Chapter 3

Siena POV The girl on the screen-my younger self-is still demanding answers, her voice thinning with panic. I do not say a word. I silently flip my phone camera, changing the view from my face to the dark hallway outside my room. I point the lens down toward the grand entrance of the estate. The heavy mahogany doors swing inward, and Dante Russo walks through. He is not alone; his fingers are clamped around a woman's wrist, dragging her inside with him. They do not stop moving once they cross the threshold. Dante shoves the woman against the marble wall, his hands tangling in her hair. The woman kicks off her heels, wrapping her arms around his neck as they engage in a furious, bruising kiss. On the other side of the video call, I hear my past self gasp. Her face drains of all color. I watch the scene below me, a spectator to the Don's cruelty. Every time Dante takes a new mistress, he makes sure I know. He has played this game for four years, a slow and methodical demolition of my spirit. The noise at the door suddenly stops. Dante turns his head and notices me standing at the top of the stairs in the dark. He does not pull back from the woman. Instead, he walks toward the base of the stairs, his arm wrapped around her waist. He looks up at me, his eyes flat with contempt. His gaze travels over my pale complexion, and he scoffs, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I already sent you the video," he tells me, "no need to wait up like a stray." I look at the woman leaning against his side. A knot of ice forms in my chest as I realize the mistress Dante chose this time is my closest confidante, Camilla Moretti. Camilla looks up at me and smiles, a slow, deliberate curve of her lips. "You truly are the most generous wife in the world, Siena," she calls up to me. She hooks her finger into Dante's waistband and pulls the Don toward the master bedroom. The bedroom door slams shut. The sounds that follow, muffled but unmistakable, begin to seep into the house's silence. I look back at my phone screen. The girl in the video is crying, her eyes red and swollen. I look at her and speak for the first time. "I am you," I tell her, my voice a hollow rasp. "Five years in the future. And this... this is the life that awaits you." She shakes her head, her voice a ragged whisper as she refuses to believe Dante could become this man. I do not argue with her. I simply forward her the explicit video Dante sent me an hour ago. She watches the video on her end, her face twisting into a mask of incredulity and horror. "Why don't you leave?" she demands. "Why do you stay in this house?" I feel the muscles around my mouth pull into that familiar, bloodless line. I realize how naive I used to be about the mechanics of the Famiglia. I walk back into my room and sit on the edge of the bed, staying awake the entire night. My phone screen stays lit for hours as she sends a barrage of messages, expressing shock over Camilla and questioning my imprisonment. I close my eyes in exhaustion, not replying to a single text. At dawn, I hear the front door open and close as Dante leaves for syndicate business. I walk downstairs to get a glass of water. Camilla steps out of the master bedroom, stretching lazily. She smiles triumphantly when she sees me in the kitchen. "God, Dante was too rough last night," she complains, rubbing her lower back. She raises her hand to fix her hair, displaying the raw, red marks on her neck. She taunts me, her voice sharpened to a fine point. "The Don will never divorce you. The sin you committed is a debt you can never repay." She leans across the counter and asks if I even dare to ask him for a divorce. I look at her, acknowledging internally that Dante will never let me go. I am a prisoner of his Vendetta. I remind myself that my father's failing health is entirely dependent on the underground medical resources controlled by the Don. I give Camilla no response, pouring my water in silence. Finding my silence boring, she rolls her eyes and leaves the estate. My telephone gives a low buzz. It is a new notification. My past self initiates another video call. She looks as though she has not slept either, her eyes completely bloodshot. The moment the call connects, she asks why I did not answer her messages and why I do not just walk away. My silence slowly extinguishes the remaining light in her eyes. She realizes something is terribly wrong. "Do you have nothing left?" her voice cracks as she asks. I nod. I walk to the window and point the camera at a pile of rubble two streets away. I explain that the ruins used to be my independent design studio, something I built from the ground up with legitimate money. I tell her that Dante used his authority to pressure my civilian clients into canceling contracts, then bought the entire building just to raze it to the ground. The girl in the video stammers in horror at the sight of the ruins. She begs to know why Dante became so ruthless and what happened to us. I lower my head, my voice dry. "You don't want to know," I warn her. I recount the winter four years ago when Dante's younger sister, Lucia, plunged to her death from a high-rise balcony. I explain how I was framed, drugged, and orchestrated to be found half-naked in the same bed as Lucia's fiancé, a Made Man. I tell her that Dante walked into that room and decreed that I was a traitor who broke Omertà and drove his own flesh and blood to suicide. I state that from that day on, the boy who swore to protect me died. I tell her Dante destroyed everything I had, chaining me to his side just to drag me to hell with him. I snap back from the bitter memories, looking at the screen. The girl in the video is drowning in despair. "Is there truly no way out for you?" she asks. I remain silent for a long time. I gently shake my head and tell her I have no way out. The heavy silence stretches between us. I look directly into her eyes and emphasize every single word. "But for you," I tell her, "there is still time."