Left To Die, Finally Free

At the Costa family's annual capo banquet, Marco Costa declared the family would extend protection to one woman only: Rosa Frost, his childhood sweetheart, newly divorced and newly returned to the family fold.

One by one, the other women slipped away into the night with their money, their dignity, and fresh protectors already lined up.

I, Viola Rossi, once his Donna, was severed from the Costa family entirely, with nowhere left to go.

Twenty-one years prior, The System ripped me into this life with a brutal mandate: make one of four made men fall irrevocably in love with me, and I'd earn my way back to my real life with a healthy body.

I failed.

Every single one of them chose Rosa.

The system's final mercy: die here, go home.

I stood in a rotting Brooklyn dock warehouse, gun in hand, and closed my eyes.

Right as darkness closed in, a raw, raging scream of my name tore through the silence, like the man shouting would burn the whole world apart to reach me.

...

The Brooklyn dock warehouse was a tomb.

This is where I check out.

My exit ticket was tucked behind a loose brick.

It was Luca's prized snub-nose .22, the one he'd given me before he chose Rosa and shredded our vows in front of the Five Families.

The System was gonna let me go home.

All I had to do was die.

I pressed the muzzle tight to my temple, finger curling steady around the trigger.

I closed my eyes.

Across the East River, Manhattan's fireworks burst in the sky, distant laughter riding the wind.

None of it meant a damn thing.

My own heartbeat was pounding so hard against my ribs that it drowned out everything else, like someone was turning the world's volume down, notch by notch.

Twenty-one years.

That was how long The System had kept me here.

Its rule was simple: make one of the Four Pillars of the East Coast underworld love me beyond saving, and I could go home.

I had tried.

I had bled for them. Lied for them. Killed for them.

But every single one of them chose Rosa Frost.

Right as I went to squeeze, a heavy, sharp object slammed into my wrist.

The gun went flying across the concrete, clattering into a stack of empty crates before I could fire a single shot.

I crashed to the ground, my elbow splitting open on the rough concrete, vision swimming for a split second.

When my vision cleared, there he was.

Draven.

Tailored all-black suit, that cold, unmasked disgust carved into his face.

The same face that once looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered.

"Draven?" I rasped, breaking into another fit of coughing.

His lip curled into a sneer.

"Watch your mouth. You don't get to use my first name. Not anymore."

Of course.

Four years prior, I'd pulled his broken, bleeding body out of the Somerset crew massacre.

Three cracked ribs, a leg shot to hell, a fever that should've killed him.

I hid him, nursed him back from the edge, told him he only gets his revenge if he stays alive.

He was a feral thing back then, only trusted me.

Now he saw me as nothing but dirt on his custom leather shoes.

It all fell apart on Christmas Eve, four years back.

I married Marco, became the Costa Donna.

Every crew in the five boroughs bowed to me.

Even The System said I was inches from home.

Then Rosa Frost vanished, leaving a blood-soaked letter framing me for luring her to a warehouse to be brutalized.

Overnight, I lost everything.

Vincent disowned me.

Marco stripped my title.

Draven dumped me in the scullery of the Costa dock compound.

He wouldn't touch a single bite of anything I cooked.

Every single day, a maid stood over me, signing off on every pot and pan I put over the fire.

Too much salt, not enough heat, the broth too thin.

She'd shake her head, and I'd have to dump it all and start over from scratch.

Once, she made me dump and re-brew the same pot of Sunday gravy thirteen times straight, from noon right through midnight.

The fire died, my hands were raw, and she still said it wasn't right.

Draven called it Atonement for Rosa's pain.

Now Rosa was back, Marco belonged to her, and The System had finally opened the last door.

Death.

Draven snapped his fingers.

Two button men hauled me up by my arms, my toes barely touching the concrete.

His eyes flicked to the gun lying across the concrete, a mocking smirk tugging at his mouth.

"That desperate for attention? Practicing your grand finale? Shame no one was here to watch your little show in this shithole."

A ragged, bitter laugh tore from my throat.

He actually thought this was a stunt for Rosa.

"How kind of you, Consigliere, to drive all this way for the performance."

His face darkened.

"Rosa's back. Don't ruin the mood. You wanna kill yourself? Do it off Costa property. I ain't wasting my guys' time cleaning up your corpse."

The men tossed me out into the dirt like trash.

I stared up at him, and smiled bright.

Perfect.

I didn't hesitate.

I turned and ran straight for the choppy black water of the East River, and threw myself in.

This time, no one would stop me.

Behind me, Draven Valentino screamed my name like he'd burn the world to get me back.