Ashes of the Valdori

Morale had never been higher.

My father and brother had crushed the rival families that had bled our territory for years, even taking their underboss alive.

From that moment on, the two of them saw me as a woman of calculating ambition.

Even when the child I bore turned out to be only a girl, she was sent away from the compound the very next day.

The memory of that tiny face, glimpsed for barely a second, sent a dull ache through my chest.

I had done what I knew I shouldn't have. I had wanted too much.

I met Cassius's dark, unreadable gaze and spoke with all the sincerity I possessed:

"If you still hold any regard for what we were, and you can't bring yourself to send me to the Gate House, then let me leave the estate. Let me go to Rosalind. Tell the Family I left of my own will, to light candles and pray for the Valdori name."

A crease of anger had already settled between Cassius's brows:

"I've already shown you more kindness than you deserve. I even sent for Rosalind to be brought to the estate. What more do you want?"

"Even if Eloise went too far today, you raised her for ten years. That she turned out this way is your failure. What right do you have to be dissatisfied?"

My voice remained steady, earnest:

"I have no dissatisfaction. I only ask for your grace."

Cassius was silent for a long moment before his voice turned cold:

"No wife has ever left this compound. Since you've begged to be thrown into the Gate House, I'll grant your wish."

His tone shifted: "If you regret it, I can still revoke the order. The word hasn't gone out to the rest of the household yet."

I pressed my hands flat against my thighs and bowed my head. "I thank you for your grace."

"Angelica."

Cassius ground out my name through clenched teeth, then turned and swept from the room. Two bodyguards fell into step behind him without a sound.

The Gate House was bleak and desolate, yet I felt lighter than I had in years.

If I hadn't come here, Eloise would only have grown more furious seeing me close to Rosalind.

She didn't love me, but she was fiercely possessive of me.

To embroider the perfect blessing charm for her, I had stitched a hundred and seventy-seven before she finally picked the one she liked.

The rest she burned in a single fire.

At the time, Eloise had said:

"I know you wanted to save one for Rosalind. But she doesn't deserve to have the same things as me."

Her smile was innocent. Her eyes were as cold and deep as her father's.

A plate of stale bread and half-raw greens was set before me.

The woman who brought it looked vaguely familiar. She smiled and said:

"You're no alliance bride now. You should count yourself lucky to get even this."

"If you hadn't served the Don all those years, you probably wouldn't get anything at all."

When I gave no reaction, she let out a theatrical sigh:

"Really, all you'd have to do is bow your head to the Don, and you could have any meal you wanted. You were a Marconi. You grew up with silver on the table. Why ruin yourself over a moment of stubbornness?"

Behind the crumbling door, a sliver of charcoal wool peeked into view. The edge of a hand-tailored suit.

I understood. This was Cassius's way of offering me a way out.

He had always used other people's mouths to remind me that I was nothing without him.

And I had always followed meekly behind him and his daughter, without a word of complaint.

Ten years of being hollow. I was done.

I fixed my gaze on that sliver of dark fabric and spoke:

"No feast in the world compares to this simple meal. These days in the Gate House have given me more peace than I ever knew before."

Here, I didn't need to please anyone. I didn't need to carry the weight of my family's honor.

And no one stood over me every waking moment to remind me I was a replacement, a cuckoo in another woman's nest.

The door slammed shut. The flash of wool vanished.

I had no interest in chasing after him. I turned back to my meal.

But a small figure came darting out from behind the door.

She had her hair tied in two little buns, and the moment she saw me, she called out for her mother, over and over.

We had never met before. Yet I knew her at a single glance. This was my flesh and blood, separated from me for five long years.