Chapter 4

Listening to Henry’s righteous, hysterical screaming, for a second I thought I was hearing things.

Skimmed from a smuggling run?

The accusation was so absurd I laughed. “Henry, have you lost your mind? The other party in last week’s deal demanded an extra deposit. To keep the deal from falling through, I fronted the fifty grand from my own pocket, then reimbursed myself from the family account. As for the voucher, I already gave it to you.”

“Voucher? What voucher? I never saw any voucher!” There was no shame in his voice. “Madeline, stop making up stories. That piece of paper isn’t here now, so there’s no proof! I say you skimmed it, so you skimmed it! The Corleone family has no place for a two-bit thief like you!”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

I knew exactly what this was. He was just trying to screw with me.

My clean break from the family clearly wasn't enough for him.

“Give the money back!” Henry ordered viciously.

“Fine,” I said, a smirk playing on my lips. I was too tired to even argue with him. “Fifty thousand dollars. I’ll send it over. Consider it my severance payment to the Corleone family. From now on, I have nothing to do with any of you.”

“Fifty? You wish!” Seeing me agree so easily, his greed kicked into high gear.

He let out a triumphant sneer. “Family rules say you get punished for stealing. Since you’ve already run from New York, you can buy your way out. Triple penalty. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars!”

I didn’t want to listen to his bullshit anymore. “Done.”

Not that he’d be alive long enough to enjoy it.

Tomorrow, he’d be the one on his knees, begging.

I transferred the money immediately.

“See, you know what’s good for you, Madeline,” Henry said, gloating, before hanging up.

Listening to the dial tone, I put down my phone, a cold smile on my face.

Enjoy your last party, Henry.

The next morning, the Sicilian sky was clear and bright.

To show how much they valued me, the Vitiello family—the Don, his capos, and the elders—had all come to Sicily to hold a formal ceremony to welcome me.

I wore a tailored, custom black suit, my long hair pulled back to reveal a sharp, elegant profile.

The core members of the Vitiello family stood with solemn expressions, their eyes filled with respect.

Don Vitiello sat at the head of the table. His eyes, which had seen everything, rested on me with deep appreciation.

“Madeline,” he said, rising slowly. In his hand was a sapphire pin, the symbol of the family’s highest honor and power. “From this day forward, you will be the consigliere of the Vitiello family. Your word is the family’s will.”

He personally pinned the sapphire emblem to my suit.

In an instant, the hall erupted in thunderous applause.

At that moment, standing at the pinnacle of power, I felt my ambition and satisfaction swell.

This was my battlefield, not playing house with a bunch of idiots in the Corleone family.

But just as everyone raised their glasses to congratulate me and the celebration reached its peak, my phone began to vibrate violently, an unwelcome intrusion.

I pulled it out.

The screen flashed with Henry’s number.

I irritably declined the call. It rang again. And again.

I thought for a moment. If I remembered correctly, this was right about the time the Colombians made their move in my past life.

I gave a slight nod to the Don beside me, then walked to a terrace on the side of the hall and answered.

This time, the voice on the other end wasn't gloating or arrogant like last night.

Henry's voice was shaking, a raw mix of terror, desperation, and hysteria.

In the background, I could faintly hear the pop of gunshots and screams.

He roared, his voice cracking, “Madeline, what the hell kind of intel did you give us?!”

“The deal with the Colombians went south, they’re killing our guys! You need to get back here and fix this mess!”