Chapter 4

There was a wet, tearing sound.

The blade buried itself in Luca's forearm. Blood streamed down the groove in the blade, staining the rainwater crimson.

I froze for a second, my eyes on his bleeding wound.

Luca didn't even flinch. He twisted the weapon out of Sera's hand and tossed it into the rain.

"Enough, Sera! Not while I'm here. You're not laying a finger on her!"

Luca's shout stopped Sera. Then he pulled the sobbing woman into his arms with his good hand.

"Tony was just a bodyguard. He's dead. So what? I'll have ten better ones brought over from Sicily tomorrow."

He soothed the heiress in his arms with a tenderness he had never shown me.

Sobbing, Sera pressed a handkerchief to the wound on Luca's arm, her tears mixing with the rain.

Once he'd calmed her down, Luca turned back to me, accusation burning in his eyes.

"You used to cry over the smallest scratch on my hand and stay up all night looking after me."

Luca pointed at his bleeding arm, his voice heavy with resentment.

"I just took a knife for you, Elena. And you can't even ask if I'm all right?"

My stomach churned. I couldn't even be bothered to look away. I merely curled my lips into a cold sneer.

When I remained unmoved, the last trace of restraint vanished from Luca's eyes. His expression hardened.

He took two steps back, raised his uninjured right hand, and snapped his fingers.

Two tall sworn members hauled a battered tin trunk, rusted and riddled with bullet holes, from the back of a car.

I knew that trunk all too well.

Ten years ago, when a rival family surrounded us, my father had used his own body to shield Luca and me from a hail of submachine-gun fire.

It was all he had left behind. Inside were the pocket watch he had always carried and what remained of his ashes.

Luca had locked that trunk in the family's deepest vault in front of me. He promised it was sacred, the one thing between us that no one could touch.

"Hand over the kid."

Luca pointed at the tin trunk, his voice icy.

"Or your father's ashes will end up beneath this bridge today."

Panic seized my heart. My blood ran cold.

It was the last thing my father had left me to remember him by.

"The abandoned cold storage warehouse at No. 37 in Queens. Second level down, in the air duct."

I forced the words through gritted teeth, each one tasting of blood.

Luca gave his men a look, and two of them jumped into a car and sped off.

Ten minutes later, one of them called back to confirm Nico was safe and sound.

Two bodyguards slowly carried the tin trunk over to me. My hands trembling, I reached out to take back my father's remains.

Just as my fingertips were about to touch the metal, Sera, who was standing behind Luca, suddenly stumbled.

"Oops, I twisted my ankle in these heels..."

Sera let out a little cry, then viciously kicked the side of the trunk.

The heavy tin trunk flew from the guards' hands and crashed through the safety barrier around the roadside construction site.

Below, an industrial crawler-mounted rock crusher was roaring away, working through the night.

"Nooo!"

I screamed and threw myself toward the edge of the road.

Crunch! Boom!

Metal shrieked as it buckled, followed by the deafening crunch of gears.

The pocket watch my father had carried his whole life was instantly crushed into shavings under tons of hydraulic pressure.

Then the ceramic urn shattered. My father's ashes spilled into the thick black oil, where the grinding gears churned them into the sludge and sprayed the mixture across the muddy construction site.

Sera brushed off the hem of her trench coat, unable to hide the triumph on her face.

"Oops! So sorry. My foot slipped."

Rage consumed me. I drew the spare dagger from my waist and lunged straight for Sera's throat.

"I'll kill you! I'll tear you to pieces!"

But once again, a large hand clamped down hard on my wrist.

Luca shoved me into the mud without mercy, pulled the belt from his waist, and tied my hands tightly behind my back.

He looked down at me struggling in the mud, his eyes cold and indifferent.

"That's what you get for disobeying me, Elena."

With that, Luca shrugged off his suit jacket and gently draped it over Sera's trembling shoulders.

He bent down and carefully helped Sera into the heated armored car. Then the motorcade sped away, leaving behind nothing but exhaust and splattered mud.

Wind and rain battered the piles of gravel at the abandoned Brooklyn docks.

I knelt beside the rock crusher as its roar died away, my fingers buried deep in the cold, sticky black oil and mud.

The narrow gaps between the gears were lined with jagged metal. Sharp edges sliced into my fingertips, staining the black oil with blood.

I felt no pain. I just kept digging, pulling tiny fragments of bone from the sludge, one by one.

My mind drifted back to that blood-soaked night ten years ago.

My father had braced his back against the iron door as submachine-gun fire tore through his chest. Blood poured from his mouth.

With his dying breath, he had gripped my hand and entrusted Luca to me, making me promise to help him become the Don.

For five whole years, I was Luca's most obedient killer. I wiped out everyone who stood against him, and my hands were soaked in blood that would never wash off.

And in the end, I couldn't even save the last handful of my father's ashes.

I put the last tiny, oil-soaked bone fragment into the black velvet pouch I always wore against my skin and tied it tightly around my neck.

When I finally stood, the rain had washed away every last tear.

I reached into a hidden pocket, pulled out an encrypted satellite phone, and dialed a number I hadn't called in five years.

The call connected after a single ring. An elderly man's calm, steady voice came through.

"Elena, we've been waiting five years for this call."