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Italy. The land of great food, stunning coastlines, endless sunshine, and men who inspired painters to preserve reality. I wasn’t sure which one excited me the most. Okay, fine, it was the pasta.

Enzo told me plenty of stories about his childhood in Sicily, where his family owned an olive tree farm. How each harvest he reached higher into the tree. How he raced his father down the hill, where his mother already waited with lunch and a sweet treat for the victor.

It was him I thought of when the private jet I chartered landed. To avoid complications, we parted ways inland.

Enzo was the sixth generation to carry on the family business. The Artuso’s were well-known on the island, mostly for their homemade products: olive oils, soaps, cosmetics. The usual stuff. Profitable, yes, but nowhere near as lucrative as their backdoor operations .

It all started with a conversation over a shot of espresso.

One foggy morning, when the island’s fate hung in the balance.

With Mount Etna on a roaring rampage and repairs desperately needed, the oldest Artuso decided it was time to step outside the confines of tradition.

To bend their moral code and preserve what they were about to lose.

The business had grown into a global empire, smuggling contraband alongside the legitimate goods. Whatever you wanted, they could get their hands on it. His family’s network, built over generations, was unlike anything I’d ever seen.

As I dug my toes into the sand, I pictured little Enzo picking olives. I burst out laughing. He definitely wasn’t wearing a suit back then, though with Italians, you never really knew. Everything was an excuse to dress up. It was something I teased them about but secretly admired.

Peak summer season packed the beaches with tourists and locals alike. Swimmers splashed in the waves, while stylish grandmas strolled the promenade, tiny dogs in tow.

In a long sundress and the high heels I’d snagged from a tiny boutique after dinner, I fit right in. For a fleeting moment, I wanted to belong. To be a part of the culture. A part of this community.

It was a far cry from the constant hustle of NYC I’d grown used to.

Back there, people looked over their shoulders so many times, their heads were no longer screwed on right.

Here, the only thing you saw behind you was the sea.

Everyone seemed so calm. No rush, nowhere to be.

While it was admirable, this lifestyle wasn’t for me.

Not long-term. That didn’t stop me from enjoying it while I could.

But this wasn’t a vacation. I was here to meet with Don, the Italians’ highest-placed man.

Enzo might’ve been on board with my movement, but he didn’t call the shots.

A one-on-one with Don was either a last call or an honor reserved for only a few.

Somehow, Enzo arranged the meeting, though I didn’t doubt they had their own agenda.

Everything came with a cost, and I was just desperate enough to pay.

When the church bells tolled fifteen times, I dusted off the sand from my feet and hopped on the vespa. The twists and turns of the road led me to a property perched atop a cliff. I gripped the handlebars tighter, settling into the familiar head space.

Greeted by a thorough pat-down, the guards confiscated the few weapons I carried on me. While polite, they made it clear: I shouldn’t try anything.

And I wasn’t going to.

A table sat at the edge of the property, overlooking the coastline.

Afternoon coffee with a view worth the hefty price. The smell of tangerines hung in the air as I walked down the stairs toward the man I was meeting.

Don sat in the patio chair, his eyes fixed on the horizon. His reading glasses rested on the table next to his daily newspaper and a steaming shot of espresso. A matching one waited for me on the opposite side.

Dario Motta, the Don of the Cosa Nostra.

He was nearly twice my age, though it wasn’t immediately apparent. The gray strands of time appeared only in the sunlight, his sole indication of aging. His dark hair was short but professionally styled.

Often described as the perfect gentleman with his impeccable style, mature looks, and heated glances, Dario was a charmer. I’d often mock Enzo for his obsession with looking his best, but this man was on a whole different level.

Though among members, it wasn’t his looks that he was known for.

Despite the pristine clothes, Dario loved to get his hands dirty. Whispers circulated about the latest torture method he’d introduced. About how he’d flown people in from all over the world just so he could get to work. A master at extracting information, they called him.

I’d studied his methods ever since I entered the game. In a way, this felt like meeting a celebrity I’d been crushing on.

Public appearances, on the other hand, were Don’s downfall. He stayed hidden in Italy, appointing a trusted few to represent him. Enzo was somewhat of his protégé. Whenever we talked about his childhood, Dario’s name always came up.

Wary of each other, he made the first move, raising my hand to his lips for a kiss.

I stared into his dark eyes, just shy of black. They looked tired, restless.

“Ms. Taya, we meet at last,” he greeted, motioning to the empty chair at his right.

I sat, smoothing my sundress beneath me, trying to play the part of the lady I rarely was. “We do. I wish the circumstances were different.”

With a quick glance at the guards surrounding us, he dismissed them, granting us some privacy.

“Lorenzo gave me the rundown of your situation. Though I’d rather hear it from you,” Dario opened a window of opportunity.

Not shying away from his intense gaze, I explained the reason behind the meeting.

“It’s simple. I’m here to offer you a deal. A one-of-a-kind opportunity, if you ask me.”

With a cool expression, he responded, “What could you offer me that I don’t already have?”

Don reached for his tiny cup of coffee, letting the words sink in before he continued, “Besides, you don’t hold a position of power with the Russians, last I checked. Or with others, for that matter.”

His eyes dissected me. Every breath measured. Every movement logged.

“Am I mistaken?” he pressed, his voice low and steady, like he already knew the answer.

“No,” I admitted. It wasn’t a secret. I didn’t hold power, at least not the kind he was used to. That didn’t mean I couldn’t make an impact .

“How it gets done is solely up to me. All you need to do is agree,” I added, my voice unwavering despite the storm of thoughts brewing in my head.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “What is it you’re proposing?”

“A change, for starters,” I said, indirectly implying my intentions. “But most importantly, a chance to add names to the List of Angels. Of your own choosing, of course.”

