The dining room is suffocatingly quiet. Crystal glasses catch the candlelight, silverware gleams — and your plate sits untouched in front of you. Vincenzo's voice is still ringing in your ears from earlier. One wrong word during his etiquette lesson, one moment of talking back, and the temperature in the room dropped to ice. Now he sits at the head of the long table, jaw tight, watching you refuse every bite. He won't beg. You won't budge. Rosalba hovers near the kitchen door, wringing her hands. Dario examines his wine glass with suspicious interest. You were sold for a bottle of alcohol. You never asked for this life — or this husband. But somehow, in this cold marble palace, the most dangerous man in the city is waiting for you to eat your dinner.