“PASS ME THE bowl of flour, and I’ll show you what to do if it seems like the dough gets a little too sticky,” Siena said.
Greta pushed the bowl across to Siena, while Giulia hoisted herself up on the edge of the counter. The two girls watched silently as Siena added just a tablespoon of flour at a time to the bread dough before she rolled it and kneaded it again and again.
“You have to make sure it mixes all the way through—you don’t want one part of the bread to have too much flour while the other parts don’t have enough. Always make sure you knead it really well after you add any extra in.”
“What would happen if the dough was too wet when it cooked?” Giulia asked.
“Depends, really. It might be too dense—it might not rise high enough. It could still be doughy in spots, and it’ll have that dough-ish taste.”
“You can’t just … cook it for longer?” Greta asked. “Make up for the difference, or something?”
“No, it doesn’t work that way, unfortunately. Bread has to be made just so—even the dough has to be the right consistency every time to make it perfect. If you add something, or take something away, you have to account for it somewhere else. If your kitchen is hotter than normal, you need to account for that, too.”
“Ugh,” Greta groaned.
Giulia echoed her sister’s sentiment. “This seems like a lot of work for just bread.”
“Sure, but if you master bread, then the rest is kind of easy at the end of the day. And we Italians do love us some bread.”
“Truth,” Greta said.
“It’s really that particular, though?” Giulia asked. “I feel like I should have been taking notes from the start, or something.”
Siena laughed a little, and gave her half-sister a smile. “The only thing more fickle than a man on this earth, is bread.”
Greta and Giulia passed a grin between one another. Their girlish laughter filled up Siena’s apartment. She took the moment to slow her kneading of the dough, and soak in their happiness. So much had been taken from these two young girls, and she wondered how much they would have to sacrifice before they could finally get their own happily ever after.
She was the one left caring for them a lot of the time. Sure, their useless aunt gave them a home to live in, and beds to sleep in. The woman fed them, and kept them clothed—mostly. That was the extent of their aunt’s involvement in their lives.
She didn’t care for them on a deeper level. They had no woman to go to when they needed a private chat. They had no voice to be their reason, or to give them direction when they needed that, too. They were, essentially, alone.
“Ma tried to teach me how to make bread once,” Greta said.
Siena passed the older of the two girls a look. “How did that turn out?”
“I wasn’t paying attention the way she wanted me to. She got mad. I got mad. We yelled a lot, and she kicked me out of the kitchen. I guess …”
“What?”
Giulia picked at her nails, avoiding everyone’s gaze and looking all kinds of awkward for the moment. It wasn’t very often the girls talked about their mother. They buried all their feelings, and memories of their mother somewhere deep, and kept them locked up tight where no one could reach. Siena didn’t think that was very healthy to do, honestly. Someday, they were going to have to deal with the murder of their mother, and the things that preceded it.
Right now, though, they couldn’t do any of that. It wasn’t a topic that Kev or Darren had wanted them to chat about, really. It might upset Coraline, after all.
Not that Siena’s mother made very much of an effort to be around the girls. Because she absolutely didn’t if she could help it.
“I guess,” Greta continued after a long stretch of silence, “I wish I had listened now. Been better that day—on a lot of other days, too.”
Without even thinking about it, Siena pulled her hands away from the bread, and reached out to her half-sister. She touched the girl’s cheek with a dough- and flour-covered hand to give Greta a gentle pat. It left fingerprints of flour behind, but Greta didn’t seem to mind.
“Your ma loved you, Greta. Regardless if you were terrible, or wonderful. She’s your ma, so you know what that means, right?”
“What?”
“That she loved you just as much on your best days as she did on your worst days. That’s what good mothers do. And I know you have a whole bunch of good memories to think about, but sometimes the bad ones slip through, too, right?”
Greta shrugged. “It makes me feel guilty sometimes.”
“Don’t. Okay? Just don’t. Focus on all the good because you are going to have more than enough bad moments in your life to focus on at a later date. Right now, just focus on all the good you remember.”
Her sister nodded. “Okay.”
“Back to bread?”
Both girls agreed.
Siena made quick work of breaking the dough into three chunks. She passed a piece to Greta and Giulia before pushing the bowl of flour over, too.
“Put a little on your hands, but not too much,” she said. “Keeps it from sticking. We’ll knead it a bit more, and then put them in bowls to rise for thirty minutes to an hour.”
