Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Revenge of Don’s Secret Heiress: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

The phone rang in the empty office. There was something almost funny about it — the Don of Naples, working as my switchboard.The line connected."Yeah." My father Enzo Ferrante's low voice came through, glasses clinking faintly in the background — somewhere a private club was running a big deal."Dad. It's me. Sofia."The line went dead silent. Then a crash — a table flipped, glass shattering on the floor."Baby. Finally. That hick soldier laid hands on you, didn't he? I'll have him gutted before sundown.""Bring everyone. Porto Scuro, on the bay. Bring your best surgeon. Bring whatever else you need to bring." I stared at the stiletto in my hand. My knuckles had gone white. My voice was flat."Someone broke your son-in-law's ribs. They held my mother-in-law down in a barrel of rotting fish."A sharp intake of breath on the other end. Then a roar of pure rage."They've lost their fucking minds. Touching anyone who belongs to Enzo Ferrante. You hold tight. I'll have that miserable litt

The sun was sliding down. The clouds along the horizon had gone deep red.But the dockyard at Porto Scuro was lit up like noon. Dozens of torches turned the stretch of pavement bright as day.A few hundred people, torches and crowbars and chains and fishing gaffs, packed in around the four of us.The air had a weight to it that made it hard to breathe.Rosa was clutching Giulia, both of them shivering, neither daring to make a sound. Marco was propped against a rusted iron anchor, gray-faced, his chest spasming with every breath.Don Salvo had climbed up onto the warehouse steps, holding a fat book he called the "Town Code" — really just a private compendium of the punishments the local underworld families had decided on, year by year. He looked down at us from up there."Marco Conti broke town rules. He let his wife pull a knife on locals. Disrespect to his elders. Sentence — both legs broken, expelled from Porto Scuro, forbidden to return. As for that shrew Sofia — three days on disp

My father, Enzo Ferrante, in that black cashmere overcoat of his, a Cuban cigar clamped between his teeth, every hair in place. He stood there and the weight of him hit you — the Don of Naples, no act, no posing, just the real thing distilled out of decades of blood and fire.Don Salvo stared. His lips trembled, just a little. He'd worked the docks half his life and met every kind of man who walks in our world, but the one in front of him was different. The men he knew — when they walked into a room, they checked where the exits were. The man in front of him walked into a room, and everyone else in the room started thinking about how to get out.Behind him came my mother, Carmela — the Donna of the Ferrante family — in heels and a wine-red coat. Lipstick on. Eyes like winter."Dad. Mom—"I'd been holding it together all afternoon. Now it broke. The stiletto fell out of my hand and rang on the stones.When my father took in the blood and the torn dress, the hand holding the cigar shook.

Greco was running cold sweat. He nodded into the phone, bent at the waist."Minister, I was wrong. I didn't know it was Mr. Ferrante. I'll pull back, right now, please give me a chance—"The minister's voice on the other end was ice."You won't be pulling back. Anti-Corruption is on the road as we speak. The things you've done are enough to keep you behind bars for the rest of your life. You can spend your retirement reflecting in there."Click. Dead air.Greco's face went the color of ash. His sidearm fell out of his hand and clanged on the stones. Whatever was holding him together gave out.The officers he'd brought in looked at each other. They quietly holstered their weapons. None of them was about to make a move. If a deputy commissioner had just gone down, what were street cops going to do?Bruno had given up. He'd folded onto the ground and was muttering, "It's over, it's over."I watched it. I should have felt some kind of satisfaction. I didn't. The only thing in my head was M

Naples. San Paolo Hospital. Private wing.The smell of antiseptic. The steady beep of the monitor.Marco had been under for three days. Three days I hadn't left the side of the bed. My eyes had gone red from it.My parents came every day and brought every kind of expensive thing they could find. Even Director Antonio Conti himself came, leaning on his cane.The old man wept when he saw me. He kept holding my hand and saying the Conti family had wronged me, that they'd put me through too much.The TV was running the evening news, the anchor's even voice filling the small room."In recent days, authorities along the Bay of Naples have broken up a major transnational arms-smuggling case. The smuggling ring led by Bruno Sacco has been dismantled at every level. The mayor of Porto Scuro, Don Salvo, is removed from office and remanded to a special tribunal on charges of providing protection to organized crime, severe corruption, and obstruction of national security operations.""Bruno Sacco,