Chapter 2

"District Seven loan sharks refuse to pay," my security chief said, sliding a tablet across my desk. "The boss says Bianca seized their books. Four bars in the red-light strip shut their doors. Word on the street is simple. No payouts for the Long Island widows, no tribute to the family."

I stared at the wall of red numbers on the screen. I said nothing.

After last night's summit, Bianca rented out an entire floor at an underground tavern downtown. Videos of old-school capos toasting drinks with her were already flooding our encrypted network.

The old men thought I was young. They thought a woman meant a soft target.

A soft knock came at the study door.

The heavy door cracked open. Gia walked in, holding a carved cedar cigar box. Her eyes were swollen red, and her steps were tiny and hesitant.

"Boss." She stopped three steps away, sobbing softly. "You didn't sleep at all last night. I brought these Cubans from downtown. My late husband smoked them for his headaches."

I leaned back in my leather chair and watched her.

Last week, when I bought her boy back from loan sharks, she knelt on this very floor and kissed my shoes.

"Put it on the desk," I said.

Gia stepped forward, placing the box on the corner with both hands. She lingered, twisting the hem of her jacket.

"Boss, please listen to me. Running this family alone is too hard for a woman. Bianca has three elders in her pocket. She won't stop. Just give her two docks. Buy some peace. It saves face for everyone."

"Give her two docks?" I raised an eyebrow. "Who put those words in your mouth, Gia? Bianca, or those old men?"

Gia's face drained of color. She waved her hands.

"Nobody! Nobody told me to say that. I just... I worry about you, Boss."

I picked up the brass letter opener and sliced through the seal on the box.

Ten cigars rested inside in a neat row.

I pulled one out and brought it to my nose. No rich tobacco scent. Just the faint chemical trace of synthetic glue.

The sharp blade cut clean through the rolled tobacco leaves.

The blade hit metal halfway through. I tipped the tip up. A black cylinder with a tiny wire antenna rolled onto the wood. A green LED blinked on the side.

A military wiretap.

If this box stayed on my desk, every command, every troop movement, and every order would go straight into Bianca's ears.

Gia saw the black capsule. Her knees gave out. She dropped to the carpet, shivering all over.

"Boss! I didn't know! I swear on my life I didn't know!" She crawled forward, reaching for the hem of my slacks. "Bianca gave them to me! She said it was just special tobacco to help you rest. She told me if I didn't bring them to your desk, she'd cut off my boy's other finger and mail it to my doorstep!"

I pulled my leg back and looked down at her.

"So you put the blade to my throat instead."

"No! Boss, please, for the sake of my dead husband—"

Heavy boots came down the hall, cutting her off.

A courier from the elder council walked straight in without knocking. Wet street rain clung to his leather jacket. His eyes held no respect. He set a black wooden box down hard on my mahogany desk.

"From the council," the courier said. He did not bow his head.

The box had no lock.

I opened the lid. A blood-stained armor-piercing round rested on the black velvet. A name was laser-cut into the brass casing. The late Don.

Under the bullet lay a letter signed with the red wax seals of six crews.

No room for debate: "Riots among the widows. Unfit to lead. Hand over the black onyx signet ring. Retire to your Long Island estate and stay out of family business forever. Or face forced removal under family law."

Right then, a low rumble shook the glass windows.

My security chief pressed two fingers to his earpiece. His jaw clenched.

"Boss. Speedboats from the south are pushing into our outer perimeter. They just fired two warning rounds at our watchtower. Crew Three abandoned their patrol boats ten minutes ago."

Enemies outside, traitors inside.

A coordinated strike, timed to strip me of the throne before sunrise.

Gia sobbed on the rug, clutching the desk leg. The wiretap blinked green. The dried blood on the bullet was still tacky.

They thought this would make me break.

I laughed once. I picked up the bloody letter and struck a match against the wood.

The parchment caught fire and curled into black flakes. I held the flame to the sliced cigar, took a slow pull, and exhaled thick smoke across the desk.

I lifted the heavy glass ashtray and dumped the cold gray ash straight over Gia's head.

"Drag her out. Throw her past the main gates," I told my security chief, keeping the cigar between my teeth. "Tell the perimeter guards to put a bullet through her knees if she steps on family soil again."

"Right away, Boss." Two armed guards dragged the screaming woman down the hall.

The courier shifted his weight. The arrogance slipped off his face.

I stubbed the cigar out and looked at him.

The courier stepped back toward the door. He gave me a thin, ugly smile.

"Midnight is the deadline, Boss. Hand over the ring. The elders make no promises where this fire goes next."