Sienna POV

Valeria didn’t just cry.

She crumbled.

She snatched a steak knife from the table, pressing the serrated edge against her wrist with trembling hands.

"I can’t live with this shame!" she wailed, her tear-filled eyes locking onto Dante. "She ruined me! Everyone has seen it!"

It was a performance.

I knew it.

Even Gia, who was pouring wine in the corner as part of her cover, knew it.

But Dante?

Dante saw a damsel in distress.

He slapped the knife from Valeria’s grip and crushed her against his chest, shielding her from the world.

Then, he turned his gaze on me.

It was a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

"You wanted to make a scene?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft. "You wanted to bring the gutter into my house?"

He signaled to Rocco.

"Bring the crates."

My blood ran cold.

Rocco hesitated, glancing nervously at the guests. "Boss, this is a formal dinne—"

"BRING THEM!" Dante roared, the sound vibrating through the crystal glasses.

Two soldiers scrambled out, returning moments later lugging heavy wooden crates from the kitchen.

The stench hit the room instantly.

Rotting fish guts. A thick, cloying wave of waste from the day’s catch, meant for the disposal unit.

Dante pointed a shaking finger at me.

"You act like trash, you get treated like trash."

He grabbed the first crate.

He didn’t hesitate.

He upended it over my head.

Slime, scales, and cold blood cascaded down my hair. It ruined the pristine white dress, soaking into my skin, chilling me to the bone.

The smell was vomit-inducing.

The room went deathly silent.

Even the cruelest of the wives looked away, unable to stomach the sight.

Dante stood over me, his chest heaving.

"You belong in the gutter, Sienna. Don’t ever forget that."

I stood there.

Dripping.

Slowly, deliberately, I wiped a fish scale from my eyelid.

I looked at him.

I didn’t cry.

I didn’t flinch.

I didn’t tremble.

Something inside me—the last fragile piece of the girl who hoped he might still love her—finally snapped.

It broke clean off.

I looked at Valeria, who was smirking into Dante’s shirt.

I looked at Dante, the King who was nothing more than a tyrant in a bespoke suit.

I reached into my pocket.

My fingers brushed against the cold glass of the vial.

Okay, I thought.

You want a tragedy?

I’ll give you a tragedy.

I turned and walked out of the room, leaving a glistening trail of slime on the expensive Persian rug.

I wasn’t walking away in shame.

I was walking toward my grave.

And he was coming with me.

Sienna POV

The private clinic reeked of antiseptic and sharp lemon polish, a violent contrast to the stench of rotting fish that still clung to my hair.

I sat on the crinkling paper of the exam table, shivering.

Not from cold.

It was from the sight of Dante pacing the hallway outside the frosted glass door.

His tuxedo jacket was gone. His white shirt was rolled to the elbows, marred by bright crimson.

Valeria’s blood.

She had collapsed twenty minutes after the chaos in the dining room. Foam spilling from her mouth. Seizures racking her body.

I had slipped the powder into her wine glass right before she threw it at the wall.

I thought I had failed.

I thought the wine dripping down the plaster was the end of it.

But she must have taken a sip. Just one fatal sip.

The door flew open with a bang.

The family doctor, a man named Dr. Moretti who had stitched up more bullet holes than surgical incisions, walked in. He looked ashen.

Dante followed him, sucking the air out of the small room just by stepping inside.

"She is losing blood fast," Moretti said, his voice trembling. "The toxin is destroying her red blood cells. We need a transfusion immediately or she goes into cardiac arrest."

Dante looked at me.

His eyes were voids.

"Test her," he ordered.

Moretti hesitated. "Boss, Sienna is severely anemic. Her records show—"

"I said test her!" Dante slammed his hand against the metal cabinet. Instruments clattered inside. "Valeria is O-negative. It's rare. Sienna is the only other O-negative in the family."

I shook my head.

My hands shook as I signed, No.

I signed, Let her die.

Dante crossed the room in two predatory strides.

He grabbed my face, his fingers digging into my jaw so hard I thought the bone would snap.

