Chapter 6

A disgrace like this, on the eve of the initiation, ran through the underworld faster than any wire.

The Family's rumor network turned on Bianca Russo all at once, every whisper along the streets branding her a "walking curse."

After going to ground for a full day, Bianca surfaced at a hastily called sit-down, her confession recorded for every boss to hear. Lorenzo sat beside her, worn thin, the color gone from his face.

Tears streaked her cheeks, and she sobbed as she spoke. "I'm really sorry. I didn't think it would end like this. We only wanted to toast the ceremony. It was Adriana Falcone who insisted on bringing the wine, said it was light, said we could drink freely."

"Even though everyone had a bit too much that night, we got to the infirmary in time and we were fine. It was Adriana who wanted revenge. She got her father, the capo who runs the Family's infirmary, to poison us on purpose. That's what put the boys under."

She nudged Lorenzo. "You grew up next to her. You can back me up, can't you?"

Lorenzo froze. At her urging, he lifted his head. His eyes flickered, and he wet his lower lip, gaze cutting to the bosses seated at the head of the table to see whether the story was landing. Then he gritted his teeth and spoke.

"Yes. I can confirm Adriana insisted on the wine. She was jealous of Bianca and the ones set to be made. And her father really does run that infirmary."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Had they lost their minds?

And somehow, they believed the lies.

Moments before, the same mouths had been screaming to hold the Russo and Vitale houses accountable.

Now they turned, and came for me and my father instead.

Bang! The car window shattered, and a length of pipe caught my father across the forehead. Blood burst out instantly.

The car screeched to a halt. I slammed into the windshield. Everything went black.

Through the ringing in my skull I could just make out the voices closing in on us, a street lynch mob whipped into thunder:

"Kill this heartless pair! They put my son in the ICU just to grind their own crew down. They deserve to die!"

Another father roared:

"They had it coming! That healer covered for his own blood. Break his hands and see who he saves after that!"

I screamed with everything I had. "We didn't do it! Check the warehouse cameras. I was never at that party. My father wasn't even on the floor that night!"

My father, hurting, dragged himself over and put his body between me and them. "Don't be scared. Papà's here."

I sobbed and couldn't stop and cried out, "You've been played!"

Just then my phone lit with a message from Lorenzo:

"Sorry, Adriana. The Russos have nothing. If they come for Bianca, she's finished. Your family can carry the weight. Once this dies down, we'll wait out the season and get made together, all right?"

I laughed, bitter and low. So that was it.

Because Bianca had no tribute to pay, the mob simply turned their fury on me.

Because my family had money, they meant to tear a piece out of us.

"Lorenzo, you coward. May you rot."

They hauled my bleeding father and me out of the wrecked car and set on us with their fists.

One of them raised his phone and began streaming it, sending the beating out to every corner of the underworld.

Bianca and Lorenzo, watching from a distance, saw it too.

Bianca let out a slow breath and leaned into him, coy against his side. "Thank you for saving me, Lorenzo."

Lorenzo forced a smile, but guilt and fear clouded his face. "As long as you're safe, I'll do anything for you."

In the chaos, my mother came through them like a blade. She reached up, unhooked one earring, and set it in her palm with deliberate care.

She stood between us and them, and the sound went out of the street. "Don't you touch my husband and my daughter."

She held up her phone, her voice cold and even, a capo's wife who wielded fear as easily as any made man. "The ones who poisoned those boys are Bianca Russo and Lorenzo Vitale. The proof's already out. Don't believe me? Look for yourselves."

Everyone froze. Then, in silence, they looked down at their phones.

On the screens, the warehouse surveillance from that night began to play.