ella

of the Heir's Wing was a suffocating display of Moretti wealth. Thick Persian rugs swallowed my footsteps, and

reached the heavy, carved oak doo

rass letter opener. I brought the heavy hilt

door; it was a death knell for their secrets. Within seconds, the shadows shifted. Soldiers stationed at the stairwell hurrie

andal had been dragged into the b

. I stood in the center of the room, the picture of a wronged

ed from granite. Beside him, his wife, Elvina, the Mafia Queen, was des

forced warmth. "This is a terrible misunderstanding. Julian would never in

y the door. "Go fetch my son. Tell

ing bookshelves, his arms crossed. He was watching me, the drunken haze

looked pale, his eyes darting nervously t

io commanded, his

. Julian ordered that no one is to disturb

kept my face perfectly blank, suppressing the cold smile fighting to touch my lips. By the bookshelves, Dante's posture stiffened. He und

. He didn't shout. A Don whose word was absolute law didn't need to raise his voice. He

o Marco Moretti, Dante's

id of any paternal warmth. "Break do

t anticipation of a trap snapping shut. We heard the distant

eturned, he shoved t

lly messy, and her doe-like eyes were brimming with fresh tears. She loo

nderboss. The man who had ordere

d tightly around Sofia's waist, anchoring the *bastarda* (bastard) to his side in a blatant, possessive grip. He lifted his chi