Chapter 3

The next evening. The Continental Hotel in New York. The holy ground for the mob. Lights blazing. The air was tense, electric.

Tonight was The Syndicate Gala. The annual meeting of the North American mafia.

This was the ultimate power play. Every kingpin, oligarch, and tycoon from the East Coast would be here. Dressed to kill.

For the Callahans, this was the most important battle of the year. It decided how many scraps of territory they'd be thrown next year.

In the grand hall.

Chloe wore a custom-made starlight-blue gown. Her neck held high and proud.

I leaned against a marble pillar in the hallway. Hands in my pockets.

I wore a black biker jacket. The kind that could stop a small-caliber bullet. The same bloodthirsty knife was strapped to my thigh.

In the back alleys of the Bronx, this outfit meant death.

To the Callahans, it just screamed ‘slum.’

Chloe walked over to me, holding her dress.

She looked me up and down. Gasped dramatically, hand over her mouth.

“Oh my god, sister. You're going to wear that to the Gala?”

Her eyes were full of fake ‘concern.’ “Everyone who matters in the underworld will be here tonight. Even that terrifying Russian Pakhan from New York might show up. If you wear that, people will laugh at the Callahan family!”

Eleanor heard her and rushed down the stairs.

Her face was cold. She threw a tacky, sequined red dress at my feet. It was tiny.

“Change into this.” Her voice was a command. No arguments. “It was Chloe's. It's old, but it's better than that poor-looking leather jacket! This is not the place for your street-trash style to embarrass us!”

I glanced at the red dress on the floor.

Pathetically small. Cheap fabric.

If I tried to wear it, I wouldn't be able to breathe. I'd look like a cheap dancer from a third-rate club.

“Not changing.” I said it calmly. Didn't even look up.

“Don't you understand the rules?!” Eleanor snapped. She raised her hand to slap me.

“Enough, Mother. You can't teach a street punk about class.”

Victor was at the full-length mirror. Coolly adjusting the concealed gun under his suit.

He turned around. Looked down at me.

“If she wants to wear those rags, let her.”

Victor made his decision. Coldly. “Tonight, at the gala, Aurora will enter behind the bodyguards. She is not to go near the main banquet area. Not without my permission.”

He paused. His eyes were a clear warning.

“To everyone else, we'll say she's a distant relative. A low-level collector. That way, if she makes a fool of herself, it won't reflect on the Callahan name.”

A low-level relative.

A perfect cover story.

They didn't have to acknowledge me, their embarrassing true heir. And it kept Chloe's image perfect. The one and only Callahan princess.

“That's very thoughtful, brother.”

Chloe let out a sigh of relief. She grabbed my hand, her voice dripping with fake sympathy.

“Sister, don't overthink it. He's just trying to protect you. You've never been to an event like this. It's easy to say the wrong thing and offend someone important.”

“Once you get used to family life, we'll introduce you to everyone properly.”

As she spoke, her eyes landed on my neck.

Her pupils shrank. Her eyes lit up. Pure, naked greed.

It was my eighteenth birthday present from Killian.

A necklace with a blood-red diamond cross. Impossibly rare. Crafted by a master.

In the Russian Bratva, this necklace wasn't just priceless jewelry.

It was a symbol. The highest power to execute, second only to the Pakhan himself. A power no one could question. It was the tyrant's personal mark.

“Sister, your necklace…” Chloe stared at the crimson diamond. It glowed under the light. She swallowed hard. “It's so beautiful.”

Eleanor followed her gaze.

When she saw the necklace, her face twisted in disgust and contempt.

“Beautiful? It looks like cheap glass from a slum pawnshop!”

Eleanor pointed at my neck, her words sharp. “Take it off. Now! The real players of the underworld will be there tonight. You want to piss them off by wearing that cheap piece of garbage?!”

I almost laughed.

Cheap glass?

Piss off the big shots?

If the owner of this necklace got pissed, the entire New York underworld could disappear overnight.

Chloe seized the opportunity. She quickly took off her Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet.

“Sister, Mom's right. That necklace is not proper. Why don't we trade? I'll lend you this expensive bracelet to wear. You give me the red cross necklace. I'll just wear it around the house. I don't mind that it's a cheap fake.”

She smiled. So innocent. Like a princess giving alms to a beggar.

I looked at the bracelet in her hand. Then at the blood-diamond cross on my neck.

“Sure.”

I obediently unclasped the necklace. Placed it in her hand.

“You're the one who asked for it.”

I saw the triumphant glint in Chloe's eyes. I added quietly.

“I just hope your neck is strong enough.”

“To bear the weight of this necklace.”