He Burned My Face for Her, So I Rose from the Ashes

Lorenzo cut through the crowd of associates like a blade through silk, seized the lead onlooker's camera, and shattered it against the marble floor. "Get out. Every last one of you."

My mother wrapped her mourning shawl around my shoulders with shaking hands, tears streaming down her face, her voice cracking. "The soldiers on this door. Are you all useless? How did outsiders get inside a Family celebration? You're finished. All of you."

Bianca hovered at the edge of it, one hand pressed to her mouth. "You've gone too far! How can you treat my sister this way? Don't you dare let a single one of those pictures out. My sister, seizing on the floor, soiling herself. You'd better not."

Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. You want the crown of the showcase? You want to pour every ounce of the bloodline's love into Bianca? Fine. Take it. But why did you have to do this to me?

My mind swam in fog. I simply let Lorenzo kneel in front of me, gripping my hands tight. "Wife, I'm so sorry. This is my fault. I failed to protect you. It won't happen again. From this day, I'll never let you suffer so much as a breath of pain. Let's seal the union now, quickly. All right?"

I wanted to say no, but the metallic taste climbing my throat spilled first as a mouthful of blood. It splattered across Lorenzo. His pupils shrank and his face went white as ash. Before my consciousness faded into darkness, I heard him and my mother screaming for the Family's doctors.

"The wounds were already severe, and the delay has made them far worse. On top of that, she's been given an overdose of psychotropic drugs. Her internal organs are badly damaged. The knife work carries perhaps a thirty percent chance."

Lorenzo's voice trembled. "How could this happen? I don't care what it takes. If you can't save my wife, you'll all answer for it with your lives."

Tears fell onto the back of my hand. He wept without control. "Babe, we promised we'd be together forever. You can't leave me here alone."

My mother sank to her knees before the doctor, begging. "You have to save my daughter. I don't care what it costs. I'd give my own life for hers."

I closed my eyes, heavy as stone. Maybe dying like this wouldn't be so bad.

When I woke again, I was back in my own room. Faint voices carried through the door. "Mother, are you truly signing all of Father's tribute over to me? Won't Adriana be furious when she learns of it?"

My mother's laugh was soft, indulgent. "She has no right to be. She'll marry into the Falcone bloodline. She'll never want for food or money again. What does she need with this little inheritance? When your father was martyred and everything was at its darkest, I fell to the leukaemia. You were the one who gave me your blood, day after day, who gave me the marrow from your own bones. From that moment I swore you were the only daughter I would ever claim in this life. There isn't much left, and still I feel I owe you. I know you love Lorenzo too. I've already spoken with him. Your sister is in no condition to carry a child. So on the night of the alliance union, you'll take her place. You'll be the one to give the Falcone heir his firstborn."

Bianca's cheeks colored and she answered sweetly, "I'll do whatever you ask, Mother."

My mother pushed the door open just as my eyes met hers. Guilt flickered across her face, and she rubbed the edge of her shawl between two fingers. "Sweetheart, since you've heard it all, I won't hide it from you any longer. The Falcone bloodline is powerful. It needs an heir. But don't fret, the standing of Lorenzo's wife..."

"I agree," I interrupted, calm and even. "In my condition, it wouldn't be fitting for me to appear at the union anyway. Let Bianca go in my place."

A smile spread across my mother's face at once. "Good girl. You've truly grown. So understanding."

Bianca cast a disdainful glance at my ruined skin, then dressed her voice in concern. "Don't worry, sis. I'll take good care of your husband for you."

I turned my head away, weary, done looking at either of them. I pressed my thumb against the inside of my wrist, against the place the fire would one day mark, and held it there. I only hoped that on the day my mother learned the truth, she wouldn't come to regret it. Because that so-called precious daughter of hers had done a great deal more, back when the sickness took hold, than open a vein.