My spine bent, my head dropped, my pride bled out onto the cold marble floor at Piper's designer heels.
"Please," I whispered, tears falling in hot rivers down my cheeks. "Please just leave my mother in peace. Let her rest."
Each word was a razor in my throat. "I'm sorry. I was wrong."
Wrong for hoping for fairness in a world built on blood debts.
Wrong for believing—foolishly, pathetically—that maybe, just maybe, he'd choose me over her.
As I bent forward in supplication, the blood-soaked collar of my dress pulled away from my skin, exposing the wounds beneath.
Colino's eyes flickered. For a split second, something human surfaced in those dark depths—surprise, perhaps, or the ghost of the boy he'd once been.
"Is this enough for you?" I straightened with every last ounce of strength left in my shattered body, meeting his gaze with disgust I could barely contain behind my teeth.
His jaw tightened. He gestured sharply to his consigliere's assistant. "Bring the agreement."
Only when I pressed my bloody fingerprint onto the document—transferring my stakes in the Family's legitimate fronts, signing away my mother's legacy—did the tension finally ease from his brow.