Chapter 2

Francesca

I woke up the next morning with blood in my mouth.

I looked at myself in the mirror—face dead-white, hollowed out—and laughed. Dry-swallowed two painkillers and went to start my shift.

I hadn't even gotten to the supply closet when two guards grabbed me by the arms.

"The lady wants to see you."

They dragged me to the glass greenhouse behind the manor. Isabella—Alex's stepmother—sat in a wicker chair with a cup of tea, surrounded by roses in full bloom. The woman was sixty and still looked like a poisonous flower, the kind that had been running the Benedetti family for two decades and broken harder men than most.

Alex had loved her like a mother since he was a kid.

If only he knew.

When they dropped me on the floor, she was telling the maid beside her: "A thousand white roses for the wedding. Not nine-ninety-nine—a thousand. Best variety you can find. Perfect ones."

She smiled to herself, fingers brushing a petal. "Only the best for our bride, right?"

I knelt on the cold marble and listened to her plan the wedding. Those white roses were supposed to be ours.

"So. I heard Alessandro ran into you yesterday." She finally looked at me.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Francesca." She turned a white rose slowly between her fingers. "You know why you're here. Seven years ago, you took the fall for Alessandro. Saved his life." A pause. "I've always appreciated that."

Appreciated. I almost laughed out loud.

Seven years ago, it was HER. She'd sold the family's shipping routes to the Irish to tighten her grip on the organization. When it started unraveling, she buried every piece of evidence pointing at herself and aimed it all at Alex instead.

That night—right here—she'd sat just like this, perfectly composed, and given me a choice: sign the confession, or watch Alex disappear without a body to bury.

What made you think you were good enough for Alessandro? The Benedettis fed you. Time to pay up.

I signed. Took the beating from the board—three cracked ribs—and got dumped in the rain like a dead dog.

"Ma'am." I kept my voice steady. "What happened back then dies with me. I won't say a word."

"Yeah, I know you won't." Isabella smiled, satisfied. She stood and tilted my chin up with the stem of a rose. "But Alessandro's getting married next month. This wedding ties two families together. I'm not letting your face anywhere near it."

The thorns broke skin. My eyes watered.

"Honestly? I never had much use for you." Flat. Matter-of-fact. "An orphan who doesn't even know her own parents, chasing after my son. Alessandro lost his mind over trash like you once. He's thinking straight now. Found himself a girl who actually belongs in this world."

"Ma'am. I just—I just want to see him from a distance—"

"See him?" She laughed, short and cold. "Honey, you think you still have that right?"

She leaned in, voice dropping. "I'm going to make sure Alessandro forgets you ever existed. Make sure he knows exactly what you are—a woman who'd sell out her own man for cash."

My chest locked up.

"You want to stay? Fine. Keep scrubbing your floors. But you give Alessandro any reason to remember what you two were—" She didn't finish it. Didn't need to. "You'll end up somewhere you won't come back from."

She dropped the rose on my face and walked out.

I lay there in the petals and the blood, just trying to breathe.

The door opened again before I could move. Lucy walked in with a few maids behind her.

"Well, look at that." She stood over me, smirking. "The traitor's still breathing. Didn't get enough of you yesterday."

She crouched down, coffee mug dangling from one hand. "So what'd you get for him, huh? Enough to make it worth it?"

"I didn't take any—"

A kick to the ribs cut me off. I folded.

"Oh, save it." She straightened up. "Alex told us what you are. A woman who'd sell out her own man for cash. Pretty simple."

Then she tipped the coffee over my back.

I screamed before I could stop myself.

"Oops." She tilted her head, all wide eyes. "Slipped. But hey—you're used to it, right? Word is you were pretty popular with the Irish."

She turned to the maids. "Break every single one of these planters. All of them." A glance back at me. "Make her pick up every piece by hand. These were for the wedding, but they're contaminated now. Trash the whole thing."

"Miss, the lady chose these herself—" one maid started.

"Even better." Lucy's smile didn't waver. "If Isabella's got a problem with that, she knows where to find me."

The crash of ceramic was deafening. Shards and soil exploded across the floor. White roses ground under their heels.

Lucy paused at the door. "Enjoy yourself, traitor."

I knelt in the wreckage and started picking up the pieces. Each shard bit into my fingers. Blood hit the marble and kept coming.

That's when I heard the footsteps.

I looked up. Alex stood on the other side of the glass wall, hands in his pockets, watching. No expression. Like he'd wandered past something that had nothing to do with him.

His eyes dropped to my hands. The broken planters. The crushed flowers.

I thought he might say something. Even just another insult.

But he stood there a few seconds, face empty, and walked away.