Chapter 2

Valentina's hand shot out and smacked Lorenzo's fingers away from my veil with a sharp crack.

The slap echoed through the tense, dead silence of the decoy SUV, piercing as a gunshot.

She glared at my brother with the absolute authority of the underworld's oldest rule: "Only the groom may lift the bride's veil!" she snapped.

She crossed her arms and looked down, cold and superior, at my lifeless body. "You're only sulking out here because Dante let Bianca ride in his car," she hissed, her words dripping with contempt.

Lorenzo rubbed his stinging hand, his brow knotted tight, undisguised irritation and disgust creeping across his face.

He bent close to my veiled face, his hot breath soaking into the heavy fabric. "You don't get to disrespect this family over a little wine," he barked. "Stop behaving like a spoiled child!"

I drifted through that cramped, suffocating cabin. I screamed at them, hysterical. I screamed that I was dead. I screamed that they had killed me with their own hands.

But not a sound came out. My phantom hands passed straight through Lorenzo's broad shoulder as if he were a wisp of smoke.

All I could do was watch in agony—watch the brother who had once fought our enemies to keep me safe blindly push me into the abyss; watch the sworn sister who was closer than blood now defend the very person who had killed me.

Valentina heaved a heavy sigh, and her tone softened just a little. She extended her little finger and hooked it toward my cold hand, limp on the leather seat. It was our childhood secret signal for making up—a silent offer of truce.

But my hand did not move. It had gone iron-heavy in the stillness of death, utterly unresponsive.

Valentina waited, aching, for three seconds. When I gave no response, that flicker of vulnerability shattered instantly, and her beautiful face twisted into a mask of fury.

She screamed at my corpse, venomously reciting every sacrifice she had ever made for me. She shrieked accusations of how she had given up her freedom—how she had been forced to stay on these blood-soaked New York streets just to keep me company in my loneliness.

Her rage finally boiled over, and she slammed her palm against the partition. "Stop the car!" she barked at the driver. "Pull over onto the emergency lane. Now!"

The heavy armored SUV shuddered to a halt with a scream of brakes.

Valentina lunged forward, tore the heavy veil aside with her perfectly manicured nails, and seized the thin silver chain around my neck—the chain holding the charm we had once prayed for together in a church.

She yanked hard. The chain bit into my flesh and snapped.

She flung the charm onto the floor mat and ground it mercilessly under her stiletto heel. With a sharp, brittle crack, the glass pendant shattered into glittering fragments.

Her chest heaving, she spat at my veiled face. "We're done. From this day on, our sisterhood is severed forever!" she declared viciously. Then, without a backward glance, she stormed out of the car, slamming the heavy door behind her with a bang.

Lorenzo let out an exhausted, heavy sigh, muttering under his breath about how stubborn and willful I was, how I never bowed my head to anyone.

Deaf to my heartbroken wailing, he shook his head, pushed open his door, and abandoned me too.

The syndicate bodyguard driving the decoy SUV watched them go with an expressionless face, saying nothing.

He glanced at my slumped body in the rearview mirror, shook his head, and muttered a curse. "Fuck. These high-and-mighty mafia princesses. Such drama—nobody gets a moment's peace."

He shifted back into gear, the armored car rumbled low, and he merged back into the river of highway traffic.

The speed climbed rapidly, and the hot air blasting from the vents beat directly against my already cold, stiff, dead flesh.

Suddenly the headlights caught a blur of movement—a wild cat darting desperately across the asphalt.

On pure instinct, the driver slammed the brakes to the floor. The enormous tires shrieked deafeningly, skidding wildly across the road.

The violent momentum flung my unsupported body forward. My head smashed into the back of the front passenger seat with a sickening, muffled thud.

Under the impact, the heavy veil slid completely from my head, pooling in my lap like a spill of dark red silk.

Cursing, the driver twisted around to check on me.

But when his eyes fell on my fully exposed face, every sound died in his throat.

My skin had turned a horrifying purple-blue, dark veins showing grotesquely beneath it. My lips were black. Great swaths of vivid red hives covered my swollen neck and cheeks. My half-open eyes were clouded, dull, and vacant, frozen emptily on nothing.

The driver's breath caught, and every drop of color drained from his rough, hard face.

Pure, instinctive terror overwhelmed his reason. He shoved the door open and stumbled out onto the highway, traffic roaring past on both sides.

Like a madman, he waved his arms wildly at the oncoming cars, his scream tearing the night apart: "Something's wrong with the bride! Get out here, hurry!"

Dante's lead SUV was only forty or fifty meters ahead.

The instant the commotion reached him, the brake lights of Dante's car flared a glaring red. The massive SUV skidded violently, then slewed sideways across the road, arrogantly cutting off two full lanes.

Dante shoved his door open and stepped into the cold night wind, his subordinate's terrified screams still ringing in his ears.

In that instant, every trace of color left Dante's face. From his black, deep-set eyes burst pure, undisguised horror—an emotion the mafia godfather had never once shown in his life. Without a word, he tore across the cold asphalt in a dead sprint, running for the decoy car as if his life depended on it.