“Okay,” the girls echoed.
Siena continued chatting with her half-sisters while they worked just to keep them occupied in a verbal way. At least then, she hoped their attention would not go back to darker places in their thoughts.
Or … that was her hope.
In the background of their work, the television played through breaking news on the major news network Siena liked to keep on daily. The news was always depressing, but in some ways, it also reminded her that her life could be a hell of a lot worse in ways.
Unfortunately, she also kept it on for another reason. Her family—and John’s, at times—seemed to be the focus of New York related news a lot lately. Organized crime was making a comeback; not that it ever went away, the idiots. The streets were bloodier than ever between the crime families, and rivaled the Chicago War from two decades earlier.
Attention was never good in their life.
It hindered business.
Siena slowed in her work as a shot of a street came into view on the television.
“Some sort of explosive device was detonated on …”
Siena blinked at the reporter’s words. Not because of what the woman said, but because of what she saw on the television. She recognized the street they were showing—a Brooklyn street full of small businesses. Mostly restaurants, but a few other vendors, too.
And then the shot changed to a building. Windows blown out, and a door ripped off the hinges. The front charred from fire, and smoke still billowing out from the broken, gaping holes of the business.
Explosive device.
“A restaurant that was undergoing renovations and owned by—”
“Darren,” Siena said quietly.
Her sisters looked to her, and then back to the television screen. They, too, stopped in their work to take in what they were seeing on the news.
The reporter continued talking. “Sources tell us prior to the incident, they had witnessed several men entering the restaurant at different times. The police have, so far, suggested it looked to be a meeting of sorts between the Calabrese and Marcello crime families. As you know, Gordon and Marney, there has been quite a bit of news about those families lately.”
The shot switched back to the anchors at the station. A man and a woman with their makeup pressed with powder, and their hair perfectly coifed back with not a strand out of place. Siena always thought they looked sort of like dolls in a way.
Fake, and unrealistic.
Unmoving, and unfeeling.
“We have reports of deaths on the scene, too, don’t we?” the woman asked.
“At least two.”
Siena held her breath.
She wondered …
She feared …
Her hands started shaking against the counter top.
Please give a name … please, please, please give a name, but don’t be his name. Don’t be John’s name. Give me a name.
“Others were apprehended at the scene,” the reporter on location stated. “Of course, the police were unwilling to release the names, as they have not yet stated what or who was the cause of the explosion, but we did get word elsewhere of the names of suspects apprehended.”
Siena gripped the edge of the countertop so tightly that her knuckles turned white from the pressure. She didn’t dare look away from the screen for fear she might miss something important. Her stomach had all but climbed up into her throat, while her heart had altogether stopped beating for the moment.
“Several members of the Marcello family—Andino and Johnathan Marcello being the two most recognizable figures apprehended at the moment,” the reporter continued.
Siena felt like her fucking knees gave out, though somehow, she managed to stay upright. Her stomach dropped back down into place while her heart began a slow beat once more.
Not dead, not dead … not dead.
Just in custody.
A knock echoed on Siena’s apartment door, but she was only half paying attention at that point. It took Greta poking her in the shoulder when the knock echoed a second time for Siena to snap out of her daze.
As she crossed the space to answer the door, she kept reminding herself that apprehended and in custody did not necessarily mean arrested. It simply meant they were with police, and likely being questioned.
Was it good?
Fuck no.
It was still workable.
This life taught her that.
Siena was still looking over her shoulder at the television when she opened the door to her apartment. She didn’t even get the chance to turn around and greet whoever was at her door before a form flew at her.
“You little bitch!”
Siena first felt her mother’s fingernails rake down her face before Coraline slapped her. The surprise attack—and the sting of the pain—was enough to set her off-balance. Her vision swam as she put her hands up in front of her face to defend whatever might be coming next, but it did no good.
Her mother hit her again.
And then again.
Unsteady from the surprise, Siena lost her footing as she quickly tried to back away from Coraline’s attack. Her back hit the floor hard enough to take her breath right out of her lungs, but she didn’t even have enough time to recover from that.
“How dare you?” Coraline screeched.
The sharp points of her mother’s heels hit her body. Her sides, and her temple.
“Ma, stop!”
“You knew, didn’t you? You knew what they were going to do! I warned you, Siena, I warned you!”
