Page 7

She pulls away. Good girl.

“Leave,” I tell her without looking. My focus is on Belli, who’s deciding whether to piss himself or lie.

He chooses wrong.

“This isn’t what it looks like?—”

I take his wrist and twist. One pop, one crunch. That’s all it takes.

He falls back into his seat, whimpering like a kicked dog.

I lean closer, my lips near his ear.

“D’Angelo doesn’t make claims in my city,” I tell him. “And the girl? Next time you reach for her, I’ll bury you in a box so small, your bones will have to fold.”

He nods like his life depends on it. Because it does.

I release him and straighten my cuffs, watching Belli rush out of the café. I put on my coat and am about to turn to leave when I feel a prickle of awareness go down my spine.

I look back, and there, behind the glass of the kitchen door, I see a shadow. A woman’s shadow. She’s still watching me. Ithink back to the smile she gave me earlier today, the one I didn’t return because of how taken aback I was by the fact that someone like her—someone who seemed untouched by anything cruel or messy—had looked at me like I was worth seeing.

And this time around, I return the smile. Or try to again. I swear I see the door shake, as though someone’s leaning against it.

Then I turn and head out without looking back. I need to find the rest of D’Angelo’s men, who are undoubtedly nearby.

Outside, the air is crisp, carrying the first hint of evening chill. I scan the street, noting the blue sedan parked at the corner with two men inside—more of D’Angelo’s crew. They haven’t spotted me yet. Their attention is directed toward the café’s side exit—likely waiting for Chiara’s shift to end.

I move through shadow, circling behind them until I reach the narrow alley that runs behind the row of businesses. As expected, I find three men huddled in the darkness, sharing a cigarette. I recognize Matteo, D’Angelo’s head enforcer, giving instructions to the others.

“—grab her as soon as she comes out. No witnesses. Take her straight to the boss.”

I step into view, my shoes scraping deliberately against the pavement. Three heads snap in my direction.

“Gentlemen,” I say, “I believe you’re trespassing.”

Matteo recovers first. “Bianchi. We… we weren’t doing anything.”

“Everything in this neighborhood is my concern, and you being here when you shouldn’t is everything,” I keep my voice calm as I assess the three of them. Matteo is dangerous—ex-military, quick with a blade. The others are standard muscle.

“The girl owes D’Angelo.”

“D’Angelo should never have lent to a woman in my territory,” I correct him. “And now I’m telling you, the debt is void.”

Matteo’s eyes narrow. “You buying her contract?”

“I’m telling you she’s off-limits.”

His hand moves toward his jacket, but I’m faster. The blade I keep in my sleeve slides into my palm, and in one fluid motion, I draw it across the throat of the man standing closest to me. Blood sprays in an arc as he drops, hands clutching futilely at his neck.

The second man lunges. I sidestep, drawing my gun from its holster and firing once. His kneecap explodes in a mess of bone and tissue. His scream echoes in the alley as he collapses.

Matteo freezes, hands raised. Smart enough to know when he’s outmatched.

I press the gun against his temple. “Here’s my message for D’Angelo: The girl is mine now. If he so much as breathes in her direction again, he won’t live to regret it.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Matteo says, but I can see the fear in his eyes. “D’Angelo doesn’t give up what’s his.”

“Neither do I.” I feel the truth of this statement as I say it. Chiara doesn’t know it yet, but she belongs to me now. “And just to be clear—she was never his.”