Chapter 2

The elevator doors parted with a well-oiled hiss, revealing the top floor of the Syndicate headquarters. I stepped out into the marble lobby, my mind already calculating the dispassionate logistics of my exit. I needed to find a suitable successor for my duties as Consigliere before I boarded my flight. Carlo, the Capo of our sales division and my most loyal enforcer, was waiting for me by the rosewood reception desk. His face was grim, the deep lines around his mouth tight with curbed anger. He fell into step beside me and handed me a crimson folder. "A catastrophic failure," he reported, his voice a low gravel. "Mia forwarded our confidential pricing structures and shipment routes to a rival faction. Now, they're demanding a twenty percent cut of our operations to keep quiet. If we don't pay, we face a 1.2 million dollar loss-or a turf war over the client." I did not break my stride. I tugged off my remaining glove and pushed open the heavy double doors to Pietro's office without knocking. The unventilated room held a fermented mixture of expensive cigar tar and cheap perfume, like a wad of damp cotton shoved into the lungs. The first thing I saw was the vintage leather sofa against the far wall. It was the very first piece of furniture Pietro and I had bought together-in the days when we were dodging bullets and building this legitimate front from the ground up. Mia was lying on that sofa. Pietro was kneeling beside her, tenderly holding a glass of water to her lips. My throat burned. The pain was sharp and sudden, but I swallowed it down, letting a cold, unbending resolve take its place. Mia jumped up the moment she saw me. She clutched her chest, her voice trembling. "I-I'm so sorry! I fainted from the guilt of leaking the intel." She looked at Pietro and whimpered, "Pietro, please," ignoring his title as Boss. I ignored her. I walked straight to Pietro's mahogany desk and slammed the red financial report down onto the dark wood. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the stifling air. "Whose blood will cover the 1.2 million dollars?" I demanded, my gaze fixed on him. Mia's eyes filled with tears. She stepped forward, apologizing over and over. "I will go to the rival Boss myself and beg for mercy!" Carlo stood by the door, his hand resting on his holstered weapon, not moving an inch. I looked at Mia. "Tears do not pay debts in our world," I told her, my voice a blade of ice, "and begging a rival will only paint a target on all our backs." Mia let out a dramatic sob and collapsed to her knees on the expensive Persian rug. Pietro rushed away from the sofa and grabbed Mia by the arms, helping her stand. He turned his head and roared at me, his jaw tight. "You are a tyrant!" he spat. "Do you expect the entire Family to bow to your every whim?" I tapped my index finger against the red folder on the desk. "Act like an Underboss," I told him, "and tell me how we are to launder or recover the lost money." His eyes were red with misplaced rage. "I will drop the operation and let the rival have the client," he declared recklessly. A surge of bile rose in my throat, forcing a short, guttural sound from deep in my chest, a cough that was not a cough. I was not even aware that the corner of my mouth had begun to twitch uncontrollably. "Breaking a Syndicate contract will cost us far more in fines and lost territory than the initial leak," I reminded him. "Has your brain rotted?" Pietro gritted his teeth. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the brass key to his private Swiss safety deposit box, and threw it hard at my face. The heavy metal struck my cheekbone. The sting was hot and sharp, followed by a dull ringing in my left ear. The key clattered to the floor between us. "I will cover Mia's mistake from my own reserves," Pietro stated arrogantly. I stood perfectly still, looking at the man I had loved for four years. He was so blinded by his own ego and lust that he no longer respected the Family's wealth, or the lives of the Soldiers who bled to earn it. I looked down at the brass key on the floor, realizing that leaving him was no longer enough.