raised my hands and signed, Get out of my way.

She laughed.

"Or what? You'll wave your hands at me?"

Her eyes flicked toward the hallway, listening.

Suddenly, she threw the wine.

Not at me.

She hurled it at the wall behind her.

The glass shattered on impact. Red liquid splashed everywhere, looking horrifyingly like a crime scene.

Then she screamed.

"Help! Dante! She's crazy!"

She threw herself onto the floor amidst the broken glass, deliberately slicing her palm on a shard.

Footsteps thundered down the hall.

Dante appeared, a towel wrapped low around his waist, water still dripping from his chest.

He saw the wine. The glass. Valeria bleeding on the floor.

"She locked me in!" Valeria sobbed, pointing a shaking finger at me. "She tried to push me into the wine cellar and lock the door! She's jealous, Dante! She's insane!"

Dante turned to me.

His face was a mask of terrifying calm.

I shook my head violently.

Liar, I signed frantically. She is lying.

Dante didn't even glance at my hands.

He looked only at the blood on Valeria's palm.

"I told you to accept her," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I told you to behave."

He grabbed my arm.

He didn't drag me to the bedroom.

He hauled me through the kitchen, past the stainless steel counters, to the heavy industrial door at the back.

The walk-in freezer.

The Vitiello front business was seafood distribution.

The estate kitchen was always stocked.

Dante threw the door open.

A blast of sub-zero air hit me like a physical blow.

It smelled of ozone and dead fish.

My stomach lurched.

The smell took me back to the docks. To the scaling knives. To the blood under my fingernails that I could never scrub away.

"You like to act like a gutter rat?" Dante snarled, shoving me inside. "Then you can cool off with the rest of the inventory."

I stumbled back, falling onto a crate of frozen halibut.

The cold bit through my thin silk dress instantly, seeping into my bones.

"Dante!" I tried to scream, but only a choked gasp came out.

I scrambled to the door, pounding on the metal.

He stood on the other side, unmoving.

"Think about respect, Sienna," he said.

Then he slammed the heavy door shut.

The latch clicked.

Darkness swallowed me.

The only light came from the small temperature gauge on the wall.

It read -10 degrees.

I curled into a ball on the metal floor, shivering violently.

The smell of fish was suffocating.

It coated my tongue.

It filled my lungs.

I wasn't the Don's wife in here.

I was just the fisherman's daughter again.

Worthless.

Disposable.

I touched the vial in my pocket.

It was the only warm thing left in my world.

Sienna POV

Two hours later, Rocco finally yanked the freezer door open.

He didn't look me in the eye.

"Boss says get dressed. We're going to the Gala."

My lips were cracked and blue.

My fingers were numb claws, so stiff I could barely button the designer dress Dante had laid out on the bed.

It was white.

Pure, innocent white.

It felt like a cruel joke.

The charity gala was held in a ballroom that reeked of old money and corruption—a spectacle that cost more than my father's entire lifetime of earnings.

Light refracted off massive crystal chandeliers, dancing over champagne towers.

Everywhere I looked, there were men who killed for a living wearing tuxedos that cost five grand.

Dante clamped his hand onto my waist as we entered.

His touch was warm, possessive.

"Smile," he whispered against my ear, his breath hot against my frozen skin. "You look pale."

I wanted to vomit.

Valeria was there, of course.

She was draped in blood-red silk.

She stood by her father, a Capo who controlled the Brooklyn docks, looking like royalty.

The auction began an hour later.

It was a "Charity Date Auction."

Rich men bidding on dances with the eligible women of the Family.

It was all for show. Money laundering with a smile.

When Valeria took the stage, the room went dead quiet.

She beamed, blowing a kiss to the crowd.

"Starting bid at five thousand," the auctioneer called out.

"Ten thousand," a voice yelled.

"Twenty," said another.

Dante stepped forward, detaching himself from my side.

He raised his hand.

"One million."

The room gasped.

Silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Valeria's smile widened into a victorious smirk. She looked directly at me.

Dante didn't look at her. He looked at the crowd, challenging anyone to defy him.

