Her Soul Was Shattered, So Her Twin Chose Violence

Smashed to death against the ground. I drove the silver needle into my chest without so much as a flicker of expression. Not a trace of pain crossed my face. Only the fury buried deep in my soul. Perhaps it was this deathly, silent obedience that finally pricked at something guilty inside Dante. His brow furrowed. His expression softened. He was just about to speak. Then Lucrezia Moreno appeared, dropping to her knees without preamble, her voice fragile and trembling: "Don Griffin, this is all my fault. I failed to protect our sister's child." "I've been plagued by nightmares, unable to sleep. This is the punishment I deserve..." "I only beg that our sister show mercy and stop cursing this poor child's spirit. Let the little one rest in peace." A few sentences, and she'd turned every drop of blame onto my sister. My gaze went cold. Killing intent churned behind my eyes. Dante, who had been on the verge of relenting, moved to her side almost instantly, pulling her up and gathering her into his arms. "Lucrezia, why are you kneeling to her again?" His voice was thick with tenderness and edged with anger. "You are the First Lady now. She is nothing." "She's the one steeped in malice. You have no reason to lower yourself. I will see justice done for you." He bent down and brushed the dust from her knees, his touch gentle, as if handling something infinitely precious. Three of her fingertips rested against her collarbone the entire time, the portrait of wounded modesty. Then he raised his head and looked at me. "Soldiers! The Valente woman has forgotten her place. Hold her down and make her kneel before the First Lady. She will confess and beg forgiveness!" I watched the two of them perform their little act, and a cold smile curved slowly across my lips. "You both truly..." "Deserve to die." My sister Chiara and I were born as Twin Souls sharing one body. The old families whispered about it like a curse, a bloodline anomaly that hadn't surfaced in three generations. Two souls, one vessel. Even in the womb, whenever our mother felt the slightest discomfort, Chiara would push me aside and take control. As children, every time a dark thought stirred in me, she threw herself in the way to stop it. When I was five, I grew so sick of my father's distant cousin that I spent three consecutive nights creeping toward her with a knife, intent on slitting her throat. The first night, Chiara threw herself off a wall. The second night, Chiara jumped into the well. The third night, Chiara stabbed herself. Arlena Moreno stared at the knife in my hand and collapsed weeping into my father's arms: "How has your wife raised this child to be like this?" My father was beside himself with rage. At Arlena's urging, he summoned a cleaner. An old-family specialist who dealt in things the Syndicate didn't talk about in daylight. The man declared me a malevolent spirit. He drew up a ritual circle with great ceremony, intending to obliterate my soul entirely. It was Chiara who shoved me aside, seized control of the body, and wrapped her own soul around mine so that not a shred of harm touched me. When I was ten, I tried to have Arlena Moreno's daughter sold off. That daughter was none other than the oh-so-delicate First Lady Lucrezia Moreno standing before me now. That time, even our mother was shaken. Terrified our enraged father would beat us to death, she rushed us to the Old Monastery Estate. The sacred light there seared me, keeping me from taking control of the body. But Chiara would sneak down the hill to call me out, letting me taste the joys of the world beyond. It was also at that estate that she met Dante, then still a sickly, overlooked heir the family had hidden away during a succession war. A sudden fire engulfed the Old Monastery Estate, turning the sky black with smoke and flame. Chiara charged into the inferno and shoved Dante to safety, only to collapse herself, her strength spent, surrounded by fire. I was pinned down by the sacred light, unable to move an inch. I endured the searing agony in my soul and dragged myself to the threshold. In the end, it was the cold and ruthless ninth-born son, Romeo Griffin, who pulled me out at the last moment. Chiara fell in love with the sickly heir. I fell in love with Romeo. But the two of us could never go on living like that forever. Our parents made a pact with us. Whichever sister's beloved rose to become the Don would be the one to claim the body from that day forward. Everyone poured everything they had into placing Dante on the throne. The family pulled strings, called in debts, eliminated rivals. Romeo was exiled to the Canadian border to run the family's northern operations, far from the seat of power. Chiara married the man she loved, just as she'd always wished. I believed she would live happily ever after. But now?

