Before anyone could react, I had unbuttoned my cashmere coat.

It was late fall, but the heat was cranked up in the living room. Still, I was standing by the door, and a cold draft slithered in through the cracks, raising goosebumps on my bare shoulders.

I reached behind my back and unzipped my dress. The thin chiffon slipped past my waist, and the outline of my body was slowly revealed to the stunned room.

"Oh my God!" one of the women gasped, covering her eyes.

But the men's eyes lit up.

Only Salvatore's gaze darkened. His lips pressed into a thin, hard line. The fingers digging into the flesh of the girl beside him sank deeper, betraying the turmoil inside him.

The dress pooled at my feet, leaving me nearly naked before them all.

Salvatore shoved Carmela aside and threw a wool blanket over my shoulders.

"Francesca, you've got a death wish!" he roared.

"Everybody, close your goddamn eyes! If one word of what you saw today gets out, I'll cut all of your throats!"

"Now get out! All of you!"

Salvatore rarely lost his temper like that in public, especially not with family members. They were all old associates; they knew when to leave. The seven other girls scurried upstairs. Only Carmela remained, frozen in place.

"Are you satisfied, Salvatore? Can you let me go now?"

I looked up at him, tears welling in my eyes but refusing to fall. I had cried too many tears for Salvatore. I wasn't going to cry for him anymore.

"Francesca, stop playing these games with me. It’s disgusting," he hissed, still not believing me. "Don't you dare bring shame on the Genovese family."

I took a deep breath. "Salvatore, I'm serious this time. I want a divorce."

He looked at me as if I'd told the world's greatest joke. He grabbed the back of my neck, forcing my head down.

"You dare divorce me? Can you afford your father's medical bills? Do you have any fucking income? Francesca, how do you think you've been living this life? Without me, how are you gonna make money? Selling yourself?"

He sneered. "And who's going to pay top dollar for a divorced woman like you?"

"You and your mother are the same. A pair of whores who only know how to use their bodies. You make me sick."

"Francesca," he spat, "you're the one who destroyed us."

The drugging incident. No matter how many times I explained I was a victim too, he would never believe me.

Seeing my silence, Salvatore's scowl deepened. He dragged me over to Carmela, forced me to my knees, and pushed my head down toward the table.

"Pour her a drink. You've been doing this for eight years. You should be an expert by now."

For eight years, I hadn't just served Salvatore; I had to take care of those seven other women. I did things I was forced to do, things I volunteered for, things that made me despise myself.

But now, all I wanted was for it to end.

I knelt, poured the wine into the glass at Carmela's feet, then picked it up with my teeth to offer it to her.

Perhaps my obedience bored him. He dragged me furiously into his office and, in front of me, started tearing off Carmela’s clothes.

I'd seen this scene a hundred times. Sometimes he even made me stay and coach them. As usual, I tore open a condom wrapper and held it out.

But this time, Salvatore slapped it away.

"Not this time."

My hand faltered. I pulled it back.

Salvatore had always said that any woman who tried to get pregnant with his child deserved to die.

Maybe Carmela was the one to change his mind.

I didn't look at him, which only seemed to make him angrier. He shoved me into a large walk-in closet and locked the door.

The noises they made that night were loud. I was trapped in that cramped space, forced to listen to it all.

Sometime in the haze, a shrill ringing from my phone woke me.

"Is this Miss Benedetto? Your mother has been shot. She's in emergency surgery right now. Please come to Sacred Heart Hospital immediately."

My heart seized in my chest.

"Salvatore!"

I started pounding on the closet door, trying to drown out the sounds from the bed.

Salvatore, wrapped in a robe with a collar full of love bites, finally opened the door. The woman clung to him, not moving an inch.

"What is it?"

"My mother's been shot. Please, can you take me to the hospital?" I begged him from my knees, tears streaming down my face, terrified he'd refuse just to spite me.

"Francesca, are you serious? Do you even think before you lie? It's three in the morning, and it's snowing. Your mother lives in the safest gated community in the city. What happened? Did a drone strike hit the place?"

Carmela snickered, pointing to the black sky and the blizzard outside.

Salvatore laughed along with her, not even bothering to look at me. "Francesca, you'd even stoop to this just for a little attention?"

Carmela purred, "What's wrong? Was I louder than you? You want to join in?"

I practically crawled out of his bedroom. The villa was on lockdown. In desperation, I grabbed a chair and smashed a window, climbing out into the storm.

Sharp glass tore my hand open, blood streaming down my arm.

It was too late and snowing too hard to find a cab. I just ran through the blizzard, my own blood mixing with the melting snow and dripping from my fingertips.

Beep, beep. A black Cadillac pulled up beside me.

"Get in."