He was marking his territory.

And I was just the furniture.

Suddenly, I felt a vibration in my clutch.

Then another.

Around the room, phones started lighting up like fireflies.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, growing louder like an approaching tide.

People were looking at their screens, then looking at me.

Some were laughing.

I saw a woman near me whisper to her husband, covering her mouth but not her eyes. Her eyes were mocking.

With trembling fingers, I pulled out my own phone.

I had a notification. A mass text sent to everyone on the guest list.

The Don's Catch of the Day.

I opened the attachment.

It was a photo of me from five years ago.

I was wearing rubber overalls, covered in fish guts, holding a scaling knife. My hair was matted with blood and slime. I looked feral. Poor. Dirty.

Beneath it was a caption: You can take the girl out of the gutter, but you can't take the smell out of the girl.

I dropped the phone.

The screen cracked on the marble floor.

I looked up.

Dante was walking Valeria off the stage.

He had his hand on the small of her back.

He hadn't seen the phones yet.

Or maybe he had.

And maybe he didn't care.

I stood there in my white dress, surrounded by diamonds and silk, and I had never felt filthier in my life.

Sienna POV

I cornered him in the narrow hallway near the restrooms, where the orchestral music from the ballroom was muffled to a dull, rhythmic thrum.

Desperation clawing at my throat, I slammed my hand against his chest to stop him.

Dante looked down at me, his expression tightening with annoyance.

"What is it now, Sienna?"

I held up my cracked phone, my hand trembling as I showed him the photo.

Then, I let my hands speak for me. I signed aggressively, my movements sharp and jagged.

She did this. Valeria sent this.

Dante glanced at the photo for barely a second.

He didn't look angry. He looked utterly indifferent.

"It's a picture of you working, Sienna. It's the truth. Why are you ashamed of where you come from?"

My mouth opened in a silent scream of frustration. The sound died in my throat, choking me.

It's humiliation! I signed, my fingers flying. She is mocking me to the entire Family!

Dante caught my hands again, stilling my voice.

"Valeria is the daughter of a Made Man. She has class. She wouldn't stoop to sending petty texts. This was probably one of your old friends from the docks looking for a shakedown."

He released me, dusting off his suit jacket as if my touch had soiled it.

"Fix your face. It's your birthday dinner in ten minutes. Stop acting like a victim."

He walked away.

He defended her.

He would always defend her.

The dinner was held in a private dining room off the main hall, a space reserved for the elite.

The table was long, laden with crystal and silver, and filled with the inner circle.

Valeria sat across from me, perfectly poised.

As the waiters brought out the antipasto, the wife of a soldier next to me leaned in.

She sniffed the air theatrically, wrinkling her nose.

"Do you smell that?" she asked the table, her voice pitched just loud enough to carry. "Smells like... low tide."

The table erupted in polite, cruel laughter.

Valeria covered her smile with a linen napkin, her eyes dancing with malice.

I stared at my plate.

I gripped my fork so hard the metal dug into my skin, anchoring me to reality.

Suddenly, the large screen on the wall—meant for a slideshow of my life—flickered.

Static hissed through the speakers.

But it wasn't a picture of me that materialized.

It was a picture of Valeria.

She was naked. Tied to a bedpost.

And she wasn't alone.

She was with a man who was definitely not Dante. It was a rival soldier.

The room exploded.

Chairs scraped violently against the floor as men jumped to their feet.

Valeria shrieked, shattering the glass-fragile atmosphere.

"Turn it off! Turn it off!"

She looked at Dante, her eyes wide with panic.

Then, finding her scapegoat, she pointed a trembling finger at me.

"She did this!" Valeria screamed. "She hacked the system! She's trying to frame me!"

Dante stood up.

His face was a mask of thunder.

He looked at the screen, then at Valeria, and finally, he turned his cold gaze upon me.

He didn't see the truth.

He didn't see that I lacked the skills, the resources, or the access to do this.

He only saw his mistress humiliated.

And his wife sitting there, stone-faced.

"Sienna," he said.

It was not a question. It was a warning.

A sentence.

He believed her.

Again.