Chapter 2

The incinerator behind the estate garage roared like a hungry beast.

It was an industrial-grade furnace, designed to erase sins-usually incriminating documents or bloody clothes after a job.

Today, it was devouring my childhood.

I threw a box of handwritten letters into the flames.

They were the letters Luca wrote me when he was away at military school.

Next went a dried flower Matteo had climbed a trellis to snatch for me when I was twelve.

Then, a small velvet pouch.

Inside was a handkerchief stained with three drops of dried, brown blood.

Our oath.

I held it over the heat.

The velvet smoked instantly.

"Elena!"

The shout came from the driveway.

I didn't turn around.

I dropped the pouch.

It vanished into the orange inferno just as tires screeched on the gravel.

Car doors slammed.

I watched the fire curl around the fabric, turning the blood pact into ash.

"What the hell are you doing?" Matteo's voice was rough, breathless.

He grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.

He was still in his tuxedo from the gala, his tie undone, looking like the reckless enforcer he was born to be.

Luca was right behind him, his eyes scanning the fire.

"Are those... are those the letters?" Luca asked, his face paling.

"They were just clutter," I said.

My voice sounded flat.

Dead.

"Clutter?" Matteo released my shoulder like I burned him. "That's our history, El."

"History is just a record of things that don't matter anymore," I replied.

I stepped back, brushing the spot where he had touched me.

"We saw the biometric alert," Luca said, stepping forward. "You changed the codes to the West Wing. Sofia couldn't get back in to return the pearls."

"Let her keep them," I said. "They're contaminated now. She can have them."

"Contaminated?" Matteo scowled. "She's not a disease, Elena. She's just a girl trying to get by. Why are you being so cruel?"

"Cruel?" I looked him in the eye. "You gave an outsider the combination to a Vitiello vault. Do you know what Father would do to you if he found out?"

Luca flinched. "We knew you wouldn't tell him. Because you love us."

He used my love as a shield to protect his betrayal.

"I'm going inside," I said.

"We're going to dinner," Luca countered, blocking my path. "The three of us. And Sofia. We need to clear the air. You're acting crazy."

"I'm not hungry."

"You're going," Matteo growled, his hand drifting to the gun under his jacket. "Don't make me carry you."

He would do it.

He had done it before, playfully.

Now, it felt like a threat.

"Fine," I said.

The restaurant was dimly lit and smelled of garlic and expensive wine.

Sofia was already seated at the best table.

She waved, the pearls-my mother's pearls-shimmering around her neck.

"I ordered for everyone!" she chirped as we sat down.

Luca slid into the booth next to her.

Matteo took the chair opposite.

I sat on the end, exiled to the periphery.

"I got the spicy arrabbiata for the table," Sofia said, beaming. "It's their specialty. Extra chili flakes."

I froze.

Luca and Matteo froze.

They knew.

They knew I had a severe stomach ulcer.

Spicy food didn't just hurt; it sent me to the hospital.

It was a weakness I hid from the world, a weakness only my protectors knew about so they could taste-test my food.

"That sounds great, Sof," Luca said, smiling at her.

He picked up his fork.

Matteo nodded, pouring wine for Sofia. "Yeah, good choice."

My stomach clenched, not from the ulcer, but from the nausea of realization.

They didn't just forget.

They didn't care.

The waiter placed a steaming platter of red, angry pasta in the center.

The smell of chili hit my nose, sharp and acidic.

"Eat, Elena," Sofia said, her eyes wide and innocent. "Don't be rude."

I looked at Luca.

He was busy laughing at something Sofia whispered.

I looked at Matteo.

He was watching Sofia eat, a besotted grin on his face.

My designated tasters.

My shields.

I reached for my water glass.

"I'm not hungry," I said quietly.

"Suit yourself," Matteo mumbled, his mouth full. "More for us."

I took a sip of water.

It was cold, clean, and the only thing at this table that wasn't trying to poison me.

I watched them laugh.

They looked like a family.

And I looked like the ghost haunting their dinner.