Chapter 6: The Price of Being Useful

For the next three days, I became the perfect fiancée again.

I smiled when Ethan entered the room.

I asked how Chloe was recovering.

I listened when he gave vague answers about his fake memories, his fake confusion, his fake pain.

Every word from his mouth felt like another stone added to the grave of who we used to be.

But I played my role beautifully.

That was the thing about women raised in mafia houses. We were taught to survive in silence before we were ever taught to dream.

On the fourth morning, Ethan's father summoned us to the Reed estate.

Vincent Reed did not invite people.

He commanded them.

The estate sat outside the city behind iron gates, old trees, and armed men who pretended not to watch every breath you took.

I wore a cream dress with long sleeves to hide the bruises still blooming beneath my cast.

Ethan arrived separately with Chloe.

Of course he did.

Vincent Reed was waiting in the dining room, a tall, silver-haired man with eyes like polished steel.

His gaze moved from Ethan to Chloe, then to me.

It stopped on my sling.

'What happened?' he asked.

The room went still.

Ethan answered too quickly.

'Small accident. Nothing serious.'

Vincent did not look at him.

He looked at me.

'Ava?'

For one dangerous second, I considered telling the truth.

That his son had staged a reckless crash.

That he had abandoned me in the wreckage.

That he had chosen his mistress over his fiancée in front of his own Soldiers.

But truth in that room was not freedom.

It was ammunition.

And I wasn't ready to fire yet.

So I smiled softly.

'I'm healing.'

Vincent's eyes narrowed, as if he heard everything I didn't say.

Chloe shifted beside Ethan, suddenly less confident under the Don's stare.

Lunch was a battlefield dressed as a family meal.

Silverware clicked against porcelain.

Wine was poured.

Threats moved beneath polite conversation like knives under silk.

Vincent asked Ethan about territory disputes, shipping routes, and recent financial discrepancies.

Ethan answered well enough to seem competent, but not well enough to seem strong.

Twice, he forgot details he should have known.

Twice, Vincent's expression hardened.

Chloe tried to charm the table.

She spoke about brand campaigns, charity galas, and how much her followers loved 'powerful family aesthetics.'

No one laughed.

Not even Ethan.

When the meal ended, Vincent asked to speak with me alone.

Ethan's hand tightened around his glass.

'She needs rest,' he said.

Vincent's voice dropped.

'I did not ask you.'

The silence that followed was sharp enough to draw blood.

I followed Vincent into his study.

The room smelled of cigar smoke, old books, and decisions that had ruined lives.

He stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back.

'My son is making a fool of himself,' he said.

I said nothing.

'And you are pretending not to notice.'

Still, I said nothing.

Vincent turned toward me.

'That makes me wonder what you are planning.'

My heart beat once, hard.

But my face remained calm.

'I'm planning a wedding.'

A faint smile touched his mouth.

'No, Ava. You are planning a funeral.'

The words settled between us.

Not a threat.

An observation.

He knew.

Maybe not everything, but enough.

'I have always respected you,' Vincent said. 'You were raised with discipline. Loyalty. Intelligence. You would have made a good wife for a Don.'

A good wife.

Not a partner.

Not a person.

A position.

'Thank you,' I said.

'But respect does not protect you if Ethan decides you are inconvenient.'

I met his eyes.

'Are you warning me?'

'I am reminding you that women in our world survive by knowing when to stay silent and when to disappear.'

My throat tightened.

Vincent walked to his desk and opened a drawer.

He placed a small envelope on the polished wood.

'Your mother's old beach house in Maine was sold years ago. But the paperwork was never properly updated.'

I stared at the envelope.

'Why are you telling me this?'

'Because my son has forgotten the difference between power and arrogance.'

His voice hardened.

'And arrogance destroys families.'

I did not touch the envelope.

Not yet.

Accepting help from Vincent Reed was like accepting shelter from a storm while standing inside a burning house.

But information was survival.

And I was done rejecting survival because of pride.

I picked it up.

'What do you want in return?'

Vincent's eyes moved to my cast.

'Nothing.'

I didn't believe him.

Men like Vincent never gave without calculation.

But for once, the calculation worked in my favor.

When I returned to the dining room, Ethan was waiting near the door.

'What did he say to you?'

Possession burned in his tone.

Not concern.

Ownership.

'He asked about the wedding flowers.'

Ethan stared at me, searching for a crack.

I gave him none.

Chloe slipped her arm through his and smiled at me like she had won something.

Poor girl.

She still believed Ethan was the prize.

That night, back at the penthouse, I opened Vincent's envelope.

Inside was an address, a key, and a single handwritten sentence.

'Some cages have doors. Use them.'

I read it three times.

Then I called Maya.

'We need to move faster,' I said.

'How fast?'

I looked at the key in my palm.

'Before the wedding invitations go out.'

Maya exhaled slowly.

'Then we start tonight.'

I ended the call and stood in the center of the bedroom Ethan and I once shared.

The wedding dress hung behind glass like a ghost.

For seven years, I thought marrying Ethan Reed would secure my future.

Now I understood the truth.

My future would only begin when I escaped him.