ropped to the black La Perla lace clinging to my skin, her lip curling in absolute disgust. She didn't comment on the vicious

ted, gesturing t

dor. The atmosphere shifted instantly. The air here was heavy, thick with the scent of aged cigars, polished leather, and old wood-the undeniable smell of ab

nd me, her voice a cruel, scra

, her words dripping with venom. "You are a dirty Rossi leftover. A temporary vessel meant to warm

ive flawlessly. But beneath the facade of the broken girl, my mind was terrifyingly clear. I cataloged every insult, ever

past Falcone Dons. Their cold, painted eyes seemed to follow me, judging the last surviving Rossi walking through their hall

hadows twisted, and a wa

him, Cecile materialized behind the boy. She wore that same sickeningly sweet, fake smile, but her perfectly manicured nails were digging viciously into his small arms, dr

intense my knees nearly buckled. Th

d poison him, torture him, or drown him to secure her own power. A dark, primal instinct clawed its way up my throat. I couldn't

Bertha s

had reached the end of the hall. Towering before us were th

rip bruising. She leaned in close

d. When you go in, you stand by the fireplace. You do not make a sound. You do not speak unless he asks you a direct que

keeping my gaze firmly fixed o

ha raised her fist and knocked twice. A low

ked into place, sealing me in. The air inside was dense with the smell of rich whiskey and burning wood. I stood barefoot