phin

taste of blood and a thr

was strapped to a heavy leather chair in a windowless concrete room. The air down here in the Stark Estate's base

across from me, watching me with the

e. She was pacing near the heavy iron door, her wedding dress looki

the heavy wooden table who commanded the room's gravity. Silas Stark, the Don. He sat like an immovable mountain, h

g the sharp, cruel angles of his jaw. "Who sent you?" he asked

ing my voice to tremble just enoug

d, pointing a manicured

us in two long strides. His large hand gripped my upper arm, and w

r throat as the red, leaf-shaped birth

rning with jealousy over Marco's attention. She 'accidentally' spilled scalding coffee on my arm. Mrs. Gallo personally treated the burn in the powder

anted it to. Involving a neutral family meant this couldn'

His pitch-black eyes were locked onto the jagged, faded pink scar right beside it. Hi

octave. The murderous intent in his eyes had fr

owing off her aim to Chiara Falcone. A ricochet caught my arm." I looked dead into Damien's eyes. "Chiara laughed and

ed into a suff

aw: rival family witnesses. If I disappeared now, the Falcones would use it as

se of her, the Gallos and Falcones will eventually talk," she said coolly. "We need a narrative, S

strangled sob, but

d down at me. "Welcome home, Arabella," he declared, his voice devoid of any warmth. "The we

y for my vendetta. But as Damien pulled a switchblade from his pocket and sliced

round my uninjured arm, hauling me to my feet. "We're goin