Chapter 1

Heavy rain pounded against the bulletproof glass of my Long Island estate.

The fireplace burned quietly. I checked the ledger on my desk. Maintenance, private doctors on rotation, and armed guards around the clock. The total came to two hundred grand a month.

The former Don took a bullet to the chest and bled out in the gutter. I took over the empire and every mess he left behind. My soldiers bleed for this family. I refuse to let their widows become targets for our rivals. Every dime comes straight out of my private trust, not the family accounts.

A knock broke the silence. My security chief spoke through the door.

"Boss, time for the summit. The capos and elders are waiting in the great hall."

I locked the ledger in my drawer and went downstairs.

Cigar smoke hung thick in the air. Capos from every district packed the long conference table. At the far end sat a dozen widows, draped in black veils, quiet in the shadows.

I pulled out the high-back chair at the head of the table. I scanned the room.

"Last year's audit is clear. South Port cuts go to your crews as usual."

"Cut the crap, Scarlett."

A cold laugh sliced through the room.

Bianca kicked her chair back. Her dead husband used to run the vanguard crew. She knocked over her wine glass, staining the white linen red, and marched straight toward me. She waved a thick stack of papers in the air.

She ripped the papers apart and threw the shreds right into my face.

"Look at this." Bianca shoved a finger toward my face, her voice shrill. "This is her so-called shelter trust. She cooks the books. She pockets the money our dead husbands bled for. She locks us in this compound with armed guards at the gate. She keeps us out of the business. It's a prison."

Paper scraps settled onto the floor. The hall went dead silent.

The old elders slammed the table.

"Is this true, Scarlett? Our men die in the streets and you treat their bloodline like garbage? Put a woman in charge, and the family burns to the ground."

Whispers spread through the room like fire.

Bianca brought ten veiled women forward, closing in on my seat.

I spotted Gia right in the front.

Last week, loan sharks in Brooklyn took her son. I gave up four bars of pure gold to buy him back. Now, Gia hid behind Bianca. She picked at the strap of her bag and stared at the floor. She refused to meet my eyes.

"Done?" I leaned back against the leather, my voice steady. "Independent auditors clear every dollar. The doctors, the private suites, the food. I pay for all of it with my own money."

"Your money? Stop feeding us lies." Bianca sneered.

She pulled a slab of cold titanium from her coat and slammed it onto the wood.

The master key to South Port's automated freight containers. Her dead husband ran that sector. The crew stashed this spare key before he died.

"Want this back? Fine." Bianca raised her chin, dripping with greed. "Sell this estate. Wire fifty million dollars in cash to the Black Veil Sisterhood. Give us full tax rights on every South Port dock."

She turned to the capos, her voice loud and demanding.

"Scarlett owes us. Give us the docks, or I break this key right now. I will shut South Port down tonight. Nobody gets their shipments."

The elders shifted in their seats. They looked between me and the key, doing the math on their own cuts. Not a single man stood up to stop her.

Treachery. Greed. A knife in the spine at my most critical port. This was what two hundred grand a month bought me.

Any warmth left in me turned to ice.

I did not yell. I did not argue. I drew my ivory-grip Browning and pinned the key to the table.

The hammer clicked back into place.

Bianca stopped breathing.

"Family rule. No asset leaves the boss's hands." I stared into her bloodshot eyes, my voice dropping low. "South Port belongs to Corleone, not your little club. Take your three-grand check and go back to your room. That's your only warning."

The room went dead still. Two younger widows stepped back in fear.

Bianca bit her lip until it turned pale. She looked at the silent elders, pulled a blood-stained petition from her coat, and threw it at my gun.

She locked eyes with me, her threat loud enough for every capo to hear.

"Give us South Port, Scarlett. Or I tell every crew in this city what kind of hypocrite you are. I'll tell them you feast on the blood of dead soldiers."