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Frustrated rage clings to me.

Silvestro Mancini… the snake … my enemy.

He had struck at us. More than once. I had him in my hands.

And I needed to let him go.

For a man like me, who demands retribution for anyone who wrongs the Santoro mafia, this is pushing my control to the brink. I value calm and control, so I do my damnedest to maintain it now and take a deep breath to ease my storming fury.

My phone dings with my cousin Gemma's text.

On the plane

The effect is instantaneous.

That message and those three words cause excitement to replace my rage, but I remain unreadable to those around me. Other than Gemma and my head bodyguard and closest friend, Gabe, no one knows what's happening. And no one outside of them can find out about the plans I've put into motion.

Did the princess give you any trouble?

The three dots appear, indicating Gemma is replying. Those three dots continue to dance as I watch and wait. They finally disappear, and her message arrives, but I frown. From the time it took Gemma to type out her reply, I expected a much longer message.

No

My index finger, with the Don ring Papà gave me when I fully transitioned to leading our family's criminal empire, taps on my phone's screen. Gemma was on board with this plan to befriend my enemy's daughter while she vacationed in the Lake Como area of Italy and help me kidnap the spoiled little princess. But something changed once Gemma actually met her.

She hasn't said as much, but I strongly suspect that's the case.

Don't tell me the snake's spawn has fooled you

The princess is a viper, just like her father

Remember that

Nova Mancini may look like a soft, innocent beauty with doe-like eyes, but nothing from Silvestro Mancini's loins could be good or even redeemable. And if she's fooled Gemma—sucked her into her den of lies and deceit—Gemma, who is sly and cunning herself—and within a few days , the princess is even more like her father than I initially gave her credit for.

My phone dings with another text from Gemma.

You're a dick

I frown, staring at the message. I hate communicating by text because you can't be sure of the message's tone.

Is Gemma being her sarcastic self? Or is she pissed at me, which confirms she's been fooled by the princess?

Calm and control are my approaches to leading our empire. That's my nature, but those traits were also ingrained in me by my father's role modeling and guidance while I was groomed for my role. Level-headedness from the leader is imperative. Chaos and mayhem are more Vito's way of doing things.

I'm rarely reactive; I pride myself on my calm and control. But for me not to be reactive, I need to know what I'm dealing with.

Once the Mancini Princess arrives, she'll be enough to handle—fangs and fight is what I'm expecting. I don't need to add my feisty cousin.

I call Gemma to get a better read of her and the situation, but her phone immediately goes to voicemail. I text her to call me, but the message doesn't show that it's been delivered, so I assume she turned her phone off for the flight.

I check my watch. They should arrive in San Francisco early tomorrow morning, and I still have things to prepare.

That excitement is back, licking up my spine at the thought of the pampered, spoiled princess hurtling toward her captivity. Toward being under my control.

But most of all, the excitement is because I'm striking at my enemy and have just removed his biggest chess piece from the board.

Mancini dangled his daughter and her precious, protected virginity to make a deal with the French mafia that he's been coveting over. I don't know why Mancini wants that alliance and marriage to merge their two families, nor do I care outside of the fact that I just destroyed it.

Nova Mancini will be missing from the mafia world. Most will believe the evidence, which makes it look like she ran. Others, like Mancini himself and my fellow Dons of the 'Ndrangheta families, will suspect that I'm responsible and am retaliating because the 'Ndrangheta voted to stay my hand at killing Mancini today. However, they won't find evidence of that, even though my syndicate should never have interfered.

By the rules of our world, Mancini is mine to kill. Yet, the collective of families that fall under the umbrella and reign of the 'Ndrangheta voted for Mancini to live, all because of money. The majority was slight, and I plan to sway that decision at our upcoming face-to-face meeting.

Rage begins to push forth and drown out my excitement as I think of all Mancini has done against my family.

Today, he was in my hands, at my mercy. And I had to let him go.

That is the absolutely maddening thing for me. I value control. I value an eye for a fucking eye.

And I got neither today.

But at least the bastard went home in a pine box. Literally.

I smirk, thinking of Mancini stuffed in there, his hands tied behind his back for the flight back to Boston. The temporary coffin left on the tarmac. Then Mancini being discovered—disheveled and hopefully filthy with his piss and shit if there's a power in the universe that grants wishes.

So, yes, the fucking snake still breathes. The slithering, venomous manipulator that shed what few morals he had a long time ago, and that's coiled waiting to strike. But I've struck back, in a way that I could, while I bide my time before I can end him with my bare hands.

I'll be as cold-blooded as him—I have my own monstrous reputation in the criminal underworld, even if I'm not the kind of monster Mancini is. I'll pick away at his destruction covertly until the day I look him in the eye while I rip his throat out with a smile.

But until that day comes, I'll have his precious, virginal princess daughter.

My perfect revenge.