da

f the past was failing her. Feigning a clumsy slip, she lunged forward, her manicured fingers hoo

oke of the estate. Instead, thanks to Dr. Weaver's miraculous black-market ointment and the calcula

ith hysteria as she stared at my unblemished skin.

g at my lack of claiming marks-bruises or bite marks from a passionate night. I slo

ere shoved open. The oppressive aura of the mafia hierarchy flooded the room as Capo

re of profound respect, and presented a black velvet box stamped with the Blackwell crest. He s

the absolute weight of a Don's Command. "The Don has o

she had died for in another life. Sasha, the Bratva Collateral, narrowed her eyes, masking her shock with cold, dangerous

vel Associates bustled around, filling the massive walk-in closets with haute

the center of the lavish living room,

the opulent room. "You don't have a single mark on you. This is all a

I wore for Dante vanished, replaced by the lethal coldness of a true Mafia Qu

to the Dark Don's habits, or questioning the validity of his decisions, is a direct violation of *Omer

nderstanding the brutal reality of mafia law, she clamped a han

rom Greta's grip. "Just wait until the morning assembly. Let's s

silently terrified of the black-market fertility

wly scanned the new faces of the security guards and maids the estate's intern