All Chapters of Not Your Mafia Fairy Tale: Chapter 1 - Chapter 7

The wind cut through my collar. Straight to the bone.I thought about that night. Seven years back.Third week married to Giacomo. He said he and Carlo were hitting the docks. "Family business."Then the gunshots came through the phone.My heart dropped. I didn't tell anyone. I just went."Giacomo!"I yelled it as I rounded the last container—then stopped cold.Carlo was on his knees. Back to me.His black coat was wrecked. Soaked through.Blood ran down the hem and bled into the concrete.And Giacomo—my husband—was standing there right in front of Carlo. Combat knife in his hand.I knew that knife.His favorite. He showed it off after the wedding. His name carved into the blade.That blade was buried in Carlo's chest."Carlo!"I screamed and lunged—then my arm got yanked back hard.Zoya.No panic. None.Just that cold look. Almost smug."Don't take another step, Jessica." Her voice was flat. "It won't do you any good."She had a folded paper in her left hand. Calm

The bookstore sat jammed between two alleys, easy to miss.Perfect.I pushed inside. Salvatore was crouched behind a shelf, sorting books. He froze, eyes sharp—then saw me and eased up. He flicked a look at the door."Corleone got eyes on the alley?""Yeah. We're clean." I ran my fingers over dusty detective novels.Carlo loved this place. He'd come in for one book and stay an hour. Salvatore used to joke, "Don could stretch buying a book into half a day of auditing."Salvatore reached low and pulled out two beat-up hardcovers.[Rossi Family Financial Records]. No dates."I copied them," he said, low, shoving them at me. "After Giacomo took over, he locked the real books in his office. What he shows us is fake. This is real. Everything dirty he's done is in here."I opened the first ledger. Yellowed pages. Neat handwriting. Every entry dated and precise. On May 12, 2023, a red line jumped out:[Delivered 100 firearms to the Valentino Family. Received $2,000,000. Not recorded

The Valentino Bar hugged a dead dock in South Chicago, neon bleeding red. Smelled like whiskey and cigars inside.I sat in a corner booth, thumb tracing my cold glass.Matteo Valentino leaned back across from me, cigar dangling from his fingers. Smoke curled around his eyes—sharp, locked in.Enzo had set this up. It was a key move against Giacomo."Jessica," Matteo said, flicking ash into his drink like it was nothing. "Enzo says you got dirt on Giacomo. Says you're callin' in that favor from ten years back." He paused. "I owed Carlo. But my Family don't do charity."I slid the brown envelope over. Inside—Salvatore's ledgers. Panama accounts. Courtesy of Zoya."The guns Giacomo sold you were thirty percent powder. Thirty. That shootout with the rival Family? Most of your guys got smoked 'cause the barrels kicked back. Right?"Matteo's face dropped. He flipped through the pages. Slower. Knuckles white. "I knew it. He blamed my men. Said we mishandled them.""There's more," I sai