The day my mother hemorrhaged in labor with her second child.

My father, a Don whose holdings ran past a hundred million, pulled every doctor off her bed to tend to his mistress's migraine. All because the woman whined, "Her crying is giving me a headache."

That night, my mother and my unborn baby brother both died horribly, and the mistress schemed to have me cast out of the family.

In the twenty years that followed.

On the charity of my mother's closest confidante and my own willingness to work myself half to death, I became who I am now—Don Marchetti, the woman at the head of a syndicate worth ten billion.

It was the season the Family weighed which associates would be brought up into the ranks, and my consigliere handed me five files.

He pointed to the girl on the first page, full of praise.

"Don Marchetti, this one's named Bianca Falcone. Her performance is excellent—nearly every capo who watched her gave her a perfect mark."

I opened Bianca Falcone's profile, and my eyes stopped on the line listing her bloodline.

Those two names, I wouldn't forget even if I were burned to ash.

A long moment passed before I told my consigliere to bring all five associates in.

The papers welcoming them into the Family were handed out one by one.

When it came to the last of them, I lifted my head, met her smug, victory-assured eyes, and calmly slid the letter of exile across the table.

"Bianca Falcone, you didn't make the cut."

——

The air in the room seemed to freeze in an instant.

The other four associates stood clutching their papers, at a loss, instinctively glancing toward Bianca.

My consigliere went still too. Standing at my side, he set his pen down and folded his hands, then shot me a careful look.

"Don Marchetti…"

I acted as if I hadn't noticed, my gaze calm as I studied the girl in front of me.

She looked a great deal like her mother.

The same beauty, the same cleverness, that same air of superiority she'd been born into.

Of everyone in the room, Bianca alone wasn't rattled.

She only blinked, startled for a second, then quickly composed herself.

Then, unhurried, she opened the folder she'd carried in and laid its contents flat across the table.

"Don Marchetti, I've worked inside your operation three months and handled four jobs, two of them clean and on my own. Every contact I touched stayed loyal. One hundred percent."

Her tone was neither meek nor arrogant, every point laid out clearly.

"I also took top marks the last two times the capos reviewed our cohort, and my numbers are the highest of anyone who came up beside me."

When she'd finished, she paused and raised her eyes to me.

"With results like these, I'm first among everyone who started when I did. If you're casting me out, you at least owe me a reason."

As she said it, her chin tilted up slightly, no hurt in her eyes—only the restrained calm of someone who'd been insulted.

It was a confidence that ran all the way to the bone.

The kind of pride and self-assurance that only comes from being pampered since childhood, raised in a happy, perfect family.

I leaned back against my chair and looked at her, and only after a long while did I speak.

"There's no reason."

Bianca's face stiffened.

"This is my Family. I want you gone, and it's that simple."

A crack finally appeared in Bianca's composure.

Her expression shifted, but she recovered fast and let out a cold laugh.

"Don Marchetti, this is nothing but spite from someone with power over me."

She snapped the folder shut, her tone turning icy in a heartbeat.

"If I were to take this to the right ears, I imagine it would do some damage to your name across the territory."

I smiled.

"I'm not bullying you."

I looked at her without blinking, not a trace of expression on my face.

"If you think this is spite, then perhaps the problem is yours. After all, the truly capable never feel they're being targeted. Only the guilty do."

The moment those words left my mouth, Bianca's face changed completely.

I'd finally gotten under her skin.

Just then my consigliere leaned in close, lowering his voice next to my ear.

"Don Marchetti, why not reconsider? The girl's work these three months really was outstanding, and our people looked into her blood—her father is the Falcone, the old Don himself—"

"Don Falcone."

I raised a hand to cut her off, then turned to Bianca Falcone.

"He's your father, isn't he?"

She blinked, then lifted her chin, as if the name alone made her something to be honored.

"So the Don of the Marchetti house has heard of my father."

There was no mistaking the confidence in her voice.

"Then since you already know who he is, you must also realize that if I stay, there could well be reason for an alliance between your Syndicate and the Falcone Family somewhere down the line."

She said it with perfect ease, utterly sure of herself.

After all, twenty years on, the Falcone name was still an old, established one. Nowhere near its former glory, perhaps, but standing at a height no ordinary outfit could touch.

"That won't be necessary."

Bianca's expression froze.

"I have no use for an alliance with the Falcones."

I slid the exile papers across the table to her.

"Now, you can go."

She lost her composure completely, her face flushing crimson. Not from shame. From rage.

She had been the golden child her entire life, never once turned away in front of others.

"Fine."

She glared at me with venom and snatched the papers off the desk.

"Don Marchetti, I'll remember today. I hope you won't live to regret it."

After she left, I sent the other four associates out as well.

My consigliere clearly hadn't caught up with what was happening. She was still trying to talk me out of it.

"Don Marchetti, why would you do this? The Falcone Family may not be what it once was, but a starving wolf still has teeth. Casting out the Falcone heiress in front of everyone like that isn't exactly the smart move."

"Are you finished?"

My voice came out cold, and she shut her mouth at once.

"Go and have every operation Bianca touched during her time with us copied out, and bring it to my office."

That afternoon, my consigliere had only just set the books down when the office door was shoved open from the outside.

I looked up to see a remarkably well-preserved woman come stalking in on her heels.

