The Canary Who Learned To Fly

Seraphina Vitiello POV The ballroom was a gilded cage of crystal and light, and I was the unwanted ornament standing in the corner, my wings long since clipped. Isabella was holding court near the ice sculpture. She lifted her hand, ensuring the massive diamond on her finger caught the light from every angle. It was a beautiful ring. It had been bought with blood money, but it sparkled just the same. I adjusted my sleeve self-consciously. The bruise on my arm, a souvenir from where the soldier had dragged me to the morgue, was throbbing. But that pain was nothing compared to the ache of the lava stone bracelet against my wrist. It was a cheap thing. Rough, porous black stones strung on a simple elastic band. I had made it in the safe house. I had slid it onto Dante's wrist when his fever broke. *To ground you,* I had told him. He had given it back to me the day he left, before his sight returned. *Keep it for me, Sette. Until I see you.* But he never saw me. He only saw Isabella. Across the room, I saw Isabella's gaze snap to me. She wasn't looking at my face. She was fixated on my wrist. Her eyes narrowed. She whispered something to Dante. He stiffened. They began to walk towards me. The crowd parted for them like the Red Sea. Dante looked lethal in his tuxedo. A predator in formal wear. Isabella wore the mask of a victim she always pretended to be. "That bracelet," Isabella said, her voice trembling just enough to draw attention. I covered my wrist with my other hand, a futile shield. "It is mine," I said. "It's the one I made for Dante," she lied. "The one that went missing from my jewelry box." The lie was so easy for her. It rolled off her tongue like honey. Dante's eyes dropped to my hand. "Show me," he commanded. I didn't move. He reached out and seized my wrist. His grip was iron. He pushed my sleeve up. The black beads sat stark against my pale skin. "You stole this from her?" Dante asked. His voice was low, dangerous. I looked up at him. I searched for a flicker of recognition. I searched for the man who had kissed these fingertips in the dark. "I made this," I whispered. "I gave it to you." "Liar!" Isabella shrieked. She turned to the gathering crowd, tears instantly springing to her eyes. "She steals everything! My clothes, my jewelry. Now she tries to steal the memories of how I saved you, Dante!" The murmurs started. *The jealous sister.* *The unstable one.* Dante's face hardened into stone. "Take it off," he said. "No," I said. It was the first time I had defied a direct order from a Capo in public. The air was sucked out of the room. My father appeared beside us. His face was purple with rage. "Give it to your sister, Seraphina. Do not embarrass this family." "It is mine," I repeated. "I am Sette." My father didn't let me finish. He didn't use the back of his hand this time. He used his fist. He struck me squarely in the jaw. The force of the blow lifted me off my feet. I flew backward. I crashed into the champagne tower. Glass shattered. Hundreds of crystal flutes exploded around me. I hit the floor hard. Shards of glass sliced into my arms, my back, my neck. Champagne soaked my dress, stinging the fresh cuts. I lay there, dazed. Blood mixed with the expensive wine, pooling on the white marble floor. I looked up through a haze of pain. My mother was standing over me. She held a glass of red wine. She poured it over my face. "Disgrace," she spat. The wine ran into my eyes, burning like acid. I blinked, trying to clear my vision. I saw Dante. He wasn't looking at me. He was holding Isabella's hands, inspecting them. "Did any glass hit you?" he asked urgently. "No," she sobbed. "But she ruined the party, Dante. She ruined everything." He pulled her into his chest. "Don't look at her," he said. He stepped over my legs. He reached down and ripped the bracelet from my wrist. The elastic snapped. The beads scattered across the floor, rolling in the blood and wine. He picked up the few that remained on the string and handed them to Isabella. "I'm sorry she took this from you," he said softly. I lay in the wreckage of the celebration. Bleeding. Broken. And completely invisible.