Another kick landed to the side of Siena’s head.
She was not a weak girl—not an incapable woman. She could and would defend herself, but something made her turn away from her mother’s attack, and simply protect herself instead of fighting back.
Maybe because it was her mother. She had once loved his woman. She thought Coraline loved her, too.
It was painful to be wrong.
So very painful.
“Stop!”
“Leave her alone!”
Greta and Giulia’s voices filtered through the ringing in Siena’s ears. That last kick to her head had done a number because her vision was fuzzy, and everything sounded like it was under water.
Siena blinked in just enough time to see one of her half-sisters fly at Coraline. She wasn’t sure which one, but the other girl came right after her, too.
Coraline landed on her back as she was shoved away from Siena’s prone form. It took another few seconds, and more shouting, before Siena finally gained enough of her bearings to try and move. She rolled over to her knees, and coughed painfully as she clutched her head.
“Little whores,” Coraline spat, standing up slowly. “Just like your mother.”
“Say that again, and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out,” Greta hissed.
Siena looked to the side to see Greta wielding a knife. One of the kitchen knives Siena had used earlier for their lunch.
“What are you going to do, little girl?” Coraline taunted. “Do you honestly think you could use that on me?”
“Try me,” Greta urged right back.
This was getting worse by the second.
So bad.
“Ma, leave,” Siena whispered.
Goddamn.
Her head pounded.
It hurt … bad.
“Leave,” Siena said louder. “Now!”
Siena looked at the floor, and the lines of the hardwood seemed to swim. She only heard the slam of the apartment door before her sisters were at her side again.
“It’s all right, it’s fine,” Siena tried to assure them.
Greta touched the side of Siena’s face, and her fingertips came back red. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s fine.”
“Giulia, get something frozen from the freezer for her head,” Greta barked.
“Okay!”
“I’m fine,” Siena said.
Then, she promptly vomited all over the floor.
Yeah, that wasn’t good.
Greta made Siena look her in the eyes. “She kicked you really hard in the head. A lot. Maybe you should go to the—”
No.
She had to stay.
What if John came?
What if …
“It’s fine,” Siena repeated.
She was becoming a broken record.
Greta frowned. “I’m sorry you don’t have a good ma, either.”
Yeah.
Siena was sorry for that, too.
“There’s a phone under my bed in a box,” Siena said, struggling with every word. “A shoebox—it’s black, like the phone. There’s a contact. John. Just … call until he answers.”
“John?”
“John,” Siena echoed.
And then everything went black.
• • •
Siena was alternating between icing the lump on the side of her head, and pressing the frozen bag of mixed vegetables to her cheek where Coraline had scratched her viciously. The scratches felt like they were on fire whenever something cold wasn’t being pressed against them to level out the heat.
At least, her vision had cleared and her head had stopped pounding. That only took a good six hours. She probably should have listened to Greta, and took the young girl’s advice to go to the hospital.
Siena likely had a concussion, and needed to be looked at. Still, she stayed at her apartment. Neither Greta, nor Giulia left, either. In fact, they stayed right by Siena’s side the entire time to make sure she was okay. They wouldn’t let her sleep, or even close her eyes for more than a couple of seconds at a time.
They were sweet girls.
Good girls.
They did not deserve the hell that had been brought down on their lives by their half-brothers. Siena was never more aware of that fact than now.
“Greta?”
“Hmm?”
The girl looked over at Siena with worry creasing her brow. Siena instantly wanted to take that away. Greta was only seventeen. She didn’t need to be worrying herself with the problems of the adults around her.
This life made girls grow up too early.
It always did.
“Ginevra is in Canada,” Siena said quietly.
Greta stilled. “What?”
“On the day she was supposed to get married, a gift was sent to her private room when it was just me and her in there. That was intentional—planned ahead of time. The gift was a letter with instructions, new identification documents, and a way to get out of the country.”
Tears filled Greta’s eyes.
Giulia had fallen asleep on the chair across from where they sat on the couch.
“So, she’s okay?” Greta asked.
“She is great,” Siena said, “as far as I know now. I haven’t gotten any information on her since she left. That was kind of the deal.”
“Will she come back?”
“Maybe.”
“When could she come back?” Greta pressed.
“When it’s safe.”
