Chapter 3: The Vultures Have Names

"Explain the photo," I say. "No." "He knew your uncle. He knew him, Damien, they were on a boat together—" "I said no." He takes the frame out of my hands, sets it face down, and for one second I see something under the ice. Not anger. Something closer to grief. "Get dressed. Something without holes in it. There'll be a dress on your bed." "I'm not your doll." "Tonight you are." He's already walking away. "Because if my uncle decides you're useless, you don't get a room in this house. You get a hole in a field. Do you understand me?" I understand him. I hate that I understand him. The dress is emerald green and costs more than my mother's car. When I come down the stairs, Damien is at the bottom in a black suit and he goes very still. "What?" I snap. "Nothing," he says, and puts a ring on my finger before I can pull away. It's old. Warm. A tiny diamond in a worn gold band, nothing like the gaudy rocks in this house. "Don't lose it." "Whose is it?" "My mother's." He doesn't let me ask anything else. The dinner is thirty people, all of them Rossi blood or Rossi money. Salvatore sits at the head — silver hair, kind grandfather eyes, and hands that have signed death warrants. He kisses my cheek and calls me bambina and I feel like a rabbit being petted by a wolf. And then Bianca Ferraro walks in on my stepbrother's arm. She's stunning. She's also looking at me like I'm gum on her shoe. "So this is the collateral," she says brightly, and every conversation at that table stops to enjoy it. "Damien, sweetheart, she's very... fresh." Nico laughs. My own stepbrother laughs. "Bianca," Luca warns from across the table. "What? I'm being nice." She sits, unfolds her napkin, and turns to me with a smile made of glass. "Let me help you, Ava. There are levels in this family. There's blood — that's Salvatore, Luca, Damien. Then there's married-in, which is me, eventually. Then there's employed. Then there's owned." She sips her wine. "You're the last one. Nobody at this table would notice if you disappeared tonight." "Bianca," Luca says again, harder. I look at Damien. He's watching me. He isn't going to save me. I see it clearly — this is a test, and he's grading it. Fine. "That's really helpful," I say sweetly. "Can I add one? There's also recycled." Bianca's smile freezes. "Excuse me?" "You dated Damien for two years." I've been listening to the staff gossip for exactly thirty hours and it turns out being invisible has advantages. "Then you moved on to my stepbrother, who's on the payroll, which technically makes him employed." I tilt my head. "So you didn't move up. You moved sideways and down. That must sting at family dinners." Somebody chokes on their soup. Bianca stands up so fast her chair screeches. "You little—" And she throws her wine at me. I don't think. I've never once thought. I pick up the entire pitcher of ice water and empty it over her head. The room explodes. Nico's on his feet. Bianca is screaming. Salvatore is roaring for calm. And Damien Rossi is laughing so hard he has to put his hand over his mouth. Later, upstairs, my hands finally start shaking. He finds me on the balcony, still in the ruined green dress, mascara down my face. "That was stupid," he says. "I know." "They'll come for you now. Bianca doesn't lose." "I know." He's quiet for a long moment. Then he takes off his jacket and puts it around my shoulders, and I don't stop him, and I hate myself. "Do it again," he says, "and I'll marry you tomorrow instead of in two years." "That's supposed to be a threat?" "Yes," he says, and walks away before I can see his face. I stand there until the cold gets into my bones. Then I go inside and find something on my pillow that wasn't there when I left. A folded piece of paper. No envelope. Handwriting I'd know anywhere — I watched it write my school notes for nineteen years. Ava. Your father is alive. He's in this house. Basement. Tonight. Midnight. Come alone. Trust nobody. Especially not Damien.