“Please… he’s just a child,” she said softly. “Ever since that cursed urn appeared, he’s been terrified. He has nightmares.” Her voice dropped into something quieter, sharper. “Nightmares about her… about what she did.”
Someone in the crowd whispered, “The urn…? Oh God…”
I barely moved my lips when I spoke.
“The cursed urn…” I whispered, “was my son. The one you all destroyed.”
No one heard me.
Or maybe they chose not to.
Then Vincenzo came.
He pushed through the crowd like a weapon finding its target. Before I could even react, his hand locked around my arm and yanked me forward.
“You really think you can humiliate me in front of my men?” he snapped. “In front of Lena?”
His voice rose, sharp with rage. “You ruin everything you touch.”
His hand struck my face.
The impact snapped my head to the side. I tasted blood immediately.
Still, I didn’t step back.
Lena gasped softly, playing her role perfectly.
“Baby… don’t hurt her,” she said faintly. “She’s still the mother of your child…”
Her hand drifted to her stomach like a blessing.
Vincenzo’s mother arrived last, dripping in jewelry, standing like she was judging my execution rather than attending an event.