Not Your Chip

Right before the syndicate's power handover, I flew back to New York after a year of studying jewelry design in Europe.

But the night before the ceremony, my secret boyfriend of three years—the Rossi family's new second-in-command—sent me a text:

[Sorry, Chloe. I lost a card game, and you were my chip. You're his problem now.]

Before I could even breathe, I got tagged in the family's encrypted dark-web channel.

The top thread was blowing up: [The Mafia Boss Just Won a Fat Pig for a Girlfriend!]