She wore Chanel, an emerald at her wrist so vividly green it was almost garish, her face painted so flawlessly it gave away nothing of her real age.

Camilla Russo.

Twenty years, and she'd clearly been living well off the family's tribute.

"You're the one who runs this Syndicate?"

She walked up and sat down across from me, tossing her Hermès bag onto the desk like it was nothing.

"Who gave you the nerve to cast out my daughter?"

I ignored her, lifting the bottle at my own pace and pouring myself a measure of wine. The glass came to rest against the wood without a sound.

"Signora Falcone. Still as full of fire as ever. The years have clearly been kind to you."

Camilla paused.

She stared at my face for several seconds, never quite placing where she'd seen me before.

She had long since forgotten me, that much was obvious.

Twenty years ago, I'd been nothing but a scrawny six-year-old, thrown out of the house on a single word from her.

Now I sat at the head of an empire worth more than the whole Falcone bloodline could count. How could she possibly recognize me?

She assumed instead that I knew her for what she was, the lady of the Falcone house.

"Since you know who I am, let's skip the nonsense."

Camilla's voice was elegant and unhurried, edged with the imperious air of a woman pampered for decades. Her fingers drifted to the pearls at her throat, adjusting them by a fraction.

"Bianca is my daughter. Her coming to work inside your operation is an honor for you. But someone of her blood is wasted carrying messages with the rank and file. Just put her in a capo's seat."

I gave a faint smile.

"Is she qualified?"

Camilla's face changed.

"What did you say?!"

I set down my glass and looked at her, spacing out each word.

"I said, she's not qualified."

Camilla shot to her feet, her face white with fury.

"Listen here, Marchetti, don't throw away a courtesy when it's handed to you! My daughter standing with your people is doing you a favor. Do you have any idea how many alliances the Falcone Family seals in a single year?"

"One word from my husband, and the favors your Family could land would set you up for life!"

I watched her ugly little display in silence, and a thought rose unbidden. Twenty years ago, when she'd forced my mother to surrender her place as the lawful wife of the Falcone house, had she worn this same face?

"Sorry. An alliance with the Falcone Family doesn't interest me."

I pressed the buzzer beneath the lip of my desk. "Send up two of my soldiers."

They came quickly, men who moved without sound, and pinned Camilla Russo where she stood. Her eyes went wide. She'd probably never imagined that anyone, given who she was, would actually dare lay a hand on her.

Without warning, the door to my study slammed open again. A tall, lanky boy came charging in, somewhere in his early twenties, dressed like he'd never had to earn the clothes on his back. He jabbed a finger right in my face and started cursing.

"Who the hell do you think you are, putting your hands on my mother? Say the word, and I'll have my father bury this trash little outfit of yours by morning!"

I looked at his young, hot-blooded face, and the line of his brow and eyes, identical to Don Falcone's. Another image flashed before me. That rainy night twenty years ago, when I lost two family members at once. The mother who loved me most, and my unborn baby brother.

If that child had lived, he'd be about this age now.

"This is your son?" There was a faint, barely perceptible tremor in my voice.

"Of course. Lorenzo Falcone, my son with the Don."

I stared hard at the two of them, and then I smiled. "Good."

I rose to my feet and looked at Lorenzo. I turned my mother's thin gold ring once around my finger. "Go back and tell your father. I'd love to see how he plans to deal with me."

The two of them were hauled out, the soldiers' hands closing on their arms without a word wasted. I sat down, picked up the glass of water that had gone stone cold, and drained it in one go.

I knew this was only the beginning.

After they were gone, I gave my consigliere another task. "Pull together everything you can find on Lorenzo Falcone. The more detailed, the better."

A file arrived not long after. Lorenzo Falcone, twenty-one, a college senior, currently placed as an associate at the city TV network.

What a coincidence. The network the Falcones used to launder their name through the territory's papers and broadcasts.

I looked over the file, hesitated for a long while, and finally made the call. It was answered almost at once.

"Adriana? What's got you calling at this hour? Didn't you say you were buried today?"

Hearing Dante Caruso's voice, I fell silent for a few seconds. He was my man, and the Capo who held the strings on every broadcast and printed line that reached this city. I didn't want to drag him into this. But this was something only he could do.

"Do you have an associate over there named Lorenzo Falcone?"

He answered fast. "Yeah. Word is he's the Don's only son and heir. How do you know him?"

I hesitated, then finally asked. "I don't want to see him around. Can you have him cast out?"

Dante went quiet for a beat on the other end. He knew me. He knew I was never one to ask for things without reason.

"Adriana, what happened?"

"It's nothing." I didn't want him to know about my past, so I only said softly, "I don't like the Falcones."

He didn't press. He just answered, clean and simple. "Okay. I'll take care of it."

I let out a breath, and a wave of gratitude welled up in me.

"I'll come by the network to collect you tonight."

After work, I drove to the city TV network. The moment I stepped out of the car, I saw Lorenzo blocked by two of the network's enforcers, still spewing filth from his mouth.

"On what grounds are you casting me out? Because I cursed a few people during work? Let me tell you, my father is Don Falcone. Cross me and you're crossing the whole Falcone Family!"

A man stood beside him, trying to reason with him, his face full of helplessness.