Chapter 2The Don Made Me Fake My Death, Then Lost Me Forever

The next day, Marco came to take me back to the Gariboldi estate.

He still remembered my weak stomach. He'd even put a bottle of water and some medicine in the center console for me.

"Have some.

"It's the same medicine you used to get from the pharmacy around the corner from St. Stephen's Cathedral. Your blood sugar used to drop, and you couldn't go anywhere without it."

I picked up the bottle and suddenly remembered what had happened three years earlier.

That day, he had also been the one to send me off to negotiate with the Cordano family.

I wouldn't get in the car. I held on to his arm with everything I had.

But he pried my fingers off one by one, coaxing me in a low voice. "Chiara, I know you don't want to go.

"But if you go and negotiate, the Gariboldi family will have room to breathe, and your brother will be safe.

"Chiara, do it to save the lives of more than 100 people in our family."

Before he shut the car door, he promised, "Once things calm down, I'll find a way to arrange a trade and bring you back. I promise."

And like a fool, I believed him for three years.

That was why, during my first year as a prisoner, I would have starved myself or slit my wrists before I'd smile at a Cordano even once.

And after that?

The more territory the Cordano family took, the larger the Gariboldi family's share of the arms trade became, and Marco rose through the family's ranks.

No one ever mentioned trading me back again.

The car stopped in front of the Gariboldi estate.

My mother hurried out and threw her arms around me.

Her tears fell on my shoulder, but her hands pressed down hard on the brim of my hat.

"Why did you come in through the front door?

"What if the reporters got a picture?

"Hurry. Get down to the cigar room."

An elegant urn sat in the living room.

My father was talking with the Cordano family's lawyer.

"Make sure the seal on the death certificate looks authentic.

"The funeral's tomorrow, so keep everything simple. We can't let anyone get suspicious before the joint peace talks."

When he saw me come in, he only paused for a second.

"You're back?

"Good timing. Get in the coffin so we can check that the lining fits."

My mother's face went stiff.

"She just got home. What's the rush?"

My father's face darkened.

"Cordano only gave us one day. If the coffin is the wrong size and gives us away when we stage her death tomorrow, our whole family will be buried right along with her!"

Marco pulled off his leather gloves, took me by the shoulders, and half carried, half pushed me into the coffin.

It was incredibly cramped.

The boards on both sides pressed tightly against my arms. I couldn't even turn on my side.

He leaned down and murmured in my ear, "Hang on for 48 hours.

"As soon as the hearse gets past the checkpoint at the edge of Vienna, I'll open the lid and let you out myself."

My mother rushed to reassure me. "We've already drilled hidden air holes in the bottom. You won't suffocate, I promise."

They'd thought of everything.

They must have gone over it countless times.

I sat up and saw a finished obituary lying on the table.

It claimed that I had been held captive by a tyrant, had refused to submit, and had ultimately given my life to preserve my honor.

My father picked it up.

"Once you're 'dead,' the Gariboldi family can erase the stain of having traded away a bride for power.

"Your brother is getting engaged next month to the interior minister's eldest daughter. We can't have his older sister branded as some tyrant's plaything."

My mother quickly took my hand.

"Don't overthink it.

"All this talk about dying is just for outsiders.

"You'll be living well in Switzerland. Why cling to appearances?"

Marco added quietly, "You won't be stuck between me and Dante anymore.

"You'll have an easier life somewhere no one knows you."

How thoughtful. Everyone was thinking of me.

If I didn't do as I was told and lie down in that coffin, apparently that made me the selfish, ungrateful one.

I looked at my mother.

"Once I'm in Switzerland, can I still send postcards home?"

Her hand tightened around mine.

My father said, "No.

"You'll be 'dead.' Any contact at all would put everyone in danger."

I asked, "What if I get sick?"

Marco was quiet for a moment.

"Dante will have someone take care of you."

"Will you... come see me?"

The crackle of logs in the fireplace was the only sound in the vast main hall.

No one answered.

I bent down slowly and carefully smoothed the white dress I was supposed to be "buried" in.

"I understand."

Marco pushed the glass of water in front of me.

"Chiara, don't blame us.

"Dante already showed you more mercy than you could have hoped for by sparing your life.

"Besides, the three years you spent with Dante saved the Gariboldi family a lot of trouble.

"Your sacrifice wasn't for nothing."

I looked down at the glass of water.

So he still remembered my weak stomach.

But he'd probably forgotten that three years earlier, when I was sent to negotiate, I'd looked back at him.

All that time, I had waited for him to change his mind.

If he'd just said "Don't go," I would have run away with him, no matter what.

But even when the car door shut, he never called me back.

Now he was sending me off again.

This time, he was sending me into a coffin.