Chapter 3

The Maynard family dinner—every capo, every underboss, every family member required to attend. Orion hosted it twice a year, ostensibly to strengthen bonds, but really to take inventory of loyalty.

If I was absent, he would notice something was wrong. So I had to be there.

I spent hours getting ready. I put on the navy Valentino gown Orion had chosen for our second anniversary, swept my hair into a low chignon, and wore the sapphire earrings the old godfather had given me on our wedding day.

Everything had to look normal. Like nothing had changed.

But the moment I stepped into the banquet hall, I knew this was a mistake.

Sabrina was sitting in my seat.

The chair at Orion's right hand—the seat that had belonged to the don's wife since his grandfather built this empire.

Orion leaned toward her, his lips close to her ear, and she threw her head back laughing. Capos from every district sat along both sides with their wives, champagne glittering under the lights.

My seat had been moved to the far end of the long table, behind the drivers and errand boys, wedged between two empty chairs.

I stood frozen in the doorway, heat rising in my chest, burning my throat.

"Helia!" Sabrina's voice cut through the noise. "You made it, darling. I saved you a spot over there—I figured after a long day in the lab, you'd want some peace and quiet."

Every head turned toward me. Some faces held pity. Most barely concealed their smirks.

I forced my legs to move. The walk to the end of the table felt endless. I lowered myself into the chair, spine rigid.

Then the first course was placed in front of me.

Oysters Rockefeller. Shrimp cocktail. A tower of clams nestled in crushed ice, glistening.

My lungs stopped working.

Everyone at this table knew I was severely allergic to shellfish—it was in the family records, there were standing orders in the kitchen.

The first time I'd had a reaction, my throat had swelled nearly shut. Orion held my hand in the emergency room, his forehead pressed to mine, whispering, "Hold on, bella. I can't lose you." He didn't let go until the epinephrine kicked in—but I saw it. This man who never showed emotion had eyes rimmed red.

After that, these things never appeared on the table in front of me.

Until tonight.

I pushed the plate away with two fingers. "I can't eat this."

Sabrina's hand fluttered to her chest. "Oh my God, I completely forgot! When I was helping with the menu—" She turned to Orion, eyes wide and wet. "Darling, I feel terrible. Should we have the kitchen make her something else?"

Orion's gaze lingered on my plate for half a second. "Kitchen's too busy. She can have bread."

Bread. Like a dog waiting for scraps under the table.

Sabrina's smile snapped right back into place. "Now—where was I?" She launched into a story about summers in the Hamptons, dropping names that meant nothing to me.

The capos laughed on cue. Orion's arm draped over the back of her chair, his thumb tracing lazy circles on her bare shoulder.

I sat in the corner, surrounded by food that could kill me, watching another woman hold court from my seat.

Something deep inside me turned to ice.

"Here's something interesting," I said loudly, my voice cutting through her monologue. "There are specific words for women who chase other people's husbands. Quite a few, actually. None of them flattering."

Silence fell over the entire table.

Sabrina's smile froze, her champagne glass suspended halfway to her lips.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." I didn't blink. "Though I'll admit, playing the mistress and the victim at the same time does take skill. Not everyone has that kind of talent."

For one glorious instant, her mask shattered completely. Her eyes went flat and vicious, jaw clenching so hard I could see the muscle twitch.

Then she swayed.

The champagne glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the marble floor. She clutched her chest, gasping for air.

"My heart... something's wrong..."

She crumpled sideways, collapsing directly into Orion's arms.

He caught her without thinking, one arm hooking under her knees, the other bracing her back. "Sabrina? Hey—look at me."

Her head lolled against his shoulder, a pitiful moan escaping her parted lips. Every movement was carefully choreographed. Every detail flawless.

The room erupted. Wives covered their mouths. Capos shoved their chairs back. Someone shouted for a doctor.

Orion rose with Sabrina in his arms and strode toward the door.

At the threshold, he turned back. His gaze found me across the length of the table. Black as ink. Cold as frost. Nothing left of the man who once pressed me into the sheets in the dark and swore against my ear that he would burn down the world for me.

"You'd better pray she's all right."

The words hit like a fist to the chest.

Then he carried her out. Her fingers curled against his suit collar, the pose picture-perfect.

I stayed where I was. Broken glass. Spilled champagne. Whispers surging like a tide from every direction.

Did you see her face?

She went after Sabrina like a rabid dog...

I wouldn't want her either. Just some adopted orphan...

I stared at the plate of shellfish. At Orion's empty chair. At the doorway that had swallowed him and the woman in his arms.

I didn't cry. My hand gripped my phone.

Five days. In five days, Helia Rosario would cease to exist. And after that, no one would ever seat her at the end of the table again.