“You’ll spy on him. His comings and goings. Who he does business with. All of it. And then, you’ll report back to me.” I dipped my chin in an attempt to stop myself from saying something Vincenza would take offence to. She went on. “We can still take his life. We’ll just go about it differently. We can ruin him, Vicky. Take everything he loves until he’s as miserable as we are.”

Speak for yourself, sister.

What if I didn’t want that?

All I wanted was a peaceful life. I wished Enza could see what this hate was doing to her. I didn’t want to end up like her, cold and calculating. I still had a sliver of fire in my heart. Unfortunately, it was often used to warm my sister.

Suddenly, Vincenza’s expression changed and a cat-like grin settled on her face.

“What is it?”

I could feel the ice pumping in her veins when she explained, “Your husband will never find peace with you as his wife. After today, he’ll always sleep with one eye open, never knowing when the next attack will come.” Her teeth gleamed as she said all too happily, “It will be torture.”

My sister helped me stand, smoothed down my blood-spattered dress, took my hand then dragged me to the mirror. What a contrast my reflection was compared to what it had been a mere hour ago. My hair was a tangled mess, mascara stained my under-eyes, lipstick smeared. Dress creased with a seam torn at my shoulder, and my neck…

Large purple handprints collared my throat.

Vincenza sighed, muttering, “You can’t go out there like this.” She did her best to fix me, re-doing my hair and reapplying my makeup, but when she moved to attempt to cover the bruise at my throat, I lifted a hand, stopping her.

“Leave it.”

She looked at me curiously. “Suit yourself.”

Regrettably, nothing could fix the state of my dress. We tucked in the split, fraying seam but the dark red stains would have to stay. And so, with my sister by my side, we left the safety of the room, walked towards the opposite end of the hall and paused, just outside the reception doors.

Vincenza turned to me. “Ready?”

No. I wasn’t ready. I would never be ready. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. And now, here I was, stuck dealing with the consequences of my own actions.

Ugh.

“I’m ready,” I said, unenthused.