"Bring the tonic over. Make her drink it. Help her recover."
The servants pried my jaw open and forced the liquid down my throat. I recognized the taste. Bitter herbs. The sterilizing concoction. The kind of old-country remedy that doesn't show up in any hospital record, the kind passed between women in whispers and administered in rooms no one speaks about afterward.
I thrashed, tried to spit it out, but they pinned me down and held my mouth shut.
Sienna crouched beside me and patted my cheek, slow and deliberate, every touch a humiliation. "Can't have you bearing more children down the line. All that squabbling over heirs gets so tiresome."
"My wedding is in two days. I still need to go try on my jeweled crown. If you'll excuse me."
As she stood, she let her robe fall open just enough to reveal the pendant at her throat. A saint's medallion on a thin gold chain.
Cesare's medallion. He told me once that his mother left it to him, the only thing he had of hers. And he had given it to Sienna.
My fingers drifted to the hollow of my throat where my own locket used to hang. There was nothing there. Just skin and bone and the absence of everything I'd buried.
She was nearly at the door when she paused, smoothing the front of her dress with both palms, as though something had just occurred to her. "Oh, one more thing. Cesare transferred this property into my name. I hear you're fond of the simple country life, so by all means, keep living here. Just remember, it's my house now. My rules."
My whole body went rigid. When Cesare burned down our cottage, he told me he bought this place for me. Told me I could fill the yard with lemon trees and vegetable gardens.
He never intended to give me anything. Not from the very beginning.
"Sienna."
I called after her, my voice scraped hollow.
"Miss Marchetti, have you ever heard of Serafina Valente? The Don's daughter?"
Sienna froze for a beat. "What, are you going to tell me that reclusive princess has something to do with you?"
I forced a bitter smile. "I heard the Don's daughter has a thing for colored flares. The old Valente signal protocol. If we could make her smile, convince her to attend your wedding, wouldn't that bring honor to the occasion?"
Sienna eyed me with suspicion. "How would a worthless wretch like you know what the Don's daughter likes?"