LOGINOn the first day of winter, Seattle got its first snow of the year.I flipped the "Closed Today" wooden sign on the studio door and shoved my keys into my coat pocket.The bakery on the corner smelled like fresh butter.I walked in, bought a hot baguette right out of the oven, and then went to the high-end grocer next door to pick out a perfectly marbled prime ribeye.On the walk home, I passed a newsstand selling underground gossip rags.Through the heavy snow, I casually glanced at the colorful covers.The East Coast mafia world had been completely wiped clean.None of the faces I used to know were on those covers anymore.No untouchable Victor. No arrogant Dominic.I heard a rumor that a new beggar recently showed up in Brooklyn's dirtiest red-light district.It was a crazy woman with a broken leg who looked a lot like the once-glamorous Chloe.Every day, she dragged her crippled leg around, digging through the trash for moldy food.Whenever she saw someone walk by, she would launch
Late autumn in Seattle. The sea breeze cut straight to the bone.I had just finished restoring an 18th-century oil painting. It showed a newborn baby surrounded by angels. The piece was called Newborn.Ironically, just as I used my fine brush to paint a perfect, rosy pink onto the baby’s cheek, the studio door opened.Victor walked in.I didn't look up. I kept my eyes on my work.But from my peripheral vision, I could see he looked even worse than Dominic did.His skin was sickly pale, his eyes bloodshot, and those signature gold-rimmed glasses sat crooked on his nose.His tailored Italian suit—usually pristine—was so wrinkled it looked like he pulled it out of a dumpster.He was tightly clutching a heavy cardboard box, his knuckles white from the grip."Vivienne." His voice was wrecked.I put my brush down and looked at him calmly.Victor carefully set the box on the floor and opened it.It was full of baby clothes.Spring, summer, fall, winter. Boys and girls. From newborn to three y
Seattle’s rainy season came early this year.Late October, evening. I was packing up the last oil painting of the day, ready to lock up the studio and go home.The rain hit the glass windows, making a heavy, constant drumming sound.Just as I turned off my desk lamp, heavy footsteps sounded outside the door.They were slow. Hesitant. Like someone had been pacing out there for a long time.I looked up. Through the rainy, fogged-up glass door, I saw a tall but terribly skinny silhouette.The door pushed open.Freezing rain and sea wind rushed into the warm studio.The man who walked in was soaked to the bone. Water dripped steadily from his worn-out jacket.I saw his face.Dominic.But this wasn't the arrogant Don of the Russo family I remembered.The man in front of me was gaunt. His cheekbones jutted out, his eyes sunken deep into his skull.His hair, which used to be perfectly slicked back, was now a messy, wet mop stuck to his forehead.His signature custom Italian suits were replace
By the second month after Vivienne left, the balance of the East Coast underworld had completely collapsed.After getting the abortion records, Victor’s severe bipolar disorder spiraled totally out of control.Like a mad dog, he stripped Chloe of all her security and cut off every cent of her money.Worse, he started hunting Dominic’s mafia businesses down at any cost.Arms deals, money-laundering fronts, territories—Victor took every chance to completely gut Dominic.At the same time, Dominic had completely lost it, too.The second he saw those black-market receipts and the bloody clothes, his whole belief system broke. The angel he had spent half his life protecting was nothing but a fraud.Rage burned away whatever sanity he had left.Dominic personally dragged Chloe into the dirtiest underground clinic in Brooklyn."Whose bastard are you carrying?" he choked her, his eyes looking like he was ready to kill. "Speak!"Chloe was crying so hard she couldn't breathe. "Dominic, I don't kn
Victor sat in his underground casino office, the dim light reflecting off his gold-rimmed glasses.The manila envelope on his desk sat there like a ticking time bomb, quietly waiting to be opened.He ripped the seal and pulled out the medical report.Manhattan Private Hospital. OB-GYN. Surgical abortion records.The diagnosis hit him like a bullet: "Complete miscarriage and permanent infertility caused by severe blunt force trauma."The date of the surgery was the exact day the streets ran red outside the art gallery.Victor’s knuckles turned bone-white.He shot up from his chair, his knee knocking over the expensive whiskey on his desk. The amber liquid splashed everywhere, soaking into the Persian rug."Impossible..."He grabbed his car keys, ran six red lights, and drove back to the estate like a madman.He pushed the front doors open. Only the monotone ticking of the clock answered him.In the master bedroom, the closet doors were wide open. It was completely empty. Not a single pi
High society's blacklist came faster than I expected.In just one day, I lost all my restoration orders and was forced to sell my gallery for pennies. Walking down the street, former clients who used to greet me with warm smiles now dodged me like a plague, whispering behind my back."That's her. The crazy woman kicked out of the Costello family.""So shameless. Spreading rumors about someone being a mistress when she was the one thrown out on the street."I pulled my light trench coat tighter and picked up my pace, my face blank.Just as I reached the corner near my old gallery, a gang of rival mob thugs ambushed me from an alley. Fired up by the dark web bounty and the rumors, they took all their rage out on me—the discarded "ex-wife.""Beat this gang-war-starting bitch to death!" someone shouted.The next second, a brick flew through the air and smashed into my shoulder. I stumbled backward. Before I could catch my balance, a heavy metal baseball bat slammed violently into my back.







