Gianna pointed right at me. "You guys heard that, right? She's still screaming. Does that SOUND like someone dying?" Her voice dripped fake concern, pure theater—like I was some freakshow for her amusement.

Next to her, Carlo's jaw tightened. That look—the one that always meant I was embarrassing him again. "Siena, enough. It's our anniversary party. Can't you, for once, not kill the vibe?"

Those words stung worse than any slap.

"I'm... not faking," I wheezed. "I'm really allergic..."

The room spun, walls melting into black. My lungs felt like they'd been shrink-wrapped, but I still turned toward Carlo—because apparently, I hadn't learned my lesson about hoping.

Gianna slinked between us, fingers curling around his arm. "Forget her, Carlo. She'll drop the act the second no one's watching. Come on, let's cut the apple pie."

The crowd parted like trained dogs, clearing a path for their grand entrance.

They sliced the first piece. The smell of cinnamon and butter—once comfort—now just made my stomach twist.

Then Gianna gasped like she'd been shot.

Her slice had "accidentally" slipped, jam smearing across her designer dress.

"Oh no, it itches. Am I allergic to the jam?" she whined, wide-eyed.

Laughter broke out.

"Jam can totally cause skin reactions, Capo! You better help her wipe it off!"

"Too bad, last napkin's gone. What if it's serious? You might have to lick it off!"

Carlo frowned, staring at the napkin box.

Gianna dragged a finger through the jam, voice low. "Carlo, help me—"

"Enough," he snapped—then leaned in anyway.

Someone shouted from the back, "Yo, Capo, your wife's watching! Think she's jealous?"

Another voice cackled, "Nah, she's too busy starring in her own tragedy!"

Laughter exploded again—ugly, roaring, cruel.

Through the blur, I saw Carlo glance my way. Just once.

Then he dipped his head toward Gianna's chest.

And time stopped.

The pain hit fast—sharp, brutal.

The pie I'd baked for us? Just another prop in their sleazy little show.

I tried to move, crawl, anything—but the second I pushed up, the world dimmed to black. My body refused to fight.

Then it hit me—my spare pill. I'd shoved it into my coat pocket days ago.

My hands shook so hard I could barely grip the fabric. Seconds stretched like years. Finally, my fingers brushed something small and smooth. I yanked it out, vision flickering.

'Almost there. Just get it in your mouth...'

But my hands wouldn't stop trembling.

The pill slipped, bounced once—then crunched under a jeweled stiletto.

Gianna.

She twisted her heel slow, deliberate, grinding until nothing was left but white dust. Then she pressed down—on my hand. Pain shot up my arm. I heard a tiny crack, but no sound came out.

"Why..." I breathed.

Gianna crouched, her smile pure venom. "Let's play a game, Siena. What if Don Suvari's precious daughter just... died in a freak accident tonight?

"Her heartbroken husband would inherit everything, right?

"And if I happened to marry that grieving widower afterward..."

She tilted her head, eyes glinting. "Then the Suvari empire would be mine."

And just like that, it clicked.

She didn't want to embarrass me. She wanted me gone. Dead.

But she'd messed up. The Suvari Family doesn't hand their throne to outsiders—especially not snakes in designer heels.

I forced my eyes open, found the clock.

Three minutes left.

Gianna sighed, already bored. "You're tougher than I thought." She smoothed her dress, flashing that cold little smile. "Guess I'll do you a favor and finish the job myself."

Gianna grabbed a slice of pie. "Heard you made these yourself, Siena. Why not try a bite?"

Before I could blink, she smashed it into my face.

Crust cracked. Hot jam hit like lava. It clogged my nose, filled my mouth—I couldn't breathe.

Panic tore through me, yanking out one last burst of strength.

"Help!" I choked, voice shredded. "Somebody—HELP ME!"

That finally got their attention.

Carlo stormed over, all fake calm and ice. "What's going on here?"

Gianna froze, that smug grin flipping to fake concern in a heartbeat.

"Oh my God, Siena! How'd you make such a mess eating pie? Here, let me help you clean up."

I tried to back off, but my legs gave out. I stumbled right into her.

She let out a high-pitched shriek and dropped to the floor. "Siena! I was just trying to help—and you shoved me?"

Carlo stormed over, fury flashing in his eyes. "Siena, can you stop humiliating yourself?"

Then he actually looked at me—my skin tinted blue, lips shaking—and for a second, the anger cracked.

"What's wrong with her face? Maybe we should give her the meds?"

He took a step toward me, but Gianna caught his arm.

"Don't let her fool you, Carlo. She's just thirsty. Happens when she's dehydrated."

The second she said 'thirsty', his whole expression softened.

Gianna picked up a glass of clear liquid, her smile sugar-sweet. "Here, Carlo. Give it to her. She'll only drink it if it's from you."

He nodded—because of course he did—and stepped toward me.

The second the rim hit my lips, the scent slammed into me.

Amaretto. Deadly with almond.

Terror surged through me. I jerked my head away.

That tiny act of defiance flipped a switch in him.

"I'm trying to help you, and you're still putting on a show? Enough already!"

Gianna yanked the glass from Carlo's hand and jammed it toward my face. "Let me do it. She needs to learn her lesson."

She forced my jaw open. The liquid scorched its way down my raw throat like acid.

I hit the floor hard, choking, tears blinding me as I coughed and retched.

Gianna laughed, setting the glass down like she deserved applause. "See? A little water and she's magically cured."

Carlo actually nodded. "Guess she really was just thirsty."

He turned to walk off, but I clawed at his pant leg, barely holding on.

"Help... me..." My throat was sandpaper. "My father is... Don Giovanni Suvari..."

Carlo looked down and actually scoffed. "Your dad's the Don? Please. You clip coupons and chase clearance deals. We've been married for a year—don't you think I'd know if you were mafia royalty?"

Laughter exploded around us.

"Somebody's watched way too many mob flicks," someone cracked. "Now she thinks she's the main character."

Gianna lost it, laughing so hard she cried.

"Still clinging to that princess fantasy?" She kicked a crusty chunk of pie at me. "Here's your crown. Go ahead, wear it. Dirty little princess needs a rinse. Lemme help."

She grabbed the Amaretto and dumped it over my head.

The cold liquor drenched my hair and scorched its way down my neck.

Gianna's laugh cut through the room—shrill, smug, victorious. "How's that, princess? Feeling royal yet?"

Carlo leaned against the wall, arms crossed like he was watching a trainwreck. "Gianna, don't overdo it."

Yeah, not worried. Just didn't want blood on his designer shoes.

I was fading fast. Every breath stabbed like broken glass. The air reeked of liquor, almonds, and straight-up evil.

Their voices blurred into one giant, echoing nightmare. My eyes flicked to the wall clock.

9:10.

That was it.

Nobody came. Maybe my family gave up too.

Just as my eyes started to close, the doors slammed open. White light flooded the room.

"Where is Siena Suvari?"