ella

y-four hours later, the air in the private booth of The Onyx Club was thick with the scent of

n Higgins, my husband and a mere Associate desperate to climb the ranks of the

o our bright future, mia bella (my beautiful)," he murmured, rea

gonizing memory of my daughter Josie's cold, lifeless body. I kept my eyes downcast, painting

a lowly street-level earner to a made man. I let him stroke my knuckles, cataloging every arrogant twitch of his jaw, every weakness I w

approached the grand, sweeping marble staircase of the club, the raucous laughter and c

Falcone h

po. The massive crystal chandelier above cast harsh light on the brass railings, but shadows seemed to c

, stepping forward with a sickeningly e

n't even b

othing more than a stain on the plush red carpet. T

mint and gunpowder, overwhelmed my senses. Slowly, deliberately, he raised a large, calloused hand. His knuckles b

in front of my husband, he

ng of color as his last shred of mas

My driver will pick you up tomorrow night," he murmured, his

turned and continued up the marble stairs. Halfway up, he paused, glancing over his shou

reathing ragged with humiliated rage. The ride back to our house was going to be