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John's eyes darken. "Marcus paid for his part."

"And Damien's still breathing. Not for long, though." My hands clench at my sides, knuckles white. I'd always known the Costellofamigliawas divided, but I never thought they'd go this far—murdering my father, the rightful heir to Nonno's empire, and framing his only son for it.

John nods, understanding in his eyes. He's been my shadow since we were kids, both of us learning at my father’s side how to run the family business. Both of us watching as the cracks in our family deepened after Nonno died. Only John stood by me when they came to take me away.

I look over at Adrian Russo, the lawyer who got me out. He's observing us with that nervous energy of his, like he's always calculating the odds. My youngest cousin married him under duress, something I'm sure she's still angry about. But he proved useful, finding the evidence that finally convinced the judge to dismiss my case. It only took a little bit of blackmail.

"Good work, Russo," I tell him, walking toward the man to shake his hand. Before I get another word out, his phone starts ringing.

He shows me the screen displaying my Uncle Damien's name. My blood runs cold, then hot with fury. Damien—the man who helped plan my father's murder, who planted the evidence to put me behind bars.

"Answer it," I tell Adrian, deadly calm.

"Hello?" he speaks into the receiver. I can't make out the words, but I see Adrian's face drain of color. When he hangs up, he looks at my cousin. "John, where's Zoe today?"

"With Madi," he answers as confusion creeps onto his face.

"We need to go," Adrian says, dialing furiously on his phone and getting frustrated when the call rings out and goes to voicemail. "The girls are in trouble."

"Go with him," I tell John. "I'm going to find Damien."

Adrian hesitates, his eyes lingering between me and his car, before finally getting into the driver's seat. The tires squeal as they speed away.

I watch them go, feeling the weight of the gun John slipped me during our hug. Eight months I've waited for this moment. For eight months, I've seen my father's face every time I closed my eyes, heard his mantra on repeat:"Family above all, Sammy. Remember who you are."

I'm a Costello. And it's time my uncle remembers what that means.

TWO

Olivia

Thirty days.

It’s been one whole month since I drove the thirty hours from Montreal, Canada, to New Orleans, Louisiana. And all for…this.Rubbing a hand over my face, I sigh.

I stare at Gino’s, our family bar, now weighed down by decades of neglect. The once vibrant spot is a shell of itself, with chipped paint and cobwebs claiming every corner.

This place was my father’s pride, my childhood playground. I spent summers spinning on barstools and drinking Shirley temples.

Gino’s has always been my family’s life.

Our legacy.

And now it’smine.

I grab a duster and extend the handle, reaching into the corners to bat down the cobwebs. Behind me, Joey laughs. “That’s the decor, girlie,” he says as he slices through a lime, prepping for service later tonight.

“Cobwebs are not decor!” I shout back as I bat down another one. I don’t know when the last time this place was cleaned, but the dust might be as old as Joey himself.

As long as I’ve been alive, the old man has been a fixture in this bar. He worked for my grandfather first, and then my father before he died.

Even thinking about my father’s death makes my chest ache. I push it down, still not ready to deal with the mountain of trauma that is Salvatore Marchese.

Three months ago, my father died, and even though I haven’t seen him since I was a kid, he still wrote me into his will. Leaving me a few hundred bucks and this bar.

Perfect timing, really. I had just ended my three-year relationship with my fiancé, and while breaking up with Rhett was the right thing to do, everyone in my life thinks I'm going through some sort of early twenties crisis. My mom is counting down the days for me to give up on the bar, move back home, and beg my ex for forgiveness.

That's not going to happen.