Chapter Five

Lucas Kane’s disgusting voice rang out again, smug and venomous.

“Well, Mr. Corleone? See it now? Your little ‘miss’ at home—who knows which ‘big shot’ she belonged to, for him to pay enough to film a keepsake like this?”

He bit hard on *big shot*, scanning several powerful men in the room—men who’d crossed the Corleones or could match them—making his intent obvious: stir mud, fling filth, humiliate the family.

The murmurs continued. The whispers became a buzzing tide that swallowed me whole. Those stares turned into knives peeling skin from bone. I was ice-cold, as if my blood had thickened to stone.

But no one knew more clearly than I did: the man in that video was Lorenzo.

Just then, beside me, came a short intake of breath.

Bianca.

Our eyes met for a fraction. In hers I saw something fast, sharp—near-instant understanding—and a chill I almost missed.

She knew.

She’d known all along. Who the man was. What Lorenzo and I were.

That realization stabbed deep, like a needle dipped in ice.

I bit down hard enough to taste rust again, and looked at Lorenzo.

*Please.* Say something. Admit it… or even just deny Kane.

Lorenzo’s thin lips were a straight, frozen line. His eyes were bottomless; something roiled there I couldn’t read—but not the one thing I wanted: protection.

Bianca spoke instead.

She leaned closer to Lorenzo. Her fingers gathered his sleeve as if unconsciously. When she lifted her face, panic and concern were flawless—perfectly acted, perfectly placed so only those nearest could hear.

“Lorenzo…” Her voice trembled softly. “This is horrifying… how could Sienna be involved in something like this? Her reputation—and the family’s—this is too damaging.”

She paused, brows drawing together like a kind sister-in-law.

“Everyone’s watching… if we don’t do something, we won’t be able to control it. For the family, and for her—so she can still have… some dignity later—shouldn’t we… keep her out of sight for a while?”

For the family’s reputation. To calm the gossip. For *my* good. She never said *punishment*, but every word drove toward the same conclusion.

What a gracious, big-picture, gentle fiancée.

Lorenzo finally moved. He turned his head slightly, looked at Bianca, eyes deep and unreadable. Bianca met his gaze—clear, trusting, faintly pleading.

Then Lorenzo faced the hall, swept his eyes across the stunned silence, and at last looked at me.

His gaze held no ripples now—cold, hard, like granite in the Corleone wine cellar.

“Sienna Xiao.”

His voice carried unquestioned authority, reaching every corner.

“Your conduct has been improper. You’ve damaged the family’s reputation.”

Each word was an ice chisel tapping my nerves that were already past breaking.

“From today forward, you will be confined to the west tower. Without my permission, you will not take one step outside.”

He paused, scanning the faces in the crowd as if drawing a line and asserting dominance.

“Until my wedding with Miss DeLuca is completed without incident.”

The sentence fell.

He didn’t admit he was the man in the video. He didn’t even deny Kane’s insinuation that the “big shot” might be someone else. He simply used vague, brutal wording—*improper conduct*—to convict me, then used confinement to “settle” the storm.

Then he didn’t look at me again. With Bianca in his arms, he turned and walked through the crowd as it parted automatically.

He left.

Back straight. Steps steady. Not a flicker of hesitation.

With his “shaken” fiancée.

Leaving me in the center of countless stares—an object for public appraisal.

“Ugh. Never would’ve guessed—she acts so high and mighty…”

“Like mother, like daughter. Both climbed up with their bodies.”

“Mr. Corleone is soft. If it were me, she’d be fish food.”

“Tower? That’s preserving the last scrap of face. Ha…”

The whispers and sneers came from every angle.

Two guards in black suits approached, faces rigid. One on each side seized my arms. Their grip hurt—bone-deep.

“Miss. This way.” Flat, official. No warmth at all.

They hauled me toward the side door. Passing through the crowd, the words drilled in sharper.

“Look at that figure—no wonder…”

“Once she’s locked up, bet someone else will want a taste.”

“Keep it down—technically she’s still Corleone.”

“Technically. After tonight, who’ll treat her like human?”

Hands of malice, eyes like slime, filthy jokes with no attempt at shame. My pearl-white dress caught someone’s spilled wine—staining it like a dirty rag.

The gold-and-glass glitter of the banquet blurred in my sight, twisting into a grotesque, mocking carnival. The heavy door boomed shut behind me. The lock clicked—clean, final.

In that instant, only one thing remained:

Cold, drowning, seeping out of the gaps between my bones.