Chapter 3

Three days later. Roman's estate was ablaze with lights.

Every mafia boss, politician, and socialite in Sicily had gathered here to attend Don Roman and Callie's grand engagement banquet.

I was dragged out of the water dungeon. The maids roughly scrubbed the grime from my skin, plastered thick layers of foundation over my bruises and whip lacerations, and shoved me into a scratchy maid's uniform.

My body was at its absolute physical limit; my knees buckled and trembled with every step I took. I had already consumed the eerie blue serum in advance.

Vance had warned me that the drug's effects would fully hit in exactly two hours.

The great hall was a sea of glamorous gowns and tailored tuxedos, drifting with the melodious strains of live music.

Roman wore a bespoke white tuxedo, looking as handsome and commanding as an emperor surveying his domain. Callie, draped in a priceless diamond-encrusted gown, nestled against his side, soaking in everyone's blessings. My mother, wearing lavish fur, was strutting around the wealthy socialites like a proud old hen, showing off her perfect son-in-law.

"Bring the drinks over," a mafia capo snarled, giving me a vicious shove.

Carrying a silver tray bearing two glasses of champagne, I walked step by trembling step toward Roman and Callie in the center of the hall.

Every gaze in the room zeroed in on me.

Mockery, disdain, naked schadenfreude.

"Isn't that the former Don's wife?"

"I heard she's a poisonous viper who murdered the old Don and his wife. Now she's been reduced to a serving maid. Serves her right."

Their whispering voices were like poison-laced blades, but my heart didn't feel a single ripple of emotion.

I stopped in front of Roman, lowered my head, and raised the tray high above me.

"Don, Madam, your drinks." My voice was as stagnant and calm as a pool of dead water.

Roman's gaze locked onto my face. He searched my eyes, trying to find humiliation, fury, or sorrow. But he found absolutely nothing.

This complete apathy filled him with an inexplicable, restless irritation.

Instead of taking the glass, he coldly scoffed, picked up one of the champagne flutes, and slowly poured it upside down over my head.

The freezing amber liquid streamed down my matted hair and seeped into my eyes, bringing a sharp, stinging pain.

"Aria, looking at you right now... you really do resemble a dog wagging its tail for pity." Roman's voice wasn't loud, but it carried enough for everyone nearby to hear clearly.

A burst of mocking laughter erupted from the crowd.

Callie hypocritically tugged at Roman's sleeve. "Roman, let it go. My sister is already pathetic enough."

"Pathetic? Was she pathetic when she murdered my parents?" Roman suddenly seized my jaw, forcing my head up to look at him. "Aria, I want you to tell everyone, loudly, exactly what kind of worthless bitch you are!"

The drug began to take effect.

A violent, excruciating cramp seized my heart, as if an invisible hand were shredding my internal organs to pieces. My vision began to blur, and the voices around me grew distant and muffled.

Looking at Roman's face just inches from mine, I suddenly found him incredibly pitiful.

"Roman..." I struggled to pull at the corners of my mouth, exposing a smile.

It was a pure, utterly relieved smile, devoid of a single trace of gloom.

Roman froze. Staring at my smile, a flicker of genuine panic flashed in his eyes.

"What are you laughing at?!" he snapped.

"I'm laughing at you..." My voice grew fainter and fainter, as fresh blood began to spill from the corners of my lips.

The moment the words left my mouth, the world violently spun out of control.

The silver tray slipped from my grasp, crashing to the floor. The sound of shattering champagne flutes was deafeningly sharp in the grand hall.

Then, I collapsed onto the floor.

Agony swallowed me whole in an instant, and my vision plunged into absolute darkness. I could no longer feel my own breath, nor the beating of my heart. There was only an unprecedented sense of peace.

I was finally, truly free.

A deathly silence descended over the great hall.

Roman remained frozen in his previous posture, his hand suspended awkwardly in mid-air. He stared down at me lying in a pool of blood, my eyes tightly shut. His mind went utterly blank.

"Stop playing dead! Get up!" Roman roared, convinced this was just another one of my tricks.

He stepped forward and nudged my body with his foot.

No reaction.

My body was slack and limp like a broken ragdoll, yielding motionlessly to his kick.

Restless murmurs rippled through the guests.

"She... she looks like she's not breathing..." a timid female guest shrieked.

Roman's heart violently contracted. He crouched down, his shaking fingers reaching tentatively toward my nose to check for breath.

No breath.

He moved his hand to my carotid artery.

No pulse.

There was only a chilling, deathly coldness that traveled from his fingertips, freezing all the way into his very heart.

"Doctor! Where is the doctor?! Vance! Get over here right now!" Roman let out a desperate, earth-shattering roar through the hall, like a maddened lion.

Vance squeezed rapidly through the parting crowd, medical kit in hand.

He knelt down, pressing a stethoscope to my chest, and then rolled back my eyelids to check my pupils.

Finally, he stood up, took off his gold-rimmed glasses, and looked at Roman with absolute composure.

"Don. Madam Aria... is dead."