Chapter 1

My father, Damian, was the Don of the East Coast.

He ran both sides of the law—cops and criminals alike bowed to him—but he only ever bent his head for one person: my mother.

He was missing his left ear. Rumor had it he'd lost it years ago, taking a bullet meant for her.

The night I was born, all Five Families held their fire. Gunshots gave way to celebratory salutes.

They were toasting the arrival of a little princess to their kingdom.

The year I turned three, a woman with a body built for sin moved into the white villa across the lake.

She scooped me up in her arms, guided my fingers to the phoenix tattoo on her wrist—an exact match to my father's—and giggled.

"Some people are about to lose their place around here very soon, little bastard. Don't think you get to stay."

"Once I move into the main house, you'd better be ready to be tossed out with the trash."

I wrenched free and ran home.

Because I knew—my mother hated anyone touching her things.

I told her what that woman had said. She was polishing a silver pistol at the time.

That night, fireworks lit up the sky above the villa across the lake, all through the small hours.

The woman's screams came drifting on the wind, torn ragged.

Mother pressed her cheek to my forehead, her voice languid.

"Rory, did you enjoy Mommy's little C4 fireworks display?"

...

Just before dawn, the deafening fireworks stopped.

I pressed my face to the window and, through bleary eyes, saw Daddy walking out of that villa—now riddled with holes like a sieve.

"It's Daddy! Daddy's home!"

I bolted outside barefoot. Daddy hadn't been home in a month.

I wanted to burrow into his arms and beg him to comfort Mommy, to stop her from being sad.

But what met me wasn't a hug. It was a boot—Daddy's, driven forward with brutal force.

"Get out of my way!"

I flew through the air and slammed hard into the railing at my back.

I lay sprawled on the floor, not daring to cry, staring up at him in disbelief.

Before, he used to fuss for hours if I so much as scraped my knee.

But this time he didn't even glance at me. He strode straight past, into the living room, where Mother sat on the sofa, sipping tea. She didn't so much as lift an eyelid at their entrance.

*Crack.*

A slap rang out—hard enough to snap her head sideways. Five red fingerprints bloomed on her cheek. Blood welled at the corner of her mouth.

Daddy's eyes were bloodshot. He hissed through clenched teeth:

"Seraphina Sinclair! Are you fucking out of your mind? Trying to blow us all to hell?"

He yanked her up by the collar, dragging her off the sofa.

"If anything happens to Sabrina, you're going in the ground with her!"

Mother turned her head, tongue flicking against the split at her lip, and smiled.

"I set off some fireworks, that's all. How was I supposed to know you were inside?"

"Fireworks? You call *that* fireworks? That was fucking C4!"

"She's pregnant!"

Daddy's voice damn near lifted the roof.

I curled up against Mother, terrified.

She patted my back gently, the smile on her lips deepening.

"An honest mistake. Look at you, all worked up."

"Damian Vale. Don't bring that kind of trash in front of me and Rory. Next time, it won't be a villa I blow up."

"You wouldn't dare!"

Daddy's face was red. In one swift motion he ripped his pistol from his waistband and pressed the muzzle to Mother's forehead.

A dead silence gripped the living room.

Every armed man in the room held his breath, afraid to move.

My heart was hammering so hard I thought it might tear straight through my chest.

Mother, though—she didn't so much as flinch. She stepped *closer*, into the barrel, her gaze sharp as a knife's edge.

"Pull the trigger."

"Let's see how long the King of the East Coast lasts without Sinclair arms routes and Sinclair protection at his back."

His hand was shaking. But he couldn't pull the trigger.

I knew he wouldn't hurt her.

His left ear was gone because of her.

But I was afraid—afraid this time might be different. I scrambled to my feet, launched myself at him, and sank my teeth into his thigh as hard as I could.

"You leave Mommy alone!"

Daddy grunted in pain—and in that single second of distraction, Mother moved.

She moved like lightning. A twist of the wrist, and the gun was in her hand, the muzzle jammed against his temple.

Her face was ice.

"Damian. If you don't want this marriage, get a divorce."

His face turned an ugly shade of grey. He forced the words through his teeth.

"Divorce? Over my dead body. Don't even fucking dream about it."

He gave a signal, and his men filed out.

"Bringing her home without your consent was my mistake. Take the parcel on the North Shore of Long Island as compensation—it's yours."

"The villa's uninhabitable now. I'm bringing her back here in the morning. Once the child's born, I'll hand it to you to raise. Anything else, don't push me on."

The door slammed behind him. He was gone.

I threw myself into Mother's arms and burst into sobs.

She held me, rubbing my back.

"Rory. How would you like a new daddy?"

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