Chapter 1

Every time my wheelman drove me through the district, he brought his girl along for the ride.

Since her stop was on the way, I never said a word about it.

Until one morning I opened the door of the armored car and found a note pressed to the leather of my seat in the back:

"Freeloaders not allowed in this car."

I peeled the note off and turned to the driver. "What is this?"

His girlfriend sat up front, twisting to glare at me with open contempt. "Can't you read? Every single day you mooch a ride off my man. Have you no shame? If you can't afford a cab, stay home. God, I can't stand leeches like you."

I stared at her, completely baffled. The driver hurried around to my side and dropped his voice to a whisper.

"Ms. Falcone, my girl doesn't know I'm just the driver. She's the jealous type. The note is just... her way of showing she cares about me."

He paused, wiped his palms once against his trouser legs, then added, "Also, she's not comfortable sharing a car with you. Let me drop her off first, and I'll come back for you."

Before I could answer, he slid behind the wheel of my car and pulled off into traffic.

I stood at the curb, watching the taillights vanish between the row of shopfronts the Family owned on that street. Then I calmly took out my phone and dialed the precinct.

"Hello. A man and a woman just took my car without permission. I'd like to report a theft."

——

Never once in my life had I imagined that the Donna of the Falcone Family would be looked in the eye and called a freeloader.

And that the car they drove off in was mine.

Twenty minutes after the call, a squad car eased to the curb in front of me.

Two officers had barely stepped out when Marco Rizzo came tearing around the corner in my black armored sedan. He stamped the brakes, lurching to a stop a few feet short of me, and threw the door open. His face was chalk-white.

"Ms. Falcone, what happened? Why did you call the cops?"

I looked at him. Said nothing.

One of the officers sized him up. "You the individual Ms. Falcone says took her vehicle without authorization?"

The last of the color drained from Marco's face. "No, no, officers, this is all a misunderstanding." His hands went up, palms out. "I'm Ms. Falcone's driver. I drive her every day. I just dropped someone off on the way. Took a few extra minutes, that's all. Nobody stole anything."

He gestured wildly at the sedan behind him, forcing a grin, palms scrubbing at his thighs again. "See? I brought the car right back. First thing."

The officers looked at me, then back at him. "Ms. Falcone, you want to press charges?"

I was about to answer when Marco leaned in close, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper.

"Ms. Falcone, please. For my father's sake. He drove for you all those years. Just let this one go."

He swallowed hard. "You know my pop's health isn't good. I finally found a girl, and it's the one thing he wanted for me. What I did back there was just to keep the peace between her and me. I had no choice."

The mention of his father softened something in me.

Salvatore Rizzo had been my driver for six years. Honest, dependable, steady behind the wheel, and never once a source of trouble. In all those years he'd never been late, never picked up a single mark against him. Every holiday, when I handed him his envelope, he'd try to wave it off for a solid five minutes before finally taking it, cap in one hand.

Three months ago, Salvatore's lungs gave out on him. The doctors said long rest, no more work. He had no choice but to step down.

On his last day, he stood in my study, cap pressed to his chest with both rough hands, clearly wanting to say something and unable to get the words out. Finally, face flushed with shame, he told me his son Marco had just lost his work. If the Family had a place for him, could I find it in me to give the boy a chance.

Salvatore had been an honest man his whole life. He had never once asked anyone for a favor. That was the first time.

Out of respect for him, I said yes.

For the first two months, Marco did fine.