Chapter 3

Vivia Genovese POV

The following morning, the atmosphere inside the estate was thick enough to choke on.

I sat in the parlor of the Guest Wing, methodically organizing the removal of Silas's belongings.

Silas sauntered in, wearing a silk robe that he hadn't paid for and certainly couldn't afford.

He tossed a small velvet box onto the table in front of me.

"For you," he said, pouring himself a drink from the mini-bar without asking. "To make up for yesterday's little outburst."

I opened the box.

Inside sat a pair of emerald earrings.

The stones were cloudy. The setting was cheap, brassy gold.

I recognized the brand immediately. It was from a kiosk at the mall.

"I don't wear costume jewelry, Silas," I said, snapping the box shut.

He frowned. "Lola picked them out. She has good taste. She's the Lady of the House now, Vivia. You should be grateful she's thinking of you."

I laughed.

It was a dry, humorless sound that scraped against my throat.

"Lady of the House?" I asked. "You live in the guest quarters. You are a guest."

"Temporary," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Once Uncle Dante calms down, he'll annul your sham marriage and give me back my birthright. He's just teaching me a lesson."

He leaned over the table, his breath smelling of stale alcohol and mint.

"Speaking of birthrights," he said, his eyes narrowing with greed. "I need the dowry."

I stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"The crates," he said impatiently. "The weapons. The cash. The Genovese contribution. Lola wants to redecorate the East Wing, and she's suffered so much poverty, Viv. She deserves nice things."

"That dowry belongs to the husband of Vivia Genovese," I said coolly. "That is Dante."

Silas rolled his eyes. "Stop playing pretend. You're damaged goods now. Dante doesn't actually want you. He just wants the alliance. Give me the crates. I'll take sixty-six of the eighty-eight. You can keep the rest for your... expenses."

He thought I was a fool.

He thought I was still the girl who wrote his name in the margins of her schoolbooks.

"You want the dowry removed from the vault?" I asked, my voice soft.

"Yes," he said, grinning like a shark. "Finally, you're being submissive. Learn from Lola, she knows how to please a man."

"Fine," I said. "I'll have it all removed."

Silas clapped his hands. "Perfect. Have them sent to my storage."

"I'll handle it," I said.

He left, whistling a tune I didn't recognize.

I picked up my phone and dialed the Genovese family transport captain.

"This is Vivia," I said. "Bring the trucks. All of them."

"To move the dowry to the Moretti vault, Ma'am?"

"No," I said, watching Silas strut through the garden below. "Return every single crate to my father's estate. The Morettis haven't earned a single bullet."

Two hours later, the trucks rumbled down the driveway.

Silas watched from the balcony, waving, thinking his fortune was arriving at his personal warehouse.

He didn't realize they were driving away with his entire future.

It was Day 3. The "Return Home" ceremony.

Dante was still gone.

No calls. No texts.

I dressed in a black suit, the tailoring severe and sharp.

I walked to the car alone.

When I arrived at my father's estate, the guards looked at the empty seat beside me.

My mother met me at the door, her eyes scanning behind me for the Don.

"He is... busy," I lied, my pride burning like acid in my throat.

"Busy?" my father roared from the study. "A man is never too busy for the Return Home! He disrespects us!"

I walked into his study.

I poured myself a glass of his strongest whiskey, neat.

"He is the Don, Papa," I said, downing the amber liquid. It burned, but the fire felt good.

My father looked at me with pity.

I hated it.

"You married a ghost," he muttered.

"Better a ghost than a rat," I replied, refilling my glass to the brim.

I laughed, but the sound was brittle.

I was the Mafia Queen on paper.

In reality, I was just a woman drinking alone in her father's house, waiting for a husband who hadn't come home.