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“And Enzo will be dead.”

We will all be dead. The Mancinis will snap their fingers, and their original plan to wipe us both out will go ahead.

Jasmine will die.

“I’m not letting you do this.”

“I don’t need your fucking permission,” Santino snaps. “It’s quite simple, Roman. Be more like your brother and fucking listen to me. Call off the wedding immediately. As soon as you do that, an emergency meeting will be called where we all will discuss your shitty attitude, and Enzo will be right where I want him.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“No?!” Santino surges around the desk and approaches me, his eyes like thunder. “Where exactly does your loyalty lie, Roman? With me? Or that fucking bitch Jasmine? Or have you regressed right back to the fucking Yakuza? It’s quite simple, you do this or you’re out.”

My heart stalls briefly in my chest and tightness squeezes across my shoulders. “Out?”

“Yes,out. No son of mine defies me like this. You want to stay in this family? Make the fucking call.”

No. No…suddenly my entire future crumbles. Marrying Jasmine was supposed to get me what I wanted: a position ofpower to watch Santino crumble as I destroyed him. But calling off the wedding destroys all of that, and worse, being ousted from the family completely ruins myyearsof hard work getting close to this man.

I’m so close, I’ve worked so hard. My entire life has built to this moment, and now it’s balancing on the edge of a blade, threatening to be ripped away from me forever.

My mother will remain unavenged.

Santino won’t suffer an ounce of pain that he deserves.

My life’s work, wasted.

“Well?” Santino arches one brow with a sneer. “Tell me,son. What’s it going to be? Make your choice Roman, me or that little bitch? Where does your loyalty lie?”

28

JASMINE

My mother hasn’t said a word since I came home and found her over my father’s dead body with a knife in her hand.

Not a single word.

Last night, she barely even seemed to register I was there when I pried the weapon out of her cold hand and guided her up from the floor. Twice she nearly fell from how numb her legs were after prolonged kneeling. She didn’t say a word when I guided her into the bathroom and propped her up on the toilet. She didn’t say a word when I demanded answers or told her to wait while I went to check on my father.

His skin was cold to the touch and the blood around him was congealed. He died some time ago.

Panic then gripped me for a good few seconds before I did the only thing I knew. I squashed down the rising panic, the upset, and the fear and got to work.

By the time the sun rose the following day, the house was clean and my father’s body was on ice down in the basement. The guards who came running at my SOS took over securing the property and hunting down where the rest of the staff hadvanished while I tended to my mother, who remained on the toilet seat where I left her.

Now she sits in the lounge wrapped in a blanket with a steaming hot cup of tea clasped in her hands, staring through the window at the increased patrol walking past. The crunch of gravel under their boots is almost alarming.

“Mom?” Dragging one hand through my messy hair, I approach her slowly and kneel in front of her. “Mom, can you look at me?”

“What are they even doing?” she says suddenly, her voice low and waspish. “I hope they don’t trample my flowers. I spent so long tending to them. So long.”

“Mom?” My heart’s been racing all night long, and my mind is a jumble of panic over whether or not I’m doing the right thing since no one seems to have a clue what the hell happened. No one except my floaty, distant mother. “Mom, can you please look at me?”

“The flowers,” she says softly, shaking her head. “Don’t let them ruin my flowers.”

“Mom!”

She jumps slightly and guilt swells in my chest. “Sorry. Sorry.”