My Parents Stole My Engagement, but the Don Chose Me

After the reading, Chloe Lombardi snuggled against my mother and held up the obsidian cross at her throat. "Helena, this cross is so pretty. You're not mad at me, are you?"

The obsidian rested against her collarbone. The old Don had given it to me himself as the token of my engagement.

I looked down at my bare neck and answered calmly, "No."

My bond with Alexander didn't depend on a necklace anyway. If losing it meant I could leave without a fight, so be it.

My mother relaxed and finally lowered the gun from my shoulder. "I knew you'd be sensible. Don Ravelli has a nasty temper and a ruthless streak. Chloe's bubbly. She's exactly what he needs to keep him happy."

My father lit a cigar and looked Chloe over with satisfaction. "The new Don has never met either of you. The Ravelli family recognizes the token. Whoever wears the cross is the bride."

Then he shot me an irritated look. "You're too dull. You'd only annoy him if you married into that family. That one-eyed arms dealer out on the fringes needs a wife. He's perfect for a Sacrifice like you who can take a beating."

The window reflected the old scars on my shoulder. There were 11, each left by a bullet or blade I'd taken for this family.

And all they saw was someone who could take a beating.

"Fine." I didn't bother arguing with them.

When I agreed, Chloe smiled and hooked her arm through my mother's. "Mom, I told you Helena wouldn't fight me for it."

The Hanged Man still lay on the reading table, its rounded corners visible against the tablecloth.

The night before, I'd walked past the card room and seen my mother sanding down its corners. Then she'd marked the back.

They'd gone to all that trouble just to make sure Chloe drew the Empress and I stayed the Sacrifice, ready to be thrown away at any moment.

In the car on the way home, Chloe slid into the seat beside me and pulled up a series of gown photos. "Helena, come shopping for gowns with me tomorrow. I want the most expensive bulletproof couture in North America, and I want the designer to fly in from New York personally."

She held the photos up in front of me. Each gown cost enough to buy dozens of vials of emergency serum.

I said, "I have a job tomorrow."

I pulled my arm free and pushed the photos back.

Tears sprang to Chloe's eyes. "Helena, I just want you to come with me this once. You won't even do that for me?"

My mother turned around and snapped at me, "Wipe that look off your face. Your sister's about to be the Donna of North America. You should be honored she's asking you to go shopping with her!"

My father slammed on the brakes, and the seat belt dug into my barely healed wound. "Helena, don't forget your place. The Sacrifice protects the Empress. That's the way it's always been!"

Blood seeped through the bandage. I pressed a hand over the wound and said nothing.

Chloe was all smiles again, already planning her married life. "Once I'm running the Ravelli family, I'll have Alexander buy me a private island and hire 100 mercenaries to guard me."

My father laughed and said she already carried herself like a Donna.

I scoffed to myself. Funny how no one had asked Alexander whether he even wanted to marry her.

Back in my room, I opened the drawer where I kept my tactical gear. Inside were my loaded sidearm and more than a dozen mission maps.

Over the years, I'd taken out traitors for this family, won back territory, and escorted three weapons shipments.

All Chloe had to do was draw a rigged Empress card, and my engagement was hers.

My encrypted phone lit up with an unread message.

"In three days, a helicopter will be waiting for you on the roof."

The sender: Don Alexander Ravelli.

I typed back, "Okay. See you in three days."