His Matriarch, Her Seraphim

I had just closed a deal in Europe when Consigliere Stefano Abrams, who had been like a father to me, called. He told me he had arranged a marriage for me with the Giordano family. My intended was Don Vincenzo's son, Felice Giordano.

Felice was the acknowledged "prince" of the Chicago underworld. The Giordano family's entire communications network was dependent on Seraphim, the encrypted system I had single-handedly built.

After wrapping up my affairs, I slipped into a black velvet evening gown and hurried to the alliance dinner. I never expected to be stopped at the entrance of the Giordano family's private estate by Felice's mistress, Bianca Rossi.

She was poured into a provocative, sheer red gown, easily stealing the spotlight.

"If you know what's good for you, get lost," she sneered. "You're nothing but a nameless orphan. Take a good look at yourself. Do you really think you're worthy of the heir to the Giordano family?"

I asked, "Does Felice know you're speaking for him like this?"

She scoffed. "You only got this far on the fumes of that old man Stefano's reputation. How could you possibly understand how much I mean to Felice?"

As she spoke, a blush of obsession and arrogance colored her cheeks.

I studied her for a few seconds before dialing Felice's number. "If this is your idea of hospitality—letting your fiancée get barked at by your little pet at the gate—then I'll personally hand-deliver 'Seraphim' to the Volkov family and let you watch your empire burn. How does that sound?"

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1

I'm an orphan. I've only survived this world of bullets and betrayal—and become a world-class cryptographer—thanks to the protection of Consigliere Stefano Abrams.

He gave me everything and treated me as his own daughter. So, I was willing to extend a little patience to this arrogant man he’d chosen for me.

If Felice Giordano could handle her immediately and give me the explanation I deserved, I wouldn't mind giving him another chance for Stefano's sake.

"Cassia? What is it?"

It sounded noisy on Felice's end, filled with men's laughter and the clinking of glasses. He made a casual remark to someone on his end, clearly having missed every word I’d said before bringing the phone to his ear.

"Come get me and bring me inside. Your mistress is blocking the door—"

Before I could finish, he clicked his tongue, his voice dripping with impatience. "Who do you think you are, some Principessa? Don't you have legs? Can't you walk in yourself? I'm busy entertaining the Underbosses from all the major families. I don't have time for you women and your jealous squabbles. Get yourself in here."

With that, he hung up, leaving me with a dial tone.

Bianca covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, a mocking glint in her eyes. "Did you hear that? I'm just following Felice's instructions. If you want to go in, then go in—if you can."

I could crack the world’s most complex cryptosystems, but I swear, dealing with these illogical idiots was enough to give me a migraine.

"Miss Rossi, are you that confident in your position? Was blocking your master's fiancée at the entrance to the alliance dinner part of your plan to climb into his bed?" I asked.

"Too bad you've got such a sharp tongue. Compared to someone like me, who can actually help him with business and understand him, Felice despises a good-for-nothing bookworm like you who only knows how to fiddle with computers," she retorted, taking a step closer. "This is Giordano territory. No one is going to protect you here."

My gaze turned to ice. "Someone who understands him? A plaything who can't be seen in public? Does Felice know that his little toy in bed barks like a bitch at every woman who gets near him?"

My words struck a nerve. Her face flushed with a mixture of shame and anger. She raised her hand and swung at me.

I stepped back, dodging her attack. "You resort to violence when you can't win an argument? Do you slap people when a business deal goes south? Wow, you really are 'someone who understands him.'"

"Hold her down for me!" Humiliated, Bianca's voice was so sharp it cracked.

She gasped, glaring at me, and pointed a trembling finger at the family bodyguards standing by.

At her command, several Giordano family Soldati, who had been enjoying the show, began to advance on me.

"Are you going to be as foolish as Bianca? Do you know who you're about to lay your hands on?" I warned, my voice low and steady.

The Soldati exchanged glances. Then, the one in the lead spoke, his tone respectful but his eyes filled with mockery.

"Miss Thorne, we are only following orders. Please try to understand. Miss Rossi is a favorite of Felice's, and you... you're just a tool for an alliance. Unless your dead parents suddenly crawl out of their graves with some shocking pedigree, we can only say we're sorry."

My form-fitting gown and high heels weren't exactly designed for a brawl. I managed to dodge them twice, but they quickly used their numbers to overpower me, grabbing my arms and forcing me to my knees before Bianca.

She stared down at my face with a grim expression, then suddenly broke into a feral grin. She slowly pulled a sharp dagger from her tall boot, the meticulously polished blade glinting coldly under the lights.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my mind rapidly calculating the probability of escape.

"Stop!"

A low voice, thick with cold fury and a faint, hard-to-place Russian accent, cut through the tension. The tip of Bianca's dagger froze in mid-air.