I heard them before I saw them. Lined up along the corridor like a receiving line of small, well-dressed judges. The hall sconces caught the silk of their clothes, the sheen of their hair, and the flatness behind their eyes.
"Wicked witch changed her dress," Gianna snickered.
"Doesn't fix her face," Nico added with a laugh, one shoulder lifting in that careless shrug.
"Shhh," Alessia said with a smirk. "She still has to play the piano. Let's not ruin Grandpa's party… yet."
Each word struck like a blade.
But I kept walking. Step by step. Face composed. Smile forced.
The grand room opened around me, heavy with cigar smoke and the low murmur of men who understood that the Old Don's birthday was as much a summit as a celebration. I sat down at the piano, my hands trembling as I placed them on the keys. The familiar melody began to flow, even as pain shot through my fingers with every movement. I had practiced this piece for weeks.
Now, I played it like a ghost.
All eyes were on me. I could feel them. The whispers. The curious stares. The quiet gasps at my appearance. Wives leaning toward each other. A soldier near the doorway shifting his weight, uncomfortable with something he couldn't name.