Page 9

Present

L eonardo’s mansion is a fortress. A sprawling white estate perched on the edge of the water like a king surveying his kingdom. I step through the grand double doors, the air inside thick with the scent of cigar smoke and expensive cologne. The guards barely glance at me anymore.

Leonardo is in his study, nursing a glass of something dark and expensive. His salt-and-pepper hair is combed back, his suit crisp despite the late hour. He looks up as I enter, his lips curling into something that might be pride if he were capable of feelings.

“Well?” His voice is smooth, expectant.

I drop into the chair across from him, stretching out like I own the place.

“It’s done.”

Leonardo exhales through his nose, a satisfied sound. He swirls the liquor in his glass, watching the liquid catch the light before taking a slow sip.

“Good girl.” He sets the glass down with a quiet clink, eyes sharp with approval. “I knew you had it in you.”

I say nothing. Just watch him.

He leans back, the leather of his chair creaking.

“You’ve earned yourself a break. Kick back. Enjoy. Have some fun.” He smiles like he actually means it, but I know better. Leonardo doesn’t believe in fun. He believes in control.

I nod, standing. “Sure. Fun.”

My apartment is a far cry from the cage he first kept me in.

The luxury high-rise is all sleek glass and steel, perched high above Miami like I finally belong in this city. I toe off my heels, tossing my purse onto the pristine white couch, but I don’t sit. Instead, I make my way to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the neon glow of the city.

It’s almost funny how different my life is now. How different I am. My dark hair is tamed, glossy and expertly maintained. My sneakers and shorts replaced with designer attire. My soft edges sharpened.

Seven years ago, I was just a ghost of a girl stepping through the gates of Leonardo Testa’s estate.

His missing niece.

I remember the way his face twisted when he saw me, how his first instinct was to lock me away, a puzzle piece that didn’t fit in his neatly curated life.

The room he kept me in was elegant, but a prison is still a prison no matter how gilded the bars.

He demanded a DNA test before he’d even entertain the thought of my existence.

I remember sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed, staring at the locked door, knowing that if the test came back wrong, I’d never leave that room alive.

But the truth had been undeniable. His blood ran in my veins.

Guards had whispered.

“Hey.”

“Sup?”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard but Evany is back. Been living in the middle of nowhere.”

“Evany? As in the surviving Testa? I thought that was just folklore, man.”

“Nope. She exists, and she’s back.”

“Leo must be pissed.”

But, little by little, he let me out of my cage.

At first, it was small rewards. Sitting at the dinner table. Watching from the sidelines as business was discussed. Then the tests began. Subtle at first. Then not. Would I lie for the family? Would I steal? Would I hurt? Would I kill?

And I did.

Because I had a goal. Because every time he asked me to prove my loyalty, I thought of Antonio. Of my mother and father. My brothers. Of my blood-soaked history.

I pick up my phone and text Marcy.

Shipment lands Wednesday at Pier 14. Tension is high. Someone’s taking out the bosses’ sons. Families are getting nervous. Won’t be long before they start turning on each other.

I stare at the screen for a moment before hitting send. I roll my neck. Think of Truman. The way his body molded to mine, the feel of his lips on my skin. I strip off my clothes right there in front of the windows and pad naked to the bathroom to shower.

I dry off, slip into a silk robe, and reach for my burner. My fingers hesitate over Truman’s name before I force them away. Grabbing my regular phone, I tap out a message to Maria instead.

Me: Drinks? I need to blow off steam.

She responds instantly.

Maria: Thought you’d never ask. Meet me at Noir in an hour. Wear something slutty.

I huff a quiet laugh. Of all the Testa’s, Maria is the least like them. Or at least, she pretends to be. She’s reckless, loose with her words and her body, and always in search of a good time. She’s the only one I’d dare call a friend. Even if she never knows the truth about me.

An hour later, I’m stepping out of my car in front of Noir, the neon lights flashing a seductive promise of sin. The line wraps around the block, but I walk right past it, straight to the bouncer. He barely nods before unhooking the velvet rope and letting me in.

Inside, the bass thrums through my veins, the air thick with sweat, liquor, and the sharp bite of expensive cologne. Maria is already at the bar, a vision in a black dress that clings like a second skin, red lips curled into a wicked grin.

“You clean up nice, cousin.” She drags her gaze down my body, taking in the fitted dress, the stilettos that could double as weapons.

“Slutty enough for you?” I slide onto the bar stool beside her, signaling the bartender.

“Could be sluttier.” She sips her drink. “I’d tear a few inches off that hem if I were you.”

“I’d like to be able to sit without flashing my entire ass to the room, thanks.”

Maria smirks. “That’s the difference between us. You like control. I like chaos.”

She’s not wrong.

We drink. We dance. We draw attention like moths to a flame. Men approach, each one more confident than the last. I turn them down with sharp smiles, polite refusals, a hand on Maria’s arm when she looks like she’s about to invite me into trouble.

Maria, on the other hand, is a magnet for trouble. And she enjoys it.

A man in a navy suit, with a watch that probably costs more than most people’s rent, leans in, murmuring something in her ear. She laughs, tilting her head back, exposing the long column of her throat. When she turns to me, her eyes glint with mischief.

“I’m going home with him.”

I arch a brow. “And what’s his name?”

She waves a dismissive hand. “Does it matter?”

I sigh. “Be careful.”

She grins. “Always.” Then she’s gone, slipping through the crowd with her sharp-dressed stranger.

I stay for one more drink, letting the burn of liquor settle in my stomach before heading home.

Back in my apartment, the silence presses in, thick and suffocating. I toe off my heels, pour myself another drink, and sink onto the couch, staring out over the city.

Viggo’s screams still ring in my ears, the memory of his mutilation vivid and visceral. And Roberto—his body cooling on the floor, his blood a dark stain against the marble.

Leonardo is playing a game. I just don’t know the rules yet.

He’s never careless. Never random. If he had me take out the Leonetti heir, there’s a reason. And if he is targeting the bosses’ sons, maybe—just maybe—I can finally gain the upper hand.

I sip my drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass.