Grace POV

The Grand Hall smelled of expensive perfume and laundered money.

It was the annual Family Charity Gala.

A polite, glittering way for the Vitiello crime family to wash their blood money in public while the city's elite applauded the performance.

I stood next to my sculpture.

It was a four-foot phoenix rising from a bed of jagged steel shards.

I had spent six months welding it.

My hands were covered in tiny white burns from the torch, scars I refused to hide.

They were proof I was real in a room full of counterfeits.

"It's aggressive," a voice drawled behind me.

I didn't turn.

I recognized the cloying scent of Chanel No. 5 and entitlement immediately.

Alexandria "Lexi" Moretti walked into my line of sight.

She was wearing a red dress that cost more than my parents' life insurance payout.

She gripped her glass of champagne like a weapon.

"Grace," she said, her smile not reaching her eyes. "Still playing with scrap metal? It looks dangerous. Someone might get hurt."

She flicked the wing of my phoenix with a manicured nail.

"Careful," I signed, my movements sharp.

She laughed. "Oh, right. The hands. I forgot you don't use words."

Josiah walked up behind her.

He looked like a king tonight—or perhaps a sacrifice dressed in silk.

Tuxedo, slicked-back hair, the weight of the organization visible in the set of his shoulders.

He put a hand on the small of Lexi's back.

It was a possessive claim, a gesture of ownership.

He didn't look at me.

He looked at my art, and his eyes were flat, devoid of the warmth I used to find there.

"The judges are ready," Josiah said.

Madame Dubois, the French art dealer the Family used to move stolen masterpieces, walked over.

She adjusted her glasses, peering closely at my phoenix.

"Magnificent," she whispered. "The pain... it is palpable. It screams."

She turned to Lexi's entry.

It was a generic marble bust of a Roman soldier.

Technically proficient, but soulless. It looked like something you bought at a high-end furniture store to fill empty space.

"And this," Madame Dubois said politely. "Is very... traditional."

Capo Davies walked into the circle.

He was the judge.

He was also the man who ran the docks Lexi's father controlled.

Davies looked at Josiah.

Josiah looked at the floor, a muscle feathering in his jaw, before his gaze flickered to Lexi.

Lexi leaned into him, whispering something in his ear.

Probably a reminder of the trade routes.

"The winner of this year's grant," Davies announced, his voice booming through the hall, "is Alexandria Moretti. For capturing the strength of our heritage."

Applause rippled through the room.

It was polite, bought applause.

Madame Dubois looked shocked. She started to speak, but a sharp look from Davies silenced her.

Lexi squealed and kissed Josiah on the cheek.

He didn't pull away.

He smiled.

It was the cold, practiced smile of a man closing a deal.

Lexi turned to me, clutching her trophy.

"Maybe next year, sweetie," she said loud enough for the circle to hear. "Although, art really requires a voice to sell it. Broken dolls don't make good salesmen."

The room went quiet.

People watched.

They wanted to see the mute girl cry.

They wanted to see the charity case crumble.

I looked at Josiah.

I waited for the protector.

He took a sip of his drink and looked away.

He chose the trade routes.

He chose the politics.

Something hot and sharp snapped in my chest.

I stepped forward.

I invaded Lexi's personal space.

She flinched, stepping back against Josiah.

I looked her dead in the eye, then shifted my gaze to Josiah.

I didn't sign.

I opened my mouth.

My voice was raspy from disuse, low and rough like gravel grinding together.

"He chose business."

It wasn't a scream.

It was a verdict.

Josiah dropped his glass.

It shattered on the marble floor, champagne exploding like a small bomb.

The sound echoed in the silence of the hall.

I turned my back on them.

I walked out the double doors, leaving the shards of glass and the shards of my hero behind me.

Grace POV

The night air was bitter, slicing through the thin fabric of my dress to bite at my bare arms, but I didn't feel it.

I was burning from the inside out.

I strode toward the estate gardens, my heels sinking into the soft, damp grass with every furious step.

"Grace!"

Footsteps pounded behind me. Heavy. Urgent.

I didn't stop.

A hand clamped onto my elbow, spinning me around.

Josiah.

His face was pale, his eyes wide with a mixture of horror and shock.

"You spoke," he breathed, his chest heaving. "Grace, you... you spoke."

I yanked my arm out of his grip with a sharp, violent motion.

I looked at him with the cold indifference of a stranger.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded, his voice rising in panic. "Dr. Evans said it could be years. You said that in front of everyone. In front of the Capos."

I stared at him, studying the fear in his eyes.

He wasn't happy I had my voice back.

He wasn't looking at a miracle; he was looking at a liability.

He was worried about the protocol. He was worried I had embarrassed him.

"Say it again," he ordered, desperation leaking into his tone. "Talk to me."

I stayed silent.

My silence was no longer a disability.

It was a weapon.

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing in a tight circle like a caged animal.

"You don't understand the pressure I'm under," he said, turning back to me. "Davies controls the unions. Lexi's father controls the imports. I had to let her win. It's politics, Grace. It's for the Family."

*For the Family.*

The excuse for every sin.

"I did it for us," he said, stepping closer, his voice softening. "To secure my position so I can keep you safe."

I looked down at his wrist.

He was reaching for my hand.

The sleeve of his tuxedo jacket rode up.

He was wearing a Rolex.

Gold. Flashy. Brand new.

Last week, he had been wearing the braided leather bracelet I made him.

The one I had spent three days weaving until my fingers bled.

The one he swore he would never take off because it was his "armor."

It was gone.

Replaced by gold.

Replaced by Lexi.

I looked back up at his eyes.

He saw where I was looking.

He flinched, jerking his sleeve down quickly to hide the evidence.

"She gave it to me tonight," he muttered, unable to hold my gaze. "I couldn't refuse it. It would be an insult."

