phin

taste of blood and a thr

was strapped to a heavy leather chair in a windowless concrete room. The air down here in the Stark Estate's base

across from me, watching me with the

e. She was pacing near the heavy iron door, her wedding dress looki

the heavy wooden table who commanded the room's gravity. Silas Stark, the *Don*. He sat like an immovable mountain,

g the sharp, cruel angles of his jaw. "Who sent you?" he asked

ng my voice to tremble just enough

d, pointing a manicured

us in two long strides. His large hand gripped my upper arm, and w

r throat as the red, leaf-shaped birth

urning with jealousy over Marco's attention. She 'accidentally' spilled scalding coffee on my arm. Mrs. Gallo personally treated the burn in the powder

anted it to. Involving a neutral family meant this couldn'

is pitch-black eyes were locked onto the jagged, faded pink scar right beside it. His

octave. The murderous intent in his eyes had fr

owing off her aim to Chiara Falcone. A ricochet caught my arm." I looked dead into Damien's eyes. "Chiara laughed and

d into a suffoc

aw: rival family witnesses. If I disappeared now, the Falcones would use it as

se of her, the Gallos and Falcones will eventually talk," she said coolly. "We need a narrative, S

trangled sob, but no

ed down at me. "Welcome home, Arabella," he declared, his voice devoid of any warmth. "The we

for my *vendetta*. But as Damien pulled a switchblade from his pocket and sliced

round my uninjured arm, hauling me to my feet. "We're goin