When all the men threatening her safety and life are gone from this city. Siena didn’t say that out loud, though. She knew they were one step closer after today to finally getting Ginevra back to her younger sisters.
Kev was gone.
Darren … might be, too.
Siena didn’t really know at this point. She had been watching the news, and waiting for any snippet of information that might give the names of the two men deceased from the explosion at the restaurant. Nothing had come up yet.
Her mother had not come back for round two, thankfully, but that also meant she couldn’t get any information out of Coraline, either. The enforcer who had dropped the girls off earlier that day had yet to come back and get them.
Siena figured that was because too much was going on outside of her apartment at the moment. A whole world of new trouble had just popped up for all the men of the Calabrese family, and it was all about damage control right now.
They needed to get this situation under control before they even considered dealing with something less important. They had better things to deal with than two principessas who needed nothing more than to be returned to their aunt’s home.
Greta and Giulia likely didn’t even mind.
Neither did Siena.
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you months ago,” Siena said softly.
Greta shook her head fast, and wiped her eyes with the heels of her palms. “No, it’s okay. I understand, really. Thank—”
The front door of Siena’s apartment opened with such force that it smashed into the wall. The noise made Siena jump, Greta duck, and woke a very confused Giulia up from her sleep.
Jerking in surprise was not a good thing for Siena’s current state. Pain swelled in the side of her head all over again, and made her double over on the couch. She pressed the frozen bag of mixed vegetables harder to her temple in a shitty attempt to relieve some of the sudden pressure. Her stomach threatened to revolt all over again.
“Oh, my God,” she groaned.
“Siena? Shit … babe.”
John’s voice was the only thing that felt remotely good in that moment. Siena didn’t even have time to lift her head up before he was in front of her. Kneeling down, his hands found her thighs, and his gaze locked on hers.
Warm hazel.
True love.
Calm and beautiful.
For a second, her vision focused, and Siena was good again. At least, for a moment.
“Don’t move,” she told him.
John’s brow furrowed. “Why would I move?”
“Just … don’t. If you move, I might get dizzy again, and I don’t want to puke.”
“What happened?”
His harsh demand made her flinch. He didn’t miss it.
“Shit, sorry. Sorry, babe. I would have been here sooner after I got the messages on my phone, but I wasn’t even given my phone until they released me once my attorney got there. Here, let me look at you.”
Soft fingertips drifted over her face. The sensation was such a stark contrast to the pain and heat coursing through her head. He peeled her fingers away from her cheek, and then convinced her to drop the frozen bag, too.
Siena watched John’s gaze drift over her face, and injuries. His fingers followed the same path—careful not to press too hard, or hurt her as he checked her out. As the silent seconds ticked on, she could plainly see his rage growing.
He hid it, sure.
She still saw it.
“What happened?” he asked one more time.
Calmer.
Quieter.
Still as stone.
“It’s okay,” she told him.
John made a grunt under his breath—dismissive, yet heated. “Nope. Try again.”
“Her mom,” Greta said. “She came over, yelled at Siena, and hurt her.”
John’s gaze darted to the girl beside Siena. “And who are you?”
“One of Matteo’s other daughters,” Siena muttered.
To his credit, John didn’t blink a lash at that. Nor did he out the fact he had been the one to take Greta’s beloved father away, either.
“Well … hello,” John said. “You were the one that called me?”
Greta nodded.
“Thank you.”
“Siena looks after us,” Greta said as though that explained her loyalty.
“Who are you?” Giulia asked.
John glanced over his shoulder at the girl. “Johnathan.”
“Johnathan who?”
“Marcello.”
The two girls passed looks between one another like that explained everything. Their silent conversations could sometimes be annoying, but in that moment, Siena had other things to focus on.
John, mostly.
Always John.
His hands cupped her face, and he brought her in closer. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, and a tear escaped the corner of Siena’s eye. He made quick work of wiping it away, though.
“I saw the news,” Siena whispered.
John nodded. “It went well.”
“Could have told me.”
“This wasn’t really my show. More … Andino’s.”
Siena nodded once. “Oh, I see.”
“Your head has one hell of a knot on it, and those scratches look really bad.” John looked her injuries over again. “I don’t like the looks of this—you should go get checked out.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
“I am.”
“Siena, I am taking you to—”
“I can’t leave, John,” she said. “I don’t have an enforcer with me, and it’ll only cause problems. I wanted you here because I was scared.”
