Chapter 2

I thought about the past month.

At first, Crystal just sat quietly in the passenger seat.

Things went wrong when she started posting crazy amounts of photos on social media.

I froze when I saw her account.

In the pictures, she leaned back on the leather seats of my Cadillac. She wore sunglasses and pouted. The caption read: #MafiaWife #NYCSocialite.

Strangers praised her luck in the comments. They said she caught a rich guy.

I stared at the photo. My finger hovered over the screen. I couldn't process it.

This was my car. How dare she show it off like her own trophy?

But I held back. I told myself she was just a vain little girl. Let it go.

What really annoyed me was her open hostility.

Every time I got in the car, she turned around. She looked me up and down like prey. Then she scoffed, pulled out her perfume, and sprayed it hard in my direction.

"What's that smell?" she pinched her nose in disgust. "Smells cheap. Disgusting."

I sat behind her, laundering millions for the family. I was too busy for cheap shots like this.

Until today. That red lipstick message killed my last drop of patience.

I thought Marco would back off after one warning.

When I questioned him, he knelt and swore over and over, "It won't happen again." His face was covered in tears and snot.

I sighed. I waved for the convoy to turn around.

"I'll let it slide this time," I told him. "Never again."

Marco behaved for a while after that.

He picked me up on time. The cheap, sharp perfume smell was gone from the car.

But soon, the excuses piled up. He started showing up late a lot. Sometimes he didn't show up at all.

"Aurora, I went to collect money in Brooklyn today. I got held up."

"Shootout in Queens. The Don needed a clean getaway car. I can't pick you up."

"The cops flagged the Cadillac's plates. I have to hide the car for two days."

His excuses got dumber and crazier.

He seemed to forget I am the princess of the Volkov family.

My brother runs the entire New York underworld. I know exactly where the shootouts and the cops are. I know it a million times better than he does.

But I was just too tired.

My gallery was hosting a huge underground auction. I had back-to-back meetings for three days. I slept three hours a night. I had no energy to expose a fool's lies.

Friday evening. I just wanted to go to my private penthouse in Manhattan. I wanted to sleep in peace for two days.

I called Marco.

"Pick me up at the gallery in half an hour. We're going to the Manhattan penthouse." I sounded deeply tired.

I didn't get a respectful 'yes'. I heard a panicked crash of chairs and tables.

Then came deafening bass music and a woman's loud laughter.

"Uh... Aurora! Sorry, I... I can't make it right now!" Marco stammered. He sounded guilty.

I frowned. "Where are you?"

"I... the car is at the family compound!" He yelled to cover the background noise. "The mechanics are upgrading the armor! He kept the car! I can't get it until tomorrow!"

"The family compound?" I scoffed.

The Volkov family's private garage is in the Bronx. They don't even turn on the radio there. Where would club music come from?

"It's true! I swear!" Marco promised fast. He was scared I would press him. "Can you take a cab? I'll pay for it!"

I was too lazy to listen to his bad lies.

"Whatever."

I hung up.

I didn't call for a family backup car. I just hailed a cab straight to Manhattan.

This penthouse was my eighteenth birthday gift from my father.

Two thousand square feet. It overlooked Central Park.

It wasn't just my property. It was my only safe haven away from the family's bloody business. The only place I could breathe.

I was the only one with the passcode.

The cab pulled up to the luxury building.

I walked in my heels to the VIP garage on the second basement level. I planned to take my private elevator to the top floor.

But I stopped dead in my tracks when I turned to my private parking spot.

A black, custom bulletproof Cadillac sat right there in my spot.

That was my car.

I stared at the car. A crazy wave of anger hit me.

The compound? Armor upgrade?

Then how did the car get here?

I walked fast to the elevator. My fingers shook slightly from holding back my rage.

Fingerprint scan. Passcode. These were my private access layers. They were meant only for me.

I reached the top floor. My apartment door was cracked open.

I pushed it and walked in.

I froze when I saw the scene inside.