He didn’t flinch, but his gaze sharpened. “We’re already on good terms with the Bratva. Why would I risk the alliance for an outsider?”

“I think it’s time we step out from under our parents’ shadows. Wouldn’t you agree? A new legacy,” I proposed, my voice steady.

“Ambitions are often short-lived. As are the people who carry them,” he countered.

“It’s not the ambition I seek. It’s protection,” I clarified, leaning forward slightly.

Dario smoothly deflected. “The peace treaty we signed ensures that.”

“A treaty formed years ago, barely hanging by a thread?” I let out a quiet laugh. “Do you honestly think that when someone screws the Russians over again, they’ll honor it? That Ilya will? Or perhaps Malek. Is he more trustworthy?”

Don didn’t move, his gaze locked on mine as he calmly replied, “Let them come if they think they stand a chance.”

“What about Lorenzo?”

He didn’t waste a second before responding. “What about him?”

“You care about him, but so do I. He believes in what I’m trying to achieve. Are you prepared to go against him?”

His reply came without hesitation. “We all make choices and live with the consequences.”

“Don’t you have something to protect?” I pressed, trying to break through .

I knew better than to expect an answer. Only a fool would reveal their hand.

“No one’s untouchable,” I muttered, mostly to myself.

“No one’s trustworthy,” he responded, his voice harder now, the weight of his words settling between us.

I sat up straighter in my chair, feeling the shift. Now we were finally getting to the heart of it.

“That’s exactly what I’m getting at,” I confirmed. “What if we created a world where the chosen few didn’t use loved ones as leverage? Where they stood together. No more revenge fantasies or retaliation plans.”

His expression hardened, and he scanned the edge of the property, eyes lingering on the cliff hidden behind the cypress trees.

“I’ve been a Don for twenty years now, Ms. Taya.” He turned his vacant stare back to me. “That’s almost your entire life, I hear. People always find a way to disappoint me,” he paused, letting the weight of the words land.

“Forgive me if I don’t believe in your vision. I know Lorenzo, and I know you. The one he vouched for.” He eyed me cautiously before continuing, “It’s the rest I don’t trust to keep their word. It’s all just a promise. Words.”

I crossed one leg over the other, leaning on my arm. “That’s exactly the type of mindset I’m trying to change. Take Lorenzo or Enzo as I call him. Him and I? If the world wasn’t changing, would we really be such good friends? Not once have we betrayed each other.”

Unlike other people, who I considered friends, I thought.

“There’s hope,” I assured him. “It just takes the right kind of people.”

“It also takes someone willing to step out of line.”

This time, I reacted swiftly. “Then I guess I’ll just have to hope the rest will carry on the promise and do better next time.”

Taking advantage of the pause, I eyed the delicious pastries on the table.

Unable to resist the amaretti cookie, I popped one into my mouth. The almond taste took over my senses, and I refrained from moaning a vocal approval. Creamy coffee washed it down before it sounded .

I put down the cup, smiling at the thought of rewriting history the same way Enzo’s ancestors once did. Dario studied me closely. Not much escaped him. I could see why Enzo warned me. But the warning didn’t prevent me from running my mouth the way it tended to. Or putting his skill to use.

When the porcelain saucer clung, I revealed the other reason behind my visit. “I’m also in need of your services.”

“From what I hear you’re well capable.”

The corner of my mouth lifted. “It’s more the capacity that I lack.”

I pulled out the stacked envelope, placing it on top of the newspaper. Don eyed the object, as if he possessed the ability to read it through the paper.

For all I knew, it could be tossed the moment I left, but I hoped it would at least be opened first. I was betting a lot on this moment, knowing full well that asking for help, calling in favors, never worked in this world.

Alliances broke daily, but the cost had to be worth the price.

So I opted for trade. Don worked for organizations outside the alliance. Whether for money or respect didn’t matter. Trade and business ruled, so I played the system to my advantage. I gave him an out, offered him an in, and secured the help outside both choices.

His hand hovered over the envelope, not close enough to touch but not too far to reach.

“If you dare to climb high enough to get to the moon,” Dario spoke in code, the wrinkles on his forehead more pronounced. “You better hold on,” he warned, his tone weighted with experience. “Because the stars will rise closer each night, and your fall will come long before the ground is in sight.”

I understood each word, feeling the weight of responsibility already dragging me toward the very ground he warned of.

Dario was right. I needed to be sure. But what he didn’t know was that years of resentment had built up within me.

I couldn’t stand the unfairness. I wanted to wipe it off the face of the Earth for good.

I would climb over the moon if that’s what it took to restore the balance.

When the tension bubbled, I broke it with a smirk. “You should make public appearances more often,” I suggested, his wisdom leaving an impression.

Dario’s body tensed. “Not my style.”

“Too bad. You and I could be friends.” I flashed him a charming smile.

His expression could melt icicles, but the intensity of his stare didn’t faze me.

“I could be your father, Ms. Taya.” His tone registered, but his charm left no effect on me. No goosebumps traced my spine, no instinct stirred to attention. The words brushed past me like a breeze: noticeable, but without real impact.

My smile was wicked, but there was some truth behind the words. “I always wanted a Daddy.”

The upper corner of his lips lifted in an attempt at a smile. He came close, but not quite.

Dusting the crumbs off my sundress, I stood tall and met his gaze again.

“I’ll give you time to think it over,” I said. “The document is on the network.”

I eyed the spot he kept returning to, watching the somewhat calm waters before I added a few coded words of my own.

“The tides are turning,” I implied, my chin lifting toward the sun. “The question each of us must answer is: will you swim, or will you let them drown you?”

The heel of my shoe sank into the perfectly mowed grass as I turned, my sundress floating behind me.