I pulled my collar closed. "Dante Griffin. On your wedding day, you knelt before God and the heads of every family on the Eastern Seaboard. You looked Chiara in the eye and swore you would trust her, protect her, never doubt her. That you would be hers alone, for the rest of your lives." "All those vows dripping with devotion. Did you feed every last one of them to the dogs?" I didn't wait for his answer. My gaze dropped to the strands of his hair still tangled between my fingers, torn loose only moments ago. "No matter." "Every wrong done to her, I will repay in full." Dante's brow furrowed. "You—" Lucrezia wrenched herself free of his arms and threw herself at my feet. She flashed me a taunting smile, but the words that left her mouth were a tearful wail: "Sister, whatever grievance you have, take it out on me! Don't hurt him!" I was happy to oblige. Without a heartbeat's hesitation, I swung my hand and slapped her across the face. Then I hurled the entire bowl of heart's blood over her. Lucrezia screamed. The blood was still warm. It dripped from the diamond pins in her hair, ran down her temples, soaked through the black silk of her gown until the fabric clung to her skin. She raised a hand on instinct and wiped at her face, smearing the blood into a grotesque mask. Dante stared at Lucrezia, drenched and trembling. As though she were the one who'd been bled. As though she were the one who'd been hurt. Every ounce of tenderness in his eyes belonged to her. Every shred of his pity, his bias. "Chiara, you've bullied Lucrezia since you were children. And now you use whatever affection I still hold for you to humiliate her again and again!" "Since you drew heart's blood and still refuse to save her, then I will have every last one of those wretched spawn dug up and ground to dust. Let's see you use them to terrorize Lucrezia then!" He turned to the soldiers standing along the walls of the room. Not one of them had moved. Not one of them would move without his word. "Dig up the remains. All five. The firstborn. The second son. The daughter. The fourth. The fifth. All of them." "Burn them. Douse them in lye. Then bring Alaric in to do whatever needs doing so there's nothing left. Not a bone. Not a name. Nothing anyone can pray to." A savage pain detonated in my chest. It wasn't mine. It was my sister's. I froze. Was Chiara's soul still inside this body? Then why, no matter how many times I called for her, had she never answered? With every word Dante spoke, the pain deepened, as if something were being ripped apart inside me, slow and alive. The room was silent except for the faint settling of the compound around us, the old walls holding their breath the way walls do in houses where too many orders have been given. Lucrezia sat crumpled in the pooling blood, biting her lip, sobbing as though each breath cost her dearly. "Don Griffin, my sister truly despises me beyond all reason!" "But... but Alaric himself said those five children died because of the elder sister's wickedness. That her sins brought it down on them..." "That's why they were smothered one by one, run down, thrown from the balcony... I grieve for those poor children so deeply..." Dante's chest heaved violently. He erupted. "Even after you've humiliated her to this degree, Lucrezia still weeps for those children! That is a heart of pure sincerity!" "And you? All you do is use your own children as weapons for revenge! You don't deserve to be called their mother!" Two lines of blood-red tears spilled from my eyes, beyond my control. Those were my sister's tears, shed for her five murdered children. I clenched my fists until the strands of hair bit into the flesh of my fingers. I laughed. The sound was jagged, ugly. "Sister Chiara! Your five children are barely cold in their graves, and you... you can still laugh?!" Lucrezia's tears flowed without end, her expression the very portrait of unbearable grief. Three fingertips rested against her collarbone, trembling with practiced delicacy. But I saw it clearly. The triumph glinting in her eyes. The same look her mother had worn, all those years ago, when the two of them had wielded their fragile, pitiful act to steal Father's affection and driven Mother to weep alone every night. "I'm laughing," I said, "because you fools don't know what you've done. You woke me up." I raised my hand and pressed a finger to my own chest. "Dante Griffin. Do you know what the Traitor's Brand is?" "It is a punishment designed to destroy a living soul. They burn it into the body in stages, stripping away everything that holds a person together, until there is nothing left. No memory. No name. No self." "I was trying to save you, and you threw it back in my face!" Dante's eyes were full of bitter disappointment. He rubbed the scar on his left palm without seeming to know he was doing it. "That ritual was meant to purge the darkness festering inside you. And it didn't do a damn thing!"

"From the day Lucrezia set foot in this house, when have you ever known your place? You slipped her something to make sure she couldn't carry. You spread filth about her to every Capo's wife who'd listen. You pushed her down those stairs and killed the child she was carrying." "All I did was give her your children as compensation, and you threw a fit, cut your own hair, and threatened to end your life." Lucrezia delicately wiped the blood from her face, her voice catching in a pitiful sob as she added: "The Don was merciful, all things considered. He still let you keep the title of blood-bound bride, for old times' sake." "But you only behaved yourself for a month. The moment the fifth daughter was born, you threatened him with your life again." She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with three fingertips pressed to her collarbone, her tone laced with indignation on Dante's behalf: "The Don was so shaken those days he could barely function. He canceled three sit-downs in a row. And in the end, it was nothing but a ploy to keep him to yourself." Malice churned behind my eyes. I let out a cold scoff. "Chiara was pure-hearted to her core. She would never stoop to something so vile. Every word of it is slander." "But from this day forward, every last thing you've accused her of, I will make you experience firsthand. Then you'll learn what true cruelty looks like." The moment the words left my mouth, the household girl beside me dropped to her knees with a heavy thud. She pressed her forehead to the marble floor, her voice trembling as though she could barely contain her fear: "Don Griffin, Signora