I took a slow step back.

The protector I loved didn't exist.

He was just a boy playing dress-up in a gangster's suit, terrified of losing his crown.

"We leave for the Summit on Friday," he said, his voice hardening, trying to regain the control he knew he was losing. "The hunting lodge. You're coming."

I shook my head.

"It's not a request," he snapped. "You are my ward. You go where I go. Especially now. I need to know what else you're hiding."

He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him.

His fingers were rough.

"You belong to me, Grace. Don't forget that."

I didn't blink.

I let him see the void in my eyes.

I would go to the Summit.

Not because he ordered me.

But because the hunting lodge was ten miles from the interstate.

It was the perfect place to vanish.

I pulled away from his touch and walked back toward the house.

I didn't look back.

I shed one single tear in the darkness.

It was the last thing he would ever get from me.

Grace POV

The interior of the armored SUV was suffocating, a heavy mix of expensive leather and unspoken violence.

Josiah sat in the back row.

Lexi was perched right next to him.

I was exiled to the middle row, sitting in solitary confinement.

Josiah had delayed the entire convoy just to pick her up.

He didn't just want her there; he wanted to make a statement.

He needed every soldier in the regiment to see him claiming the Mafia Princess.

I watched them through the narrow slit of the rearview mirror.

Lexi was laughing, her manicured hand resting possessively high on his thigh.

Josiah stared out the window, his jaw set, but he didn't push her hand away.

My phone vibrated against my leg.

*Text from Josiah: Stop looking at us. I have to do this.*

I swiped the notification away and deleted the thread without reading it twice.

Another buzz.

*Text from Josiah: Did you bring your spare batteries for the hearing aid?*

The false concern made my stomach turn. I blocked his number.

We arrived at the lodge just as the sun began to bleed behind the mountains.

It wasn't a vacation home; it was a sprawling timber fortress, fortified against the world by dense, unforgiving forest.

Soldiers were already patrolling the perimeter, their assault rifles slung low and ready.

"Team building!" Lexi announced brightly as we unpacked. "Daddy says trust is the currency of our world."

She wasted no time organizing a game in the main lounge.

Truth or Dare.

Ideally suited for alcohol and cruelty.

I retreated to the corner, curling into a chair with my sketchbook.

To anyone watching, I was drawing the trees outside. In reality, I was drafting a tactical map of the perimeter I had memorized during the approach.

"Grace," Lexi’s voice cut through the room. "Your turn. Truth or dare?"

I didn't look up, keeping my charcoal pencil moving.

"Oh, right," she giggled, the sound sharp and brittle. "You can't do Truth. You can't speak. Dare it is."

Before I could react, she crossed the room and snatched the notebook from my hands.

"Hey!"

She ripped the page out with a vicious tear.

"Boring," she declared, crumpling my escape map into a ball. "I dare you to go get my bag from the SUV. I forgot my lipstick."

I stared at her, my grip tightening on the empty sketchbook.

I wasn't a servant. I wasn't her maid.

Josiah was watching from the stone fireplace.

He held a tumbler of scotch, the amber liquid swirling as he swirled the glass.

"Just do it, Grace," he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "Don't cause a scene."

I stood up slowly.

My blood was boiling beneath my skin, but I forced my face to remain blank.

I walked to the door.

I needed to check the guard rotation anyway. It was a tactical retreat.

I was gone for five minutes, no more.

When I returned, the room was silent.

Dead, suffocating silent.

Lexi was standing by her open suitcase, sobbing into her hands.

Josiah was holding something in the light.

It was a silver locket.

Her grandmother's antique locket.

"It was in her bag," Lexi cried, pointing a shaking finger at my backpack, which had been dumped onto the floor. "I saw it sticking out. She stole it!"

The air left the room.

Theft within the inner circle wasn't just a crime.

It was a capital offense.

It was a fundamental breach of the Code.

Everyone turned to look at Josiah.

Mark was there. The sons of the other Capos were watching, judging.

They were waiting to smell blood. They were waiting to see if he was weak.

They were waiting to see if he would protect his "pet" over the alliance.

Josiah walked over to me, his boots heavy on the floorboards.

He held up the locket, the silver chain dangling like a noose.

"Did you take this?" he asked, his voice devoid of warmth.

I shook my head violently.

I raised my hands, signing rapidly: *No. She planted it. I never touched it.*

"Liar!" Lexi screamed, her face twisted. "You've always been jealous of me!"

Josiah looked at the soldiers watching him.

He looked at Lexi, the key to the southern trade routes.

Then he looked at me.

And I saw the moment his humanity died.

"This is unacceptable," he said coldly. "Theft cannot be tolerated."

He pointed to the floor at his feet.

"Kneel."

My heart stopped beating.

"Josiah," I mouthed, the name tasting like ash.

"I said kneel!" he roared, his voice shaking the timber walls and vibrating through my bones. "Apologize to her. Now."

He was stripping me naked in front of them without touching my clothes.

He was taking the only thing I had left.

My dignity.

If I didn't kneel, he would look weak to his men.

If I didn't kneel, he would be forced to hurt me physically to prove his authority.

My knees hit the hardwood floor with a sickening thud.

I bowed my head, my hair falling forward to curtain my face.

I could feel the heat of their stares burning into my skin.

"I'm sorry," I signed, my movements jerky, stiff, and mechanical.

Lexi smirked through her fake tears, a predator satisfied with the kill.

"It's okay," she sniffled loudly. "She just doesn't know any better. She's broken."

Josiah turned away abruptly.

He couldn't even look at what he had done.

I stayed on the floor.

I wasn't praying for forgiveness.

I was making a promise to myself.

When I finally rose from this floor, I wouldn't just leave.

I would burn this entire world to the ground.