A small smile edged at the corner of John’s lips. “You can do whatever the fuck you want to do. Don’t you realize what happened today?”
“A lot happened.”
And she was still trying to figure it all out. She supposed her scrambled head wasn’t really helping her case at the moment.
“Darren is as good as dead, Siena,” John murmured, holding her face so she couldn’t look away from him. “The cops let it slip when they were hounding me—he’s on life support until someone pulls the plug, and he’s not coming out of it. This is almost over. We’re so fucking close, love.”
A small swell of relief threatened to drown Siena.
Reality was a quick bitch, too.
Darren wasn’t dead.
Not entirely.
Not yet …
“Everything is going to change,” John said. “Starting now. I promise.”
• • •
Siena stared down at the prone form resting in the hospital bed. Monitors beeped, displaying heart rate, oxygen levels, and a non-existent brain function. Stiff, white blankets that had been warmed before being brought in were tucked firmly around Darren’s form.
According to the nurse, the blankets were new. Over seventy percent of Darren’s body had suffered severe burns in the blast, and being covered was typically considered a major no-no. However, the lack of brain function, and the stress his body was under meant Darren had not been placed on the burn victim ward.
There was no point.
John had been right.
Darren was not coming back from this.
A tube down his throat attached to a respirator kept him breathing. His heart only continued to beat because of the oxygen being pumped into his body. His brain was not working, and thus, not allowing his body to breathe on his own.
CT scans, MRIs, and reflective tests all showcased the same thing for Darren. He was, entirely, braindead. He was not going to wake up one day, and he was not going to get better as time passed on.
Ever.
The nurse and doctor moved quietly throughout the room. They worked in tandem which was interesting to watch. As soon as the doctor reached for something, the nurse came right behind him to finish what he left behind. Or better yet, should he need something, the nurse was already there to fulfill his unspoken request.
It was only once their attention turned back on Siena that she straightened a bit more, and waited for their next move.
“You can wait to sign the documents, if you so choose,” the doctor reminded her.
“My lawyer was clear. We went through the proper channels. Darren has no wife, no children, and at the moment, no parent we can make contact with. I am—according to the law, and the judge that signed off on my lawyer’s petition—Darren’s only next of kin. And I made my decision.”
She said all of this with a cold detachment that likely didn’t escape the doctor or nurse’s notice. At the moment, it was the best she could offer them. She had gone through a lawyer to get this finished—it only took about a week when her mother couldn’t be contacted, and did not appeal the decision to make Siena her brother’s next of kin capable of making life or death decisions for his person.
Who knew where Coraline was?
Siena had no idea.
“Could we get started?” Siena asked.
The doctor cleared his throat, and nodded once. “Yes, sure, of course. Once you sign the documents, and witness us turn off the machines, and remove the tube, you will not need to remain in the—”
“I will stay.”
The man gave her a look. “Many don’t prefer to stay and watch, and it can take a while.”
Siena stared back, unaffected. “I will stay.”
Until the bastard’s heart stopped beating.
Until he couldn’t hurt them again.
Until she was safe.
Her sisters.
John.
Siena would fucking stay.
“Okay,” the doctor murmured. “Let’s get started on these final forms.”
The next several minutes were a blur. Siena checking boxes, and signing her signature on too many dotted lines to count. It was all the same thing over and over again, simply reworded a different way, and on a new page.
Did she understand …
Does she agree …
No liability …
“And here,” the doctor said one final time.
Siena scribbled her name a little harder than before.
Done and done.
She stepped back, and found a chair in the corner of the room to make herself comfortable for the next little while. For all the machines and wires hooked up to Darren, it took only a couple of quick minutes to remove them from his body.
“Would you leave that one on?” Siena asked.
The doctor hesitated as his hand hovered over the monitor. “You want me to leave the heart rate monitor on?”
She needed to know.
She had to.
“Yes, if it’s possible.”
The nurse and doctor shared a look before the man nodded once at her. “Yes, I can leave it on. It might be upsetting, however, and—”
“I can assure you it won’t be.”
And it wasn’t.
When his heart stopped …
When it was still …
When it was silent …
Darren was dead.
Siena only felt relief.
• • •
Siena stepped out of the hospital room to find the enforcer that had been placed at the door before she went in had not moved an inch from his post. The man greeted her with a kind smile, and a nod.
