Venom flashed through Adriana's eyes, but she caught his arm, weeping.

"Don Corsetti, let it go! It's all my fault! Every bit of this is my fault... let me take three cups to make it up to Signorina Bellandi!"

She snatched the bottle from Lorenzo's hand and tipped it to her lips. One mouthful was all it took. She choked, her whole face flushing red.

Lorenzo panicked instantly, sweeping her up into his arms.

"Adriana, are you out of your mind? Your stomach's already bad, how could you drink like this? It'll be aching again in no time!"

He carried her off, toward whatever doctor the Family kept on its payroll for nights like this.

I'd had two cases of liquor forced down my throat, and he didn't spare a single thought for whether my stomach would ache, whether it would perforate again. Adriana had taken one sip, and he'd fallen apart like this.

Watching his hurried back disappear into the crowd of made men, I understood it completely now. To Lorenzo, I was nothing but the woman who took the poisoned cups meant for him.

My stomach burned like it was on fire, yet I walked to the back room to change as if I felt nothing.

I'd only gotten halfway out of my clothes when the locked door swung open.

I whipped around and saw several of the Family's associates slink in, their faces oily with lust.

"Well, well. Signorina Bellandi really is generous. She caught our little hint and can't even wait to give us what we want."

"Then it would be rude of us to refuse."

Several fat, greasy hands reached for me. I grabbed the chair beside me and hurled it at them.

"Get out!"

But they caught it and yanked hard, dragging it toward themselves. I stumbled and crashed to the floor. Pain stabbed through my stomach, and that familiar metallic taste spread across my tongue.

The pain had stars bursting in my eyes. I pulled out my phone and hit the call for Lorenzo.

No one answered.

A sleazy jeer landed in my ear.

"Oh? Still trying to call Don Corsetti for help? But your Don's busy looking after his little courier. He's got no time for you. And besides, he told us to make sure you drank until you'd had your fill."

One of them played an audio clip. It really was Lorenzo's voice.

"Vito Marchetti, Sal Renzi, haven't you always wanted to put Francesca Bellandi under the table? Tonight you can have your fun. Just get a video of her drunk, making a fool of herself in front of the whole Family."

My heart clenched with a pain I couldn't control, and every drop of blood in me froze at those words.

The next second, someone gripped my chin. I heard the crack of knuckles against a palm, the sound Vito made right before he did something ugly. The mellow scent of liquor right under my nose sickened me for the first time in my life.

My stomach heaved, and I lost consciousness completely.

When I woke, I was in a private room, clean sheets, an armed man standing at the door who answered to a name that wasn't Corsetti.

Dominic Falcone was keeping watch over me, his eyes rimmed red.

"You're awake? Does anything hurt?"

I shook my head and rasped out,

"Is the transfer ready?"

He said nothing more. He removed his reading glasses, folded them with slow precision, and took out the papers and a pen. The blood oath that would cut my stake in the Corsetti operation loose and place it, and me, under Falcone protection.

I signed my name carefully. Dominic immediately sent word to have it witnessed and notarized, the underworld's version of a thing made permanent.

Once everything was settled, Lorenzo's calls came flooding in.