Chapter 2

Corinne's POV

When my maid Celia and I brought the white fox coat to the main house, Blair was at her vanity. Her eyes met mine in the mirror and went ice-cold.

"The coat the Don requested." I held it out.

A maid passed it over. Blair stroked the fur, then looked at me, and two maids forced me down onto the cold marble.

Blair rose, grabbed my chin, and jerked my face up. "Pathetic. Settling for being his whore just to stay near him. You were only ever a shield to keep me safe, Corinne. The second he could, he married me." She shoved my face aside. "No woman steals his love from me. Know your place."

"I understand," I said to the floor.

"Beat her," Blair told the room. "Let everyone see what happens to anyone who takes what's mine."

No one moved. Lorenzo had married Blair, but everyone knew he wasn't indifferent to me.

"Does my word mean nothing?" Blair snapped. "Think about who Lorenzo actually loves. You'd defy his wife for a cheap mistress?"

They pinned me to the floor. A belt came down across my back, then fists, then boots. I bit my lip until I tasted blood.

"Miss Corinne!" Celia lunged toward me, and two maids dragged her back.

The blows blurred, Celia's sobs faded, and I was about to black out when a roar came from the doorway.

"Stop!"

Lorenzo. He threw the enforcers off me and lifted me up, and his palm came away sticky. My blood had soaked through the thin silk.

"Corinne!" There was panic in his voice, though I doubt he heard it. "Who the hell gave you permission to touch her?"

"I did," Blair said, tears spilling as she pointed at the coat. "She's jealous. She hid steel needles in the lining to hurt me. If my maid hadn't found them, I'd be bleeding right now. I'm the lady of this house. If I let this slide, how do I keep anyone in line?"

Needles?

Lorenzo looked from the coat to me. "Is that true?"

Celia tore free and threw herself down beside me. "She'd never! Mrs. Hale is setting her up!"

"Celia, don't—" Too late.

Lorenzo's voice went flat. "A servant accusing the lady of the house? Take her outside. Deal with it."

"Lorenzo!" I pushed up on shaking arms and caught his trouser leg. "She was only protecting me. Please spare her."

I had never begged him for anything before. When I woke after taking a bullet for him, all I'd said was, "As long as you're okay."

Something in his face gave. He opened his mouth, and I believe he was about to let her go.

Then Blair clutched his sleeve, sobbing. "If you let her off, this whole house will think I'm weak." She swayed as if she might collapse.

"Blair!" He caught her against his chest, murmuring at her to stop being ridiculous, and held her while she cried herself limp. His eyes drifted down to me. Then he closed them.

"Take her out. Do it."

The words went in like a poisoned knife. "No. Please." I tried to crawl toward the door. He held me down.

"Corinne." Impatience edged his voice. "She's staff. I'll find you someone better."

"I don't want anyone else. I want Celia. I'm begging you."

A single muffled shot came from the courtyard.

My body jerked. Grief, rage, and the pain in my back hit at once, and I coughed up a mouthful of blood before everything went black.

I woke in the west guesthouse. Damon sat by the bed, and his shoulders dropped in relief.

"The boss sent your medication," he said carefully, "and a message. Keep your head down, stop going after Mrs. Hale, and focus on getting better. Celia was handled according to family rules. Her family's been compensated. Someone new will look after you."

Each sentence went in like a cold nail. I stared at the ceiling and said nothing. Only after he left did the tears come, sliding silently into my hair.

For days I moved like a puppet with its strings cut. I took my pills, let them change my bandages, ate, slept. The wounds on my back scabbed over. The one underneath kept festering. I healed quietly, and waited quietly for the drug to finish its work.

Then one morning Damon came to take me to the main house. On the way, he filled me in: rumors called Mrs. Hale cruel and unfit to be lady of the family, and allied families wanted her put aside. Blair had broken down; doctors had been with her all night. The boss had summoned the inner circle to find the source, and he wouldn't be gentle.

I felt nothing.

The main hall was packed. Lorenzo sat at its head with Blair curled into his side, sobbing. "Lorenzo, I didn't do any of it. I swear."

"I know." He wiped her tears. "I'll find whoever did this and clear your name."

He looked up as I walked in, and his hand paused for half a second. I took a place in the crowd. I did not kneel.

Watching him dry her tears, I remembered what he'd once told me: he couldn't stand crying women; the only one he'd ever comfort was the woman he loved. So through all those years at his side—shot, poisoned, nearly drowned—I never cried in front of him.

Only once. A rival crew ambushed him, and I took the bullet, close to something vital. When the surgeon dug it out, the tears came though I made no sound. Lorenzo had been at my bedside three days straight, eyes bloodshot. He reached out and awkwardly brushed them away with his thumb. "That bad?" he asked, hoarse.

We both froze; he must have been thinking of his own words. But he didn't pull back. He wiped my cheek again, stiff and clumsy, with a tenderness I'd never seen in him.

After that, he remembered what I liked to eat. When I was sick, he came to check on me himself. It only made me wary. I wanted to tell him the truth: I didn't take that bullet because I loved you. I took it because if you died, I'd never be free.

Then he took control of the family, Blair came back, and everything returned to how it had been. That tenderness began to feel like something I'd imagined.

So I stood in the crowd and waited, until the sky began to lighten and someone handed Lorenzo a folder.

"Boss, we found who started the rumors. It's Miss Corinne."