“Siena,” he said.
Respectful.
Caring.
Soft-spoken.
This enforcer—a man who introduced himself by name, with a smile, and a handshake the first time they met—was not like any other guard Siena had ever had. He did not treat her like a piece of property to la famiglia that he was simply protecting.
He was not a Calabrese enforcer.
He was a Marcello enforcer.
And he was hers, now.
John had said everything would change the day the bomb blew a week before, and he had not been lying.
Everything was different.
“Pink,” she greeted.
Yep.
That was his nickname.
Pink.
Siena didn’t know how he got it, and she didn’t care to learn. It just made her smile every time she used it.
“You’re the only one who can’t say my name with a straight face,” Pink said.
“Come on, it’s cute.”
“I’ve heard all the comments, Siena. They don’t surprise me or bother me anymore. Come on, the boss is waiting for you.”
“Where did John go?”
“To grab a coffee downstairs.”
“Oh.”
“He’s waiting for you—figured he would get back up here by the time you were done,” Pink explained.
Siena shrugged. “It’s okay. I don’t mind chasing after him.”
She had all the time in the world to do that, now.
Pink guided Siena through the upper level of the hospital, and then down to the main floor where John had apparently gone. They did not find him at the coffee shop, but rather, outside surrounded by several men.
Most of which, Siena recognized.
They were her brothers’ men.
Or … they used to be.
John, in his tweed coat and black Armani suit, with a hand flicking outward to showcase a diamond encrusted Rolex in a dismissive gesture, looked entirely at ease. Despite, apparently, the stiffened postures and angry expressions of the men around him.
“You seem to think you have control now,” John said, “or even that dead men have control of this family now, and I am not very sorry to inform you that you are all mistaken. Your first—and last—mistake with me will be to ever underestimate or question my authority.”
“We don’t answer to you, Marcello, not now, and not—”
“You will address me as your boss, or as the Don, or you will address me from your broken knees with my gun in your mouth. Try again.”
Pink kept Siena back a few steps by holding onto her shoulder with one beefy hand. She saw a few gazes of the men drift in her direction, but they quickly went back to John.
“So, that’s how it is, then?” another one asked. “The Marcellos are just going to come in to our organization, and clean fucking house like this?”
“I’m not cleaning anything,” John said, “this is my house. It has always been mine. Someone else was looking after it for a time. Mind you, they did a shit job about it, but you’ve got a new boss to correct that issue now.”
“This is not your famiglia!”
John pointed a single finger at the man, and then looked over at the guy who had driven him and Siena to the hospital earlier while Pink followed behind in Siena’s car. “He will be the first to learn. Tonight, don’t stall.”
“Yes, boss.”
The man in question made a move like he was going to come forward, and John didn’t wait for him to make the choice. Instead, John was the one to go forward himself until he was standing toe-to-toe with the man.
“Do you have something to say?” John asked. “Now would be the time.”
The man swallowed hard. “You’re a fucking lunatic. Crazy—a shame. No Calabrese man will ever accept you as their boss. You don’t have what it takes, and they’ll ruin you, Johnathan. Mark my fucking words.”
For a brief second, Siena’s heart clenched for John. He had been right—everything was changing for them. Starting with the Calabrese family. He and his men had slid into the organization, and within a week’s time, made it abundantly clear there was new leadership in charge.
That didn’t mean it was easy.
Or that the men were agreeable.
She knew that everything that man had just thrown at John were some of his worst fears being laid out on the ground in front of him to see, and for everyone else to dissect. That he was not good enough—that he would never be.
But they didn’t know him.
Not like she did.
Siena caught sight of John’s slow, cold smile starting to grow. His next words came out calm, and sure. The most sure she had ever heard him speak.
“This is no longer a Calabrese family—there’s a Marcello running this shit now. Keep calling me crazy, and your wife will get you back in pieces. I don’t have what it takes? You think this position just came to me? You think this isn’t mine to take?”
John took another step closer, crowding the man and smiling wickedly all the while. “Check my bloodlines, motherfucker. I was made by men—and raised by men—you can only dream to be. My bloodlines? They’re written in fucking red. Grovatti blood. My life? It’s written all over this city. Marcello legacy. You’ll understand what all that means really soon. It’s a promise. I don’t break those.”
Good God.
She loved this man.