Moreno, this servant has something urgent to report..." "The blood-bound bride... she has harbored a grudge against the Signora for the fifth daughter's death. In secret, she has been meeting with people outside the family. Passing information." With shaking hands, she pulled a small ledger from the folds of her jacket. Names. Dates. Phone numbers that didn't belong to anyone in the Griffin organization. I recognized this girl. She had been eight years old, selling herself into service to pay for her father's burial. It was my sister's kindness that saved her, kept her close, and sheltered her all these years. Dante stared at the ledger, then turned his gaze to the girl kneeling in testimony. "This is the very girl your sister rescued. Now even she has come forward to testify against you. Do you still intend to deny it?" His eyes were bloodshot, and the way he looked at me held nothing but bone-deep revulsion and disappointment. "Lucrezia told me you bullied her and her mother when you were children. I didn't believe it." "But now the proof is undeniable. Every shred of your kindness was a lie." My chest seized without warning, a dense, blunt pain splitting open across it. A mouthful of blood surged up and sprayed out, spattering across Dante's face, already twisted with shock and fury. I watched the terror flare in his eyes. I wiped the blood from the corner of my lips. This was the last protective ward my sister had left inside this body. Not to shield herself. To shield everyone else. She had thought of every single person except herself. Between my fingertips, the strand of hair stained with blood burned white-hot. Every ounce of pain my sister endured. I would make them feel it all over again, from beginning to end. Dante's mouth opened and closed. His throat bobbed. His left hand drifted to the scar on his palm and pressed there, hard, as if the old burn could anchor him to something solid. A nameless, bone-piercing chill crawled up through his chest. Right on cue, Lucrezia dissolved into whimpering sobs: "Dante, why is she staring at us like that... that cold, hollow look... Something is wrong with her. Something is very wrong." Dante lifted his gaze and went rigid. Tears of blood streaked down my face. My eyes blazed red, and a spectral chill clung to me like mist, flickering at the edges of perception. He seized Lucrezia by the arm and staggered back several steps, his voice tearing out of him in a ragged shout: "Soldiers! Now! Get Alaric in here!" I closed my eyes. My lips moved soundlessly, shaping the syllables of something older than any oath sworn in this house. This was a curse I had mastered when I was still the other one. The ghost. The half they locked away. Within moments, Alaric Costello came rushing in. He held a rosary and a leather case of old instruments before him like a shield, his face white with terror. He wiped his hands once on his handkerchief before he even spoke: "Don Griffin, the instant I set foot in this wing, I felt it. An overwhelming wave of resentment. Rage. Something that should not be contained in a living body." "But fear not. The fury is contained within the bride's body." "We need only bind her to the stake in the burn room. Four iron bolts through the limbs. Then set the fire. That will purify her." He meant to burn me alive.

I stared at Dante without blinking. He was silent for a moment. Then, at last, he gave a heavy nod and murmured his instructions: "...Do it quickly. Don't let the fire truly harm her body. Just purge the evil spirit." They brought in peachwood logs as thick as a man's fist. I didn't resist. I let them bind me to the stake. The instant my skin touched the wood, my soul felt as though it had been pressed against a white-hot brand. Four peachwood nails, each the size of a bowl, were laid out right before Dante's eyes. I gave him one last chance. I looked at him, long and deep. "Dante. After all these years of love." "Is this how little you trust Chiara? If she hadn't risked her life to save yours, you would have died at the Old Monastery Estate." "If she hadn't fallen in love with you, you never would have claimed the seat." Dante's breath hitched, but his gaze held firm. No hesitation. His left hand drifted to the scar on his palm. He rubbed it once, slow and deliberate, the way he always did before a decision he could not take back. "Chiara, once the exorcism is finished, you'll go back to the way you were..." "We can live like we used to. I'll give you another child..." The hammer fell. Dante's entire body seized with a violent tremor. He wrenched his head away, as though he couldn't bear to watch. I didn't make a single sound. I just smiled. But this time, something inside me died completely. Not even a flicker of heartache rose to the surface. For the first time, my composure cracked. Sister... Has your soul truly scattered to nothing, or are you still trapped somewhere inside this body? How is it that neither Dante's love nor the threat to my very life stirs even the faintest response from you? With every blow of the hammer, the crease between Dante's brows deepened. The red veins in his eyes spread another layer thicker. The remaining peachwood piled around me had already been doused in lamp oil, its spiritual energy destroyed. The flames roared to life. I saw the panic flooding Dante's eyes. "Stop! Stop this at once!" But Lucrezia glided forward, three fingertips touching her collarbone, her voice a gentle blade dipped in poison: "Look at all that black smoke. That is the dark energy leaving her body." "Once Alaric has cleansed it all, we should send her to the Old Monastery Estate for retreat and prayer. That is the only lasting solution." "I fear that one day, the one she harms won't be someone else. It will be you..." One sentence, and it struck the deepest fear buried in Dante's heart. His outstretched hand froze in midair. Conflict warred across his face, but in the end, he said nothing more. Black smoke rolled into my throat, choking and thick. Tongues of fire licked across my skin. Dante could no longer see my body through the blaze. Then. Every ounce of agony that should have seared my flesh, every last shred of it, rebounded. Dante collapsed to the ground, convulsing, a scream ripping from his lungs as though his very organs were being torn apart. "Put it out! Put out this fire!!" "NOW!!" At the same moment, Lucrezia went rigid, as if something unspeakable had locked its gaze onto her. She twisted around, her voice cracking with raw terror: "A ghost!! There are actually ghosts in this world!!"