Chapter 2

He was never the kind of wheelman who let you sleep easy, but he did what the Family asked of him. Pickups and drop-offs ran on schedule, and the armored car always gleamed like it had come straight off the lot.

But starting last month, things changed.

The day it began, Marco came to collect me, and there was suddenly a woman caked in heavy makeup sitting in the passenger seat.

I stared, confused. Marco hurried out to open my door and explained in a low voice:

"Donna Falcone, this is my girlfriend, Bianca Volpe. Her work is on the way to the office, so I figured I'd give her a ride."

I nodded and said nothing.

Carrying someone along the way wasn't a big deal.

But gradually, something started to feel off.

What was supposed to be "on the way" turned into a fixed, daily routine that never varied.

Every morning, Marco picked up Bianca first, then came for me.

At the start, Bianca just liked snapping photos in the passenger seat and posting videos, showing off to people that she was riding in a family car built like a vault.

I could understand that. She was young. A little vanity was normal.

What I couldn't understand was the look she gave me every single time. It was pure disgust, as though I owed her a million dollars.

A few times, after I got into the car, she sprayed perfume in my direction and complained loudly:

"God, this is so annoying. How does a car this expensive always reek of something cheap?"

I thought she'd actually smelled something off, so I specifically told Marco to take the car in for a thorough deep clean and disinfection.

But she only got worse. Sometimes, after I stepped out, she'd spray disinfectant on the seat where I'd been sitting.

Other times, she'd lay a disposable seat cover over my spot before I even got in.

When I confronted Marco about it, he always offered the same sheepish excuse in private:

"Donna Falcone, Bianca's just worried the car isn't clean enough and might stain your clothes. She's particular about hygiene, that's all."

I didn't think much of it.

After all, I had too much on my plate every day. With shipments and tribute worth hundreds of millions passing through my hands, I simply didn't have the energy to squabble with some young girl over petty nonsense.

Until this morning.

When I saw the note stuck to my usual seat, it all clicked.

Bianca thought I was a freeloader living off the Family.

I'd been planning to teach both Marco and Bianca a lesson.

But now Marco was on his knees in front of me, begging relentlessly, his palms dragging down the legs of his trousers:

"Donna Falcone, I swear, it'll never happen again."

"I'll set Bianca straight today. I'll never give her rides again."

"Please, my father's lungs are failing him. For Salvatore's sake, forgive me this once."

The thought of Salvatore made me sigh. My hand rose to the jade pendant at my throat and held it. "Forget it."

"I'm dropping it."

After the officer we kept on the payroll left, Marco let out a long, heavy breath of relief, thanking me over and over, his manner suddenly flawless.

I said nothing more. I got in the car and told him to take me to the office.

For a while after that, Marco actually behaved.

Every time he came to pick me up, the passenger seat was empty. No sign of Bianca.

The car had been cleaned, too. Every trace of that note had been scrubbed away.

His driving was still smooth. No issues there.

The only problem was that he kept showing up late.

And every time, he had an excuse:

"Sorry, Donna Falcone. There was an accident on the road. Traffic was backed up for a while."

"I'm really sorry, Donna Falcone. My alarm didn't go off. I overslept."

"Donna Falcone, a pipe burst in my apartment. I was dealing with the neighbors downstairs about the water damage, so I ran a little behind."

The excuses always sounded flimsy, but since his manner was decent enough, I let it slide.