The Mafia King’s Queen
The club was only dimly lit, the air thick with the reek of alcohol and despair.
It was the kind where handshakes sealed deals and were broken by gunfire.
I sat in the quiet booth, whiskey in front of me, back to the wall.
I waited.
For her.
Fiorella D'Angelo.
The so-called queen of her father's empire.
I'd spent the day wondering whether she'd be even remotely the woman people described. The mafia had a reputation for exaggeration, making men monsters, women mythical legends that people couldn't even touch.
Most of the time, that's just what they were, exaggerated tales.
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