"You did this," he hissed. "I saw the residue in the glass. You tried to kill a Made Woman."

He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear.

"You wanted blood, Sienna? Now you'll give it. Every drop if necessary."

He turned to the doctor.

"Hook her up. Direct line. Drain her until Valeria is stable."

"But she might go into shock," Moretti whispered.

Dante didn't even blink.

"Then she goes into shock."

They strapped my arm down.

I didn't fight. What was the point?

The needle pierced my skin. It was a thick gauge. It hurt less than his words.

I watched the tube fill with dark red liquid.

My life.

Flowing out of me and into the woman who made my existence a living hell.

Dante stood by Valeria’s bed in the next room, watching the monitor through the open door. He held her hand.

He didn't look at me once.

The room began to spin. Black spots danced in my vision.

My heart fluttered like a trapped bird against my ribs.

I was fading.

And as the numb coldness crept up my limbs, I realized the cruelest joke of all.

I couldn't even kill properly.

I wasn't a wife. I wasn't even human.

I was just a spare part. A blood bag for the King's whore.

Sienna POV

I woke up sputtering, choking as a bucket of ice-cold water crashed against my face.

It wasn't fresh water. It tasted brackish. Salty.

I gasped, my chest heaving and lungs burning as I tried to inhale past the fluid.

I wasn't in the clinic anymore.

I was in the dark.

The air was damp and heavy, thick with the metallic tang of rust and the rot of mold.

I tried to lift my hands to wipe the stinging brine from my eyes.

There was a sharp, jarring clang.

Chains.

My wrists were shackled to the stone wall above my head, pulled so taut that my feet barely touched the ground.

"You're awake."

Dante stepped out of the shadows.

He was holding an empty metal bucket.

Despite the filth of the room, he looked impeccable. His suit was crisp, his hair slicked back without a single strand out of place.

As if he hadn't just drained his wife of blood to save his mistress.

"Why?" he asked.

One word.

He didn't shout. He sounded genuinely curious, like a scientist studying a specimen that had behaved unexpectedly.

I hung there, my body screaming in pain. The needle site on my arm throbbed in time with my racing heart.

Instinctively, I tried to move my fingers to speak, but the iron cuffs bit into my skin. I couldn't sign. My hands were bound.

I looked at him.

I let all the hate, all the sorrow, all the years of silence pour into my eyes like a weapon.

Because she is evil, I thought, screaming the words inside my skull. Because you are blind.

Dante stepped closer. He ran a finger down my wet cheek, his touch terrifyingly gentle.

"You broke Omertà, Sienna. You attacked the family. The penalty is death."

He paused, tilting his head slightly.

"But death is too easy for you. You like silence? You like the dark?"

He gestured to the dank space around us.

"This is the old wine cellar. The one you tried to lock Valeria in. Now, it's your home."

The heavy oak door creaked open behind him.

Valeria walked in.

She looked weak, leaning heavily on a cane, but her smile was vibrant, fed by a fresh source of life.

She was alive.

My blood was running through her veins now. It was my life force keeping her heart beating, fueling the very breath she used to mock me.

"Oh, Dante," she cooed, limping over to him and resting her head against his shoulder. "Is this wise? Her parents might ask questions."

Dante wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her fragility.

"Her parents believe she has been sent to a private sanatorium in Switzerland for her... mental condition. They are grateful I am paying for the best care."

Valeria laughed. It was a sharp, brittle sound that echoed off the stone walls.

She walked up to me, her gaze predatory.

She leaned in close, so close that only I could hear her whisper.

"You gave me your blood, little fish," she hissed. "Now I really am part of the family. And you? You're just a ghost."

She turned back to Dante, her face transforming into a mask of adoration.

"The wedding preparations are almost done, my love. We need to send the announcements."

Dante looked at me one last time.

There was no regret in his eyes. Only a cold, hard resolve.

"Let her rot," he said.

They walked out, leaving me to the shadows.

The heavy door slammed shut.

The lock engaged with a sound like a gunshot, sealing my fate.

I was alone in the dark.

Buried alive.