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.
10
Past
Life is funny. While the majority of people are acquiring mortgages, cars, and retirement funds, I’ve been collecting experiences and survival skills to sustain myself. But an experience gives what you are willing to take from it. At least that’s what Papa tells me. But it seems accurate.
I’m up with the birds. The cool air will be thick and oppressive soon enough, but right now, it’s perfect. I collect the eggs, feed the goats, and check our rabbit traps before Papa shows his face for the day.
I find him in the yard on my way back from the vegetable garden. His movements controlled, and breathing even.
