Every time my wheelman drove me across the territory, he brought his girlfriend along.

Since her stops were 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 flat against my seat in the back:

"Hangers-on don't ride in this car."

I peeled it loose and turned to the driver. "What is this?"

His girlfriend sat up front, watching me with open contempt. "Can't you read? Every single day you mooch a ride off my boyfriend. Have you no shame? If you can't afford a cab, stay home. Dio, 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 explain.

"Donna Valente, my girl doesn't know I only drive for the Family. She's the jealous type. The note's just... her way of showing she cares."

He paused, then added, "And she's not comfortable sharing the car with you. Let me drop her off first. Then I'll come back for you."

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

I stood at the curb, watching the taillights vanish between the buildings. Then I calmly took out my phone and dialed the precinct that owed us favors.

"A man and a woman just took my car without permission. I want to report it stolen."

——

Never once in my life had I imagined that as the Donna of one of the oldest bloodlines in this city, someone would look me in the eye and call me a hanger-on.

And 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 Nico Bruno came tearing around the corner in my black armored car. He hit the brakes, lurching to a stop feet away, and jumped out. His face was chalk-white.

"Donna Valente, what happened? Why did you call the Feds?"

I looked at him. Said nothing.

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

The color drained from Nico's face even further. "No, no, officers, this is all a misunderstanding." His hands went up, palms out, and his thumb dragged hard across his knuckles. "I'm Ms. Valente's driver. I take her every day. I just dropped someone off on the way. A few extra minutes, that's all. Nobody stole anything."

He gestured frantically at the car behind him, forcing a grin. "See? Brought it right back. First thing."

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

I was about to answer when Nico leaned in close, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper, his thumb working faster over his knuckles.

"Donna Valente, please. For my father's sake. He drove for you all those years. Let this one go."

He swallowed hard. "You know Pop's lungs are bad. I finally found a girl, and it's the one thing he wanted for me. What I did back there was just to keep things smooth between her and me. I had no choice."

The mention of his father softened something in me.

Salvatore Bruno had driven for me for six years. An old soldier of the Family, honest, dependable, steady behind the wheel, never once a source of trouble. In all those years, he had never been late, never taken a single wrong turn. Every Christmas, when I pressed an envelope into his hand, he'd wave it off for a solid five minutes before finally accepting.

Three months ago, Salvatore's lungs failed him. The doctors ordered long rest. He had no choice but to step down from the Family's service.

On his last day, he stood in my study, rough hands twisting together, clearly wanting to say something but unable to get the words out. At last, his face flushed with shame, he told me his son Nico had lost his footing and had nowhere to go. If the Family had a place for him, could I give the boy a chance.

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

Out of respect for him, I said yes.

For the first two months, Nico did fine.

He was never the kind of man who put you at ease, but he did what the Family asked of him. He came when he was called, he had the Boss's armored car waiting at the curb on time, and the leather was always spotless.

But starting last month, things changed.

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

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

"Donna Valente, this is my girlfriend, Gemma Ricci. Her work is on the way to the club, so I figured I'd give her a ride."

I nodded and said nothing.

Carrying someone along the route wasn't a matter worth a sit-down.

But gradually, something started to feel off.

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

Every morning, Nico collected Gemma first, then came for me.

At the start, Gemma just liked snapping photos in the passenger seat and posting videos, showing off to people that she rode in the Boss's armored car.

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 blood debt.

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

"Dio, 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 told Nico 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 cover over my spot before I even got in.

When I put the matter to Nico, he always offered the same sheepish excuse in private:

"Donna Valente, Gemma'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 the Family's holdings and men moving 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.

Gemma thought I was a hanger-on. A nobody living off the Family.

I'd been planning to teach both Nico and Gemma a lesson in exactly what they'd forgotten.

But now Nico was on his knees in front of me, his thumb dragging hard across his knuckles, begging relentlessly:

"Donna Valente, I swear on my blood, it'll never happen again."

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

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

The thought of old Salvatore, six years loyal at the wheel, made me sigh. My fingers rested a moment on the jade at my throat. "Forget it."

"I'm dropping it."

After the man who owed the Family a favor stepped away, Nico let out a long, heavy breath of relief, thanking me over and over, his manner suddenly impeccable.

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

For a while after that, Nico actually behaved.

Every time he came for me, the passenger seat was empty. No sign of Gemma.

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

His driving was still smooth. No trouble there.

The only problem was that he kept showing up late.

And every time, he had an excuse:

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

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

"Donna Valente, 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 stayed decent enough, I let it slide.

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 outside the city for a little quiet.

I called Nico. "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:

"Donna Valente, I woke up this morning and found the car had a flat tire. I'm at the garage right now getting it fixed. The man says it won't be ready until tomorrow."

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

I frowned, not wanting the hassle.

"Forget it. I'll arrange something myself."

After hanging up, I had one of the low associates run me out to the estate.

But when I reached the front gate, I froze.

The Boss's armored car was parked right outside the estate. 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 front room was destroyed.

The low table and the floor were littered with empty bottles, fruit peels, seed shells, and cigarette butts. The sofa and the carpet, both worth more than most men in this life ever touched, were covered in 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 one reason, a place away from the Family's business, a place that was mine. Every detail of it, every piece of furniture, had been chosen with care. I kept it like a sanctuary. And now these people had turned it into a dump.

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

Gemma was sitting there, surrounded by a crowd.

"Gemma, you're so lucky to have found a man with that kind of pull."

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

"When you're the woman on his arm, don't forget about us little people, okay?"

Gemma'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 here?"

The blow came out of nowhere. I stood rooted to the spot, my cheek burning. In a house where a single word could end a life, no one in that room understood what they were touching.

Everyone stared, wide-eyed.

"Gemma, what's going on?"

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

"This is the hanger-on I was just telling you about."

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

I looked at her in disbelief.

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

Gemma let out a sharp, mocking laugh, and it ran a half-second too long, the edges of it brittle.

"He did. Told me himself."

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

"Bumming rides every day, making up reasons 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. Nico told me he only drives you around because you're some low nobody who owes the Family. He's being generous. Don't mistake his charity for an invitation."

So that was the story Nico had fed her.

No wonder Gemma had always treated me like dirt.

In her mind, Nico was the one who owned the armored car and the estate. Nico was the rising capo, the man with the holdings.

And I was just some hanger-on who lived and breathed at his mercy.