Chapter 3

I thought that was the end of it.

Then one weekend, on a whim, I decided to spend a couple of days at the estate on the outskirts of the city, a quiet retreat away from the eyes of the Family.

I made the call to Marco. "Where are you right now? I need to go somewhere. Come pick me up."

He hemmed and hawed for a long time before finally answering, his voice careful and measured:

"Signorina Falcone, I woke up this morning and found the car had a flat tire. I'm at the shop right now getting it seen to. The man says it won't be ready until tomorrow."

"Where are you headed? I can send another car for you, if you'd like?"

I frowned, not wanting the hassle.

"Forget it. I'll arrange my own ride."

After hanging up, I had a low-level associate bring a plain car around and drove out to the estate myself.

But when I arrived at the front gate, I froze.

My armored family car was parked right outside the compound. Completely intact.

I stared at it for several seconds. Once I confirmed it was definitely my car, I quickened my pace toward the front door.

It was ajar.

I pushed it open, and the sight inside knocked the air out of me.

The great room was destroyed.

The low table and the floor were littered with empty bottles, fruit peels, sunflower seed shells, and cigarette butts. The leather sofa and the imported carpet, each worth more than most men earn in a decade, were tracked with dirty footprints. In several spots, cigarette burns had eaten black holes straight through the fabric.

My fists clenched at my sides.

I had taken this estate for myself, a place no soldier and no capo set foot in without my word. Every detail of it, every piece of furniture, had been chosen with care. I kept it like sacred ground. And now these people had turned it into a dump.

My gaze swept the room and landed on the couch directly facing the door.

Bianca was sitting there, a crowd gathered around her like courtiers.

"Bianca, you're so lucky to have landed a man with that kind of power."

"Right? Not just rich, but so good to you. You said you wanted roasted chestnuts and he ran out to buy them like a puppy."

"When you're living high off a big man like that, don't forget about us little people, okay?"

Bianca's lips curled into a smug grin. She was about to answer when she glanced up and spotted me standing in the doorway.

Her smile vanished. She stood, her heels clicking against the floor as she strode toward me, chin raised.

Crack.

Without a word, she slapped me hard across the face.

"You shameless tramp. You followed my man all the way out here?"

The blow came out of nowhere. I stood rooted to the spot, my cheek burning.

Everyone in the room stared, wide-eyed. In that room full of people, not a single glass moved.

"Bianca, what's going on?"

Bianca jabbed a finger at me, her face twisted with disgust.

"This is the freeloader I was just telling you all about."

"Mooching rides off my man wasn't enough. Now she's shown up to mooch off his house."

I looked at her in disbelief.

"Who told you this is Marco's house?"

Bianca let out a sharp, mocking laugh, and it ran a beat too long.

"He did. Told me himself."

"You pathetic little gold-digger. You found out my man runs the whole outfit, so now you're pulling every trick in the book to get close to him."

"Bumming rides every day, cooking up excuses to be alone with him, that wasn't enough? Now you've come crawling out to his estate to throw yourself at him?"

"Let me make one thing crystal clear. Marco told me he only drives you back and forth because you work under him. He's being generous. Don't mistake his kindness for an invitation."

So that was the story Marco had fed her.

No wonder Bianca had always treated me like dirt.

In her mind, Marco was the one who owned the armored car and the estate. He was the Boss, the man who gave the orders.

And I was just some associate who took them.