Chapter 3

Lucia POV

I slipped out the side exit before anyone in the lobby could spot me. The night air was a shock of cold against my face as I dragged my duffel bag down the sidewalk.

I was aware that I was wandering through the most dangerous stretch of the Famiglia's territory.

A black sedan crawled to a pace beside me, its tinted window rolling down with a mechanical hum.

"What are you doing out here alone?" a man's voice demanded.

I recognized the jagged ink on his neck—he was one of Lorenzo's men.

"Mind your own business," I said, keeping my gaze straight ahead.

"Does Lorenzo know you're out here?" he pressed, his eyes scanning my body.

I ignored him, quickening my pace until he finally cursed under his breath and sped off into the night.

A hard knot formed in my throat, making it difficult to swallow.

I stopped beneath the flickering hum of a broken streetlight, the consequences of my choice settling upon me like a physical weight.

For this, I had severed the lines to my father's crew in Chicago. Was it worth it?

I had isolated myself from my blood relatives, moving across the country to New York for a man who couldn't care less about me.

I had adhered to the Omertà—the Code of Silence—believing it would help Lorenzo heal his fractured alliances.

I thought I was building a future.

A hot, bitter tear finally spilled over, tracing a cold path down my cheek.

I wasn't crying because I had lost him; I was crying because I had lacked the courage to defy this structure so much sooner.

"Do not become his collateral damage, Lucia," the old Consigliere had warned me years ago, right after Gianna's husband had been killed.

I hadn't listened.

I looked back over my shoulder at the towering high-rise in the distance.

High above the city, the lights in Lorenzo's penthouse flicked on.

The illusion was officially dead.

My thumb slid across the glass three times before it found Camilla's name, the cold sweat on my fingertips smearing the screen.

She was my best friend, a fierce Associate of the Family, and the manager of the Famiglia's most lucrative luxury hotel and casino.

"I need a safe house for the night," I texted her.

My screen flashed with an incoming call exactly three seconds later.

"Where are you?" Camilla demanded, her voice a sharp crackle over the line.

"On 4th and Elm," I replied, my own voice thin and reedy.

"Stay hidden. I am dispatching an armored car to your location. It will be there in ten minutes," she ordered, hanging up before I could say another word.

Ten agonizing minutes later, I was barricaded in the leather backseat of a Family Maybach.

The silent driver navigated the slick streets, delivering me straight to the underground bowels of the Grand Hotel.

Camilla was already waiting for me in the VIP private garage.

She wore a razor-sharp red power suit and an incredibly dangerous expression.

The second I stepped out of the heavy armored door, Camilla closed the distance and pulled me into a fiercely tight hug.

"Damn Lorenzo straight to hell," Camilla cursed into the echoing quiet of the concrete garage.

She pulled back, her perfectly manicured hands gripping my shoulders as her dark eyes scoured my tear-stained face.

"You look too soft for this world right now," she noted, her tone softening just a fraction.

"I feel sick," I whispered, the adrenaline finally leaving my system.

Camilla snatched my duffel bag from my grip and marched purposefully toward the private, gold-trimmed elevator.

"You are done playing the victim, Lucia," she declared over her shoulder, her voice leaving no room for argument.

I didn't know yet that Camilla had already called Dante Romano—and that the Don was on his way.