I Ditched the Don After Nineteen No‑Shows

During the territory handover, the Council of Elders sat around the meeting table.

One of the elders, Marcello Ricci—also a conservative—slid a glass full of whisky toward me. He said coldly, "Ms. Carta, as per Seeves City's tradition, you shall be held accountable for anything that goes wrong, as you're the guarantor for the toll fees required for the legitimized shipping routes.

"Today, you will drink these three glasses of whisky on behalf of Don Moretti to seal your oath. Only then will we consider the transfer of cargo rights at the docks complete."

The gun wound on my chest from five years ago throbbed. The doctor had warned me time and again that the bullet had grazed one of my lungs and that I shouldn't drink liquor under any circumstances.

I turned to Adriano Moretti, who was sitting at the head of the table. He wasn't looking at me. With his head lowered, he was wiping residual gunpowder off Viviana Levante's hand with his handkerchief.

He instructed, "Since Mr. Ricci is only following the tradition, drink on my behalf, Emma. Let's settle this peacefully."

With a hand pressed to my chest, I picked up the first glass of whisky and downed it. That triggered severe spasms around my old wound. I fought down the taste of blood in my throat and downed the remaining two glasses.

A look of surprise flickered across Marcello's eyes. Finally, he slid the handover agreement for the docks over to me. I picked up the pen to sign, my fingers trembling from pain.

Viviana beamed at me. She said, "You're really a good drinker, Donna. I scraped my arm while helping Don Moretti test out our opponent's gunman. The Don is so worried that he insists on taking me to a private clinic.

"You may have to push back the marriage registration this afternoon. Seeing as how I've made a contribution and gotten injured, you won't hold it against me, right?"

Adriano rose to his feet and buttoned up his suit. Walking toward me, he said in a gentle yet indifferent tone, "Viviana has just established our Famiglia's authority, so I must show my concern.

"Hail a taxi and return to the estate. We'll proceed with the marriage registration with the archbishop some other day."

Adriano had always enforced one ironclad rule—no one could bring firearms with gunpowder residue into the back seat of his bulletproof Cadillac.

Once, some gunpowder stained my shirt after I took care of some traitors for him in Borwyn. He'd coldly ordered me to walk back to the Moretti estate alone.

Yet now, Viviana could just open the back seat door and get into the car, even though she reeked of gunpowder.

I instinctively stepped forward, but Adriano held the door and stepped between me and the car.

"When I return tonight, I will transfer the profit shares from the new gambling ship in Southern Morfhugen to your name as compensation."

A wave of warm air rolled out from the car, carrying the bitter almond scent of the gun oil Viviana usually used. My stomach lurched.

Viviana was smiling provocatively at me through the window. My hand froze in mid-air.

"Sure, have a safe ride," I replied.

Adriano closed the door, and the car sped off into the rain.

Left standing on the docks, I started coughing violently, and blood soon covered my palm.

I took out the signed marriage declaration form from my coat pocket, the one we were supposed to hand in to the church that afternoon.

It was the 18th time we'd put it off.

I released my grip on the paper, and it fell into the drain, where the murky water immediately engulfed it.