Chapter 3

When I arrived at the Corleone family church, I saw Camila holding her daughter Sophia by the hand, chatting with my Vincent's mother, Maria Corleone, on the steps. As if they were attending some kind of party.

Maria took out the “blood‑oath ring” that was passed down only to the women who became heads of the family—a black jade band set with a ruby, the Corleone family vow engraved on the inside—and, in front of everyone, slipped it onto Camila’s finger.

Camila immediately put on a show of refusing. “Mrs. Maria, I can’t possibly accept this. Elena is right here, the ring is supposed to be hers.”

Maria didn’t even spare me a glance. She pushed the ring back onto Camila’s hand and said sharply, “Her? She shows up to a funeral with a broken arm and wearing that color. It’s outrageous.”

I lowered my head and looked at my pink dress—the one Lily had loved most when she was alive. She used to say pink looked best on me.

“The blood of the Saraceno family should never have crossed the Corleone threshold,” Maria went on, not speaking loudly, but loud enough for everyone around to hear. “Lily’s death is God’s punishment for a traitor.”

She’d been saying things like that from the day I married Vincent. In her mind, I was “a pawn sent by a rival family,” using marriage to hold her son hostage. She’d called me “filth,” hinted that Lily was “a child born under a curse.”

In the past, Vincent would at least say a few words in my defense. Now he stood by Camila’s side, silent as a stone.

Camila led Sophia over to me, the perfect polite smile on her face.

“This is Sophia, my daughter,” she said softly. “She’s just like Lily—she loves music and being on stage.”

Sophia looked up at me timidly, her gaze lingering on the bandage on my shoulder and the blood seeping through. Then she jerked back behind Camila, whispering, “She smells like a hospital… I’m scared.”

Vincent bent down and gently patted Sophia’s back. “Easy. It’ll be over soon. How about you do a little dance for everyone in the church later, okay?”

Just then, his assistant came over holding a dress—a pure white tulle gown embroidered with gold thread and tiny pearls, every stitch so exquisite it almost hurt to look at.

“You’re so thoughtful,” Camila murmured, kissing Vincent lightly on the cheek, then added in a half‑teasing tone, “Do I get a reward too?”

Vincent whispered something in her ear, and Camila’s smile grew even sweeter. He took her hand and turned to leave, as if only then remembering I was still standing there.

“We’ll talk after the ceremony,” he said to me, as if he were brushing off a stubborn child.

Before I could answer, he was already walking into the church, shoulder to shoulder with Camila, the blood‑oath ring flashing on her finger. I stood at the door and watched their backs disappear inside.

By then, Lily’s funeral inside the church was already unrecognizable.

Most of the black drapes had been taken down and replaced with glaring white flowers and gold ribbons. The table covered with sympathy cards had been shoved into a corner, clearing a wide open space in the middle—obviously for Sophia’s dance later.

I saw a few relatives gathering up the cards and stuffed toys people had brought for Lily, tossing them into a cardboard box off to the side.

“She’s gone anyway. What’s the point of keeping all this?” someone said.

“Does a kid’s funeral really need to be that elaborate?”

I rushed forward to stop them, but a sharp pain tore through my right shoulder and made me stumble. Someone gave me the slightest push and I was shoved into a corner, my ribs slamming against the pew rail. The pain was so intense my vision went black for a moment.

That was when Sophia started dancing.

She spun in the center of the church, her white dress flaring out like the wings of a proud little swan. Applause broke out, along with a murmur of voices—

“Look at her, she’s so talented.”

“No wonder Vincent dotes on her.”

“And that heart of hers is so healthy.”

Clutching Lily’s urn to my chest, I leaned against the pew and forced myself to stay upright. My stomach heaved; my throat burned with bitterness. I swallowed hard and refused to throw up.

I shuffled step by step toward the side door. I needed air. The applause and prayers in the church felt like needles jabbing into my back—“Let us give thanks for this heart, reborn in a new body.”

I gripped the stair rail and started up, just looking for somewhere quiet. When I passed a half‑open door, I stopped.

Through the slit, I saw Vincent and Camila.

Their clothes were disheveled as they clung to each other, kissing, touching, completely unashamed.

Camila’s arms were looped around Vincent’s neck, her voice syrupy. “Mix Lily’s ashes into the church foundation… I heard that’s the only way to keep the restless souls of the Saraceno family down where they belong.”

“There’s no need to believe in that kind of superstition…” He hadn’t even finished the sentence before she swallowed the rest of it with a deeper kiss.

“Just do it for me,” Camila purred, arching her body against his, her hand sliding down his stomach. “Or what, you’re saying you won’t do this one tiny thing for me now?”

“Um… fine.”

Vincent’s breath turned ragged, his voice hoarse. A second later he drove her back, pinning her hard against the wall behind the door.

I stood in the hallway, frozen, my whole body going cold.

Then I turned away, holding Lily’s urn tight against me, and walked down the stairs one step at a time. When I reached the stone steps outside the church, I finally doubled over and started dry‑heaving.

Nothing came up. Only the sour burn of acid and the metallic taste of blood scorched the back of my throat.