ella

sharp enough to draw blood through the silk of my dress. The music from the b

a mask of cosmetic tightness and genuine disdain. "You

e her touch had lingered. "I was merely freshening up, Mrs. Moret

ent and decorative. Not roaming around like a puttana (whore) looking for customers. You re

a chastised puppy. I watched her go, a cold fire igniting in

a dark king holding court. His gaze snapped to me the moment I entered, heavy and unreadable, tracking my every step until I sank

ach for my water glass

f a viper, her emerald dress shimmering under the chandeliers. She sat at t

er technique polished by expensive lessons, but it lacked soul. It was st

king onto mine across the room. She picked up a mic

. "Music has always been the heartbeat of our culture here in Chi

The weight of hundreds of s

h faux sweetness, "surely you have a talent to share? Or perhap

ar. "The Falcones are known for their trigger fingers, not their appreciation of

hrough the room. L

e at the scene palpable, though whether it was directed at them or me, I couldn't tel

bric of his suit. He looked down a

I whi

ce. I walked to the stage, my heels clicking rhythmically against the ma

the spotlight. I didn't choose a lullaby. I didn't

he keys and unleashed

precise, tackling the notorious jumps with a ferocity that bordered on violence. T

eat of Vincenzo's possessiveness. The melody grew faster, louder, a chaotic symphony of rebellion. I wasn't pl

us chord, the vibration traveled

solute, stu

stood and gave a small, sharp bow. Alida's face was drained of color, her mouth slightly a

e. He hadn't clapped. He was leaning back in his chair, his wine glass forgotten in his hand, watching me with an inte

d sit, a shadow f

ormance," a smooth,

ed to smoky backrooms in Brooklyn and

ly's most lethal Caporegimes. He was dressed in a suit that cost more than most people's

and. "I am Marco Viti. Caporegime for the Fal

his hand with a grip that looked bone-crushing. "I

ly," Marco replied smoothly. T

even an ounce of the deference he usually did, my cover was blown. I wo

flicker of pride, perhaps, or warning. Then, his

me a curt, respectful nod. "Your

ed to say, my voice steady des

Erica, who looked flustered by his p

ng a breath I didn't know I

incenzo's voice w

and Marco's retreating figure. He wasn't looking at me like a prize

y father," I lied, r

The music had won the crowd, but Marco's appearance had woken the beast. The predator in him se