Chapter 2

The smell of cellar mold brought the memories flooding back.

When I was younger, I think I hated Vivian even more.

The Family hired the best 24/7 medical team. It was for Vivian.

The one family heirloom necklace. It went to Vivian.

New cars arrived. Vivian always got the first ride. I was shoved in the back of the guards' sedan.

Bedtime stories were for Vivian, too.

Papa Marcello's voice would turn surprisingly gentle. He'd tell stories of the Sicilian Family's rise. Stories of honor and blood.

But he only told those stories to Vivian.

I would crouch outside her door, listening through the crack. I'd hear my father's soft voice, "Vivian, what do you want to hear tonight?"

"Tell me how great-grandfather took over New York," Vivian would say.

And Papa would begin. His voice was like a low cello in the night, slow and deep.

I'd sit outside, hugging my knees, listening to our Family's glory. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant hand.

Why couldn't he tell me, too?

The summer I was ten, an allied Family sent over two purebred Doberman puppies.

At dinner, Mamma Valeria carefully handed both leashes to Vivian.

"Play with them, Vivian. They can protect you."

I looked at my empty hands. Tears just started to fall.

"Why does she get both of them?"

"I want one! I want one, too!"

Papa slammed his fork on the table.

"Sienna! Why are you so selfish!"

He stood up, his face dark. "Don't you know your sister is sick? Don't you know she could be in danger at any moment..."

He couldn't go on.

I didn't know.

I just knew Vivian's face was always pale. She coughed sometimes. My parents always looked at her with such sad eyes.

But I didn't know what it meant.

"Why? Why does she get everything!"

I screamed, jumping off my chair. I pointed at Vivian across the table. "Why don't you just die already! Then all your stuff would be mine!"

Vivian's face crumpled. Fat tears splashed onto the Persian rug.

She opened her mouth but no sound came out. She looked terrified of me.

Mamma shot up and slapped me across the face.

It was the first time I'd ever been hit hard enough to split my lip.

Vivian rushed over to protect me, but Mamma held her back.

"Leave her! It's time she learned what she can and cannot say in this house!"

The next morning, I heard them talking in the study.

"Just eight years left on the chip," Mamma was sobbing.

"I know," Papa's voice was gravel.

"Eight years... only eight years..."

And in that moment, I understood. Vivian was going to die.

The red numbers on her bio-watch, always ticking down, were real. It was her life's countdown.

In the hall, my parents, with red-rimmed eyes, carefully walked Vivian back to her room.

Watching them, a sour feeling rose in my chest.

"Maybe... maybe we should let Sienna out," Papa's voice was quiet.

Mamma was silent for a long time.

"Let her suffer a little longer."

She finally spoke. Her voice was so tired, like she'd used up all her strength.

"At least... let Vivian have a perfect birthday. Just this one day. Her last day."

I saw Mamma lift a hand to wipe her eyes.

"Sienna will get over it."

She said it more to convince herself. "After Vivian is gone… we'll make it up to her. We'll give her the world."

Papa said nothing more. He just walked to the long table, picked up a piece of handmade chocolate from the party, and walked towards the cellar.