Chapter 4The Last Bell at St. Patrick's

"Viola! So you're throwing a tantrum at me now. Don't come crying back to apologize in a couple days!"

Behind me, Damian's roar, barely containing his fury.

He sounded so certain. Certain that seven years together was the soft spot I couldn't cut loose. Certain that I'd do what I'd always done. Swallow every grievance in silence and come back to clean up his mess.

This time, he was wrong.

Back at the Caruso estate, it took me all of half an hour to pack a few clothes and my personal documents into a small suitcase.

On the study desk sat the thick family ledger.

I slid the black-gold pinky ring off my right hand, the one that marked me as the family's bookkeeper, and set it down next to the ledger.

That done, I picked up my suitcase and walked out of the estate I'd lived in for seven whole years.

New York winter nights cut straight to the bone.

The cold wind hit my face. I stood outside the wrought-iron gates, my breath curling white in the air.

Just then, a black sedan I didn't recognize slid up and stopped at my feet.

The window rolled down, revealing a face wearing a faint, unreadable smile.

It was the new Don of another of New York's most powerful families. The Gambino family. Lucien Gambino.

"The old fossils in the Caruso family must be blind."

Lucien held a cigar, his eyes sweeping over my suitcase, his voice laced with amusement.

"Even outsiders can see it. The one Damian really loves is that little orphan girl."

I stared into his eyes and said nothing.

Lucien blew out a ring of smoke. His gaze turned sharp.

"Viola, your talents are wasted there. Come to my side. The Gambino family is always in need of a true woman to run it."

"I just left one mafia. I'm not interested in jumping straight into another mess."

I turned him down coldly and started to walk away.

"Don't be so quick to refuse."

Lucien let out a soft laugh and handed a sealed manila envelope through the window.

"A gift for our first meeting. Take a look. Think of it as me uncovering a… joke that's seven years late."

I stopped. Suspicious, I took the envelope.

I skimmed a few lines. Then my eyes locked onto one page and stopped dead. I froze where I stood.