Chapter 1

The night before the initiation trial, the Russo jewel had a birthday.

Lorenzo Vitale, the jewel's man, proposed that the whole crew slip off to a backroom club to toast her and loosen the nerves before the ceremony that would decide who among us got made.

What stunned me was that the young hopefuls of our inner circle—every one of them groomed for discipline, drilled to keep their heads down until the seal was in their hand—voted for it, all of them.

In my last life, I held rank among us, trusted to keep the crew in line. I stood against something that reckless. I told them we should be resting, steadying our minds for the most important night of our lives, not drinking in some off-book joint hours before we stood in front of the bosses.

Lorenzo looked at me, cold as a closed door, and said, "You're just jealous again."

The others piled on with their sneers and low laughter. "Look at her, acting so high and mighty. You're just sour that Lorenzo dotes on the jewel and not on you."

I let their contempt roll off me and begged them, plainly, not to go. That night I even called each of them, one by one, making certain they stayed in their beds and rested.

The next morning, under the thick heat of early summer, I arrived early at the hall where the ceremony would be held. I called them again, urging them to leave on time, wishing them luck.

They all did well. Every one of them passed the trial clean, and a few earned marks the old men would speak of for years.

But just as we were celebrating, the devastating word came down.

The jewel, Bianca Russo, had gone to that club alone the night before. She got drunk, she was assaulted, and she came out of it broken.

Unable to carry the shame and the collapse of it, she tried to take her own life, opening her wrists.

Lorenzo took her last call. When he heard her final words, he went completely mad.

The very next day he and several of the crew cornered me on the rooftop of the family compound. Without a breath of hesitation, they threw me off. I fell and died where I hit.

When the Feds came asking, every one of them told the same lie, word for word:

"She warned us not to help Bianca."

"She said anyone who went to that club would be barred from the ceremony."

"She was so afraid of failing, she jumped herself."

They twisted all of it—the calls I made that night, the footage that showed who left for the hall and when. They turned every piece into a rope for my neck.

Then the Family's rumor network turned on me. The street-level men, whipped blind with fury, dug out where my people lived, harassed my blood, painted me as a cold and jealous monster.

One night someone doused our house in gasoline and set it burning. My mother and father died in that fire.

Lorenzo, who lived next door, stood on his balcony with his arms folded and watched the flames.

He heard my parents screaming for help and didn't lift a finger until it was finished. Then he called for help—as if nothing at all had happened.

I never knew, not until I was dead, that all of it, every last piece, had been arranged by Bianca.

When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn. The same night, the same people, the same words.

Lorenzo stood tall beside Bianca and announced, "See you all at the club tonight!"

This time, I simply took up my bag, turned my back, and walked away.

Let them do whatever they want.

Let them drink, and laugh, and pretend at happiness.

I won't spend a single breath trying to stop them.

Never again will I burn myself down for people who never deserved the warmth.

——

After I died, Bianca made her confession in front of the whole underworld. Before a sit-down of every boss who mattered, with the word set to travel every street by morning, she wept, pitiful and lovely:

"Even though she bullied me, even though she forbade anyone from helping me, the dead deserve their respect. I forgive her."

She sniffled, dabbing at tears that were not there, her eyes coming clean a half-second too fast.

"But what happened to me left a shadow I can't crawl out from. I can't stand for the trial anymore. I've decided to leave, to take my place in a distant city instead. I'm sorry I couldn't earn my seal and my standing the way I dreamed."

Bianca had always sold herself as the born prodigy, the beautiful one destined to be made with honors.

Now, hearing this, the whole room softened toward her.

"You're so brave. So forgiving."

"You're still an example to all of us."

"You're incredible, Bianca."

Her name spread through the Family like wildfire in a single night, spoken with reverence at every table.

But when the doors closed and the audience was gone, the mask came away.

She curled in her bed with some strange man, her voice bright with pleasure.

"I've always cheated my way to my standing. If I'd stood in front of the old men for that trial, they'd have seen through me for certain."

"Lucky for me I thought of this. It buried the pregnancy and handed me the perfect reason to skip the whole thing."

"I meant to lure Lorenzo to that club and hang him for it too, but that bitch Adriana Falcone wrecked the whole plan. Still, it landed soft. Now Lorenzo's so eaten up with guilt he swears he'll answer for me and the child."

She laughed, wild and high, a sound sharp enough to scrape the soul from your bones.

I wanted to lunge at her, close my hands around her throat, make her pay for every last thing.

But before I could move, a familiar voice cut into my thoughts.

"Adriana, why are you always so angry?"

"Bianca invited the whole crew to her birthday. She even invited you. Can't you show a little gratitude?"

"You act like you stand above the rest of us just because you keep your discipline. So what? Bianca gets more eyes on her than you'll ever have, just by being who she is."

"You trail after him like a whipped dog and he won't even look your way. Now that he's toasting Bianca, you can't stand it, can you?"

Those voices, the ones that once followed me all the way down to my death, were ringing fresh in my ears again.

But this time, I wouldn't fight them.

This time, I'd fight for myself.