Chapter 2:

In the Solovino household, Sunday was the most dangerous day of the week.

There were no courtrooms to hide in, no legal briefs to use as shields. It was just us. The family. Locked behind the iron gates of the estate, performing the ritual of "togetherness" like a play where everyone had forgotten their lines but remembered their cues.

The dining room table was a twenty-foot expanse of polished mahogany that felt more like a border than a piece of furniture. At the head sat my father, a man who didn't breathe so much as he calculated.

"You're not eating, Krystel," he said.

The clink of his silver fork against the fine bone china sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room. I looked down at my plate. The sea bass was perfectly prepared, glazed in a lemon-butter sauce that smelled like wealth, but it tasted like ash in my mouth.

"I’m not hungry, Father," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

"Hunger is a sign of life," Luca chimed in from across the table. He was leaning back, his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal the heavy gold watch that matched the one Dante wore. "And you look... pale. Doesn't she look pale, Dante?"

Dante didn't look up from his steak. He cut into the meat with surgical precision, the blade of his knife scraping the plate with a high-pitched screech. "She’s been spending too much time in the library. Too much time with her nose in those law books. It’s making her cold."

"I’m a lawyer, Dante. Being 'cold' is part of the job description," I countered, trying to find a spark of my courtroom fire.

Rocco reached over, his hand covering mine on the table. He didn't squeeze, but the weight of his palm was a reminder. His skin was warm, a stark contrast to my own. "We just want you healthy, Krys. We want you vibrant. The Solovino legacy doesn't look good in a shroud."

It was always like this. Every comment was a "gift" wrapped in a threat. They loved me so much they wanted to preserve me in amber. They didn't see a woman; they saw a masterpiece that needed a climate-controlled vault.

After lunch, the "Interrogation" moved to the solarium. This was my brothers' favorite part of Sunday—checking the perimeter of my life.

"Who was that man you were talking to after the trial on Friday?" Luca asked, tossing a stress ball against the glass wall. Thump. Thump. The sound echoed my heartbeat.

"A court clerk, Luca. He was handing me the filing receipts."

"He looked at you for three seconds too long," Rocco added, not looking up from his phone. "I checked his background. He’s got two kids and a gambling debt. Not the kind of person you should be seen with. People might think you're... accessible."

My grip tightened on the arm of my chair until my knuckles turned as white as the marble floor. "You checked his background? Because he handed me paperwork?"

"We check everyone, Krystel," Dante’s voice came from the doorway. He was the eldest, the one who held the keys when Father wasn't looking. "It’s a dangerous world. People see a Solovino, and they see a payday. Or a target. You’re the only thing in this family that isn't stained with blood. We intend to keep it that way."

I looked at them—my three brothers. They were handsome, powerful, and utterly convinced that their obsession was a virtue. They didn't see me as a person; I was the family’s conscience, the "Diamond" they kept in a vault so they didn't have to feel so guilty about the things they did in the dark.

"I’m going for a walk in the gardens," I said, standing up so abruptly my chair scraped the floor.

"Take Rocco with you," Dante ordered.

"No. I want to be alone."

"Solovinos are never alone, Krys," Luca called out as I walked away, his voice trailing after me like a leash. "It’s the first rule of the bloodline."

I didn't stop. I walked until the glass doors hissed shut behind me. I headed for the willow trees, the only place where the sun felt real and not like something my father had purchased for the estate.

I sat by the fountain and looked at the gold snake ring. My brothers thought they were guarding me from the world. They didn't realize that the world wasn't the threat. The threat was the silence. The threat was the way I was starting to forget what my own voice sounded like when it wasn't arguing a case or apologizing for existing.

I leaned my head back, closing my eyes. I didn't know then that the "shadow" was already being cast. My father’s decision was already made. But for now, in the Sunday silence, I just prayed for a single moment where I wasn't Krystel Solovino.

I just wanted to be Krystel.

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