I sucked in a sharp breath, straightened my spine with the dignity my mother had taught me, and forced a smile onto my face.
"Well, congratulations. Becoming the next Donna of the Marconi Family is just around the corner."
"But that gown is mine. Take it off," I said, my voice dropping to ice.
I lunged forward to reclaim it, but before my fingers could even brush the fabric, one of her soldiers—assigned by Colino himself—drove his foot into my stomach.
The force knocked me flat against the polished floor. Pain exploded through my gut like a grenade. I could feel everything twisting, shifting—as though my organs had been rearranged by the brutal impact.
Piper picked up a pair of scissors from the seamstress's table. Her tone was gleeful as she traced the blade over the delicate silk, savoring the moment.
"Colino said no matter what I do, he'll clean up my mess. That's what it means to have the protection of the Family."
The sharp edge tore through hand-stitched lace. Slashed through soft silk that my mother had saved for years to afford. With each cut, she shredded the last gift my mother had ever given me—the only piece of her I had left.