In the dim, cramped car, the man in the driver's seat never turned to look at me. I thanked him profusely, but he remained silent.

Just as I was getting out, I heard him speak.

"Francesca, away from Salvatore, there's a whole world waiting for you."

"If you make up your mind, call me anytime."

A black, gold-embossed business card was passed to me. I took it with both hands, thanking him again. But my mind was entirely on my mother. I shoved it in my pocket without a second glance.

I stumbled into the emergency room, and before I could even speak, I saw nurses pushing a gurney out of the operating room, a white sheet covering a body.

"Has Sophia's family arrived yet?"

"Well, she's dead now. No point in them coming."

The nurses’ casual words pierced my heart. I rushed forward and threw back the sheet. My mother's once-beautiful face was a mess of bruises, her body riddled with bullet holes.

For the last eight years, I had resented my mother every single day. I'd even had vicious thoughts of all of us dying together. But now, seeing her truly dead in front of me, all I felt was a crushing ache.

I sat by my father's bedside for a while, told him about my mother, and told him about my decision. I talked until dawn. Before I left, I looked at my father, who hadn't moved or responded in eight years, and whispered through my tears, "Dad, I'm so tired."

The next morning, my mother's body was cremated. I packed her photos into my bag and went home.

I also brought home the divorce papers my lawyer had drawn up.

As I walked in, I saw Salvatore laughing and chatting with his seven "flowers" at the dining table.

"Sign it," I said coldly, slamming the papers down on the table.

"So you snuck out all night just to get this?" Salvatore’s face darkened. "Francesca, you're really pushing it!"

I clutched the photos to my chest, my head bowed. "Salvatore, let's just let each other go. I don't love you anymore."

For eight years, I had thrown tantrums, I had cried, I had begged, I had even tried to kill myself. Through most of it, I held onto a sliver of hope that Salvatore would forgive me, that we could go back to how we were. I played the part of the perfect wife during the day, and at night, I used every trick I knew to please him in bed.

But then the women started moving in, one after another, and my heart slowly died. The tricks I used to please him became my shame, and his weapons to humiliate me.

"Sister, what's this you dropped... Domenico Lucchese?"

Carmela picked up the business card that had fallen from my pocket and read the name aloud.

Domenico. The name hit me like a physical blow. Salvatore’s lifelong rival. The man in New York he’d never even met but hated with a vengeance.

The next second, a stinging slap from Salvatore sent my head ringing.

"You say you don't love me because you found someone else?! And it had to be fucking Domenico Lucchese? You know he's the one person I hate most in this world!"

My ears were buzzing, and I stumbled, the photos in my arms scattering across the floor. Staring at the images of my mother fluttering through the air, I froze.

I instinctively dropped to my knees, trying to gather them.

Carmela stepped forward, her high heel grinding viciously onto my hand, pinning it to the floor.

A sharp, shooting pain made me cry out.

The other women, taking their cue, joined in. One stepped on my other hand, another on my mother's portrait, grinding her heel until the face in the photograph was obliterated.

A raw scream tore from my throat.

Something inside me snapped. I went feral, grabbing a crystal vase and smashing it over Carmela's head.

Salvatore didn't even have time to react. Carmela was already on the ground, clutching her head.

"Salvatore... it hurts so much."

Someone called an ambulance. Salvatore dragged me to the hospital and forced me to wait.

"If she dies, you're going with her."

That day, I was forced to give Carmela blood. Over and over again, until the doctors themselves said I couldn't give anymore. Only then did Salvatore let me go. He said I had brought this on myself.

I spent the next few days hiding in my father's hospital room.

"So here you are! Thanks to that little stunt, Salvatore just bought me two luxury condos." Carmela, oozing with newfound arrogance, sauntered in.

"Is this your old man? Why isn't he moving?" She poked at my father's oxygen tube, feigning curiosity.

"Don't touch that!" I shoved her away. She staggered back, clutching her head.

The next second, she lunged forward and ripped the oxygen tube from my father's face, dangling it playfully in her hand.

"Do you think Salvatore will blame me for this?"

Just then, Salvatore walked in.

He froze, his eyes darting between me, Carmela, and the blaring medical alarms.

After a long pause, he finally spoke.

"Carmela is young, she doesn't know any better. Your father was a lost cause anyway. It's a mercy, really. I'll buy you some more bags."

The alarms screamed on, each beep a declaration of my father's death. I stood there, numb. Beyond the grief, there was a strange sense of release.

Salvatore didn't spare me another glance. He just scooped up Carmela and left.

I collapsed on the floor, whispering apologies to my father, no longer knowing what I was holding on for.

I pulled out the business card and dialed the number.

"Mr. Lucchese... tonight... please, take me away."