She stood at the center, seen as continuation and compensation. I was placed at the margins, like an additional decision that came along with the rest. The Commission understood this without saying it aloud. No one objected. Silvia learned quickly. She learned how to smile, how to show vulnerability, how to gain the upper hand without making a sound—how to wrap men around her finger while appearing as innocent as a saint. And I learned how to stay silent.
The whispered comments and ambiguous looks had long since lost their edge on me. I grew used to being overlooked, even to being compared. The only thing I misjudged was Giorgio.
I once thought he would be different, at least a little.
"Elena."
Silvia's voice came from across the table, gentle yet precise as a stiletto sliding between ribs. When I looked up, she was already on her feet, walking toward us with the grace of someone who had never known a moment's uncertainty. Her face wore flawless concern—the kind that fooled everyone but me.
"At an occasion like this, you should be more attentive," she said softly. "The Family has treated you well. Do not disappoint them."