No Forgiveness For The Broken Capo

"No," I said. The leather of the handle groaned under the pressure of my grip.

"We signed the division papers. Our ties are severed. This belongs to me."

Lorenzo let out a harsh laugh, a sound devoid of humor.

"Nothing belongs to you," he said, the words clipped and sharp. "You are trying to steal Family property."

He gave a slight nod to the men beside him. A hand seized my arm, another my shoulder, and I was thrown aside. My body struck the doorframe with a force that jarred the teeth in my skull.

I stumbled, catching myself against the rough brick wall.

One of the guards threw the suitcase onto the pavement, pulled out a steel baton, and drove it into the lock.

The metal of the baton met the lock; a sharp crack followed as the mechanism gave way.

He ripped the zipper apart, tearing the fabric of the bag.

The classified syndicate blueprints spilled out, scattering across the dirty pavement.

The garment bag tore open, and the half-finished Nirvana gown tumbled into the daylight. The white silk, meant for a cathedral aisle, settled in a heap on the grimy concrete.

The bulletproof SUV door opened again. Vivian stepped out, the sharp tap of her heels on the asphalt cutting through the tense quiet.

She walked over and clung to Lorenzo's arm, her eyes immediately fixing on the shimmering silk of the Nirvana gown.

"Enzo," she gasped, pointing at the dress with a manicured finger. "I want that one."

His attention was fixed entirely on the dress.

He bent down, picked up the gown, and dusted the dirt off the white fabric before draping it over Vivian's shