Chapter 2

Valeria

My ghost was anchored to the grand parlor, forced to watch their perfect family portrait.

Victor, a Don who normally went to bed early, was wide awake at midnight. He chuckled as Camilla tore through her graduation gifts. Nearby, my mother, Silvia, scrolled through a tablet, curating a designer wardrobe for Camilla's trip to Milan.

"Mama, please don't buy me any more dresses. My closets are already packed," Camilla said, her voice sugary sweet.

"We'll just clear out Val's room for the overflow," Silvia replied, not even looking up. "It's not like she ever goes to galas or dates. She certainly doesn't need a walk-in closet to hang her three black pantsuits."

"You sure? Val's gonna throw a fit..."

Silvia scoffed. "Stop being so soft. She's your older sister. Giving up a little space for you is the least she can do."

On the leather sofa, Dante was using his silver switchblade to peel an apple, delicately offering the slices to Camilla off the razor's edge.

I couldn't speak. I could only float in the corner. I always thought ghosts couldn't cry, but the freezing weight in my chest proved me wrong. They had all the warmth. The dark belonged to me alone.

Camilla checked her phone with a theatrical sigh. "Val still isn't answering my texts. Is she seriously boycotting my night? It makes me feel awful."

Her words yanked their attention back to my absence.

Victor grunted, puffing his cigar. "Let her sulk. It's just a power play. She thinks running the syndicate's books makes her untouchable. She needs to learn the world doesn't stop for her."

Silvia shook her head in sheer annoyance. "And over a Commission seat, no less. A mafia title they hand out to street thugs every decade. Your Wharton degree is an actual milestone. Pulling a stunt like this tonight is just petty."

"Mama, don't say that," Camilla faked a gasp. "Val practically begged the Brooklyn capos for that seat... Oops. Did I say that out loud?"

Despite the innocent act, the vicious spark in her eyes told the truth. Camilla was a viper. She always had been.

Growing up, she could never match my intellect. So, if the Capos ever praised me, Camilla would plant skimmed cash in my desk to frame me. Victor never bothered asking for my side of the story before backhanding me across the jaw.

As a bruised kid, I swore I'd find a loyal partner. I spent two years pulling dangerous strings to get Julian 'made.' But eventually, his eyes and his ambitions drifted completely to Camilla's blinding spotlight.

I should have been shattered. But staring at them now, I realized the vault had bled me dry. I felt absolutely nothing.

A maid carted in a tray of cannoli, abruptly ending any talk of me. Dante and Victor loudly toasted Camilla's Wall Street internship—their golden, legitimate ticket—while she stuffed her cheeks, beaming.

By 1:00 AM, I still hadn't walked through the door.

Silvia finally seemed to realize something was off. Grabbing silver tongs, she dropped two bitter espresso truffles onto a saucer. Camilla hated that flavor.

"Dante, drop these off in Val's office," Silvia ordered. "When she finally sneaks back in, she'll see we saved her a plate. She can't say we forgot about her."

I stared at the pity scraps. Still nothing.

Dante snapped his switchblade shut, reaching for the plate.

Suddenly, a piercing scream shattered the room.

Camilla violently jerked her hand back from a sleek, unmarked velvet box. Blood dripped from her finger onto the marble floor.

"Papa!" she shrieked, clutching her wrist. "There's a razor blade hidden in the ribbon!"