Not Your Chip
Right before the syndicate's power handover, I flew back to New York after a year of studying jewelry design in Europe.
But the night before the ceremony, my secret boyfriend of three years—the Rossi family's new second-in-command—sent me a text:
[Sorry, Chloe. I lost a card game, and you were my chip. You're his problem now.]
Before I could even breathe, I got tagged in the family's encrypted dark-web channel.
The top thread was blowing up: [The Mafia Boss Just Won a Fat Pig for a Girlfriend!]
Pinned right at the top was an old photo of me from a few years ago. Back when I was 180 pounds.
The comment section was ruthless:
[If the Boss knew what he actually won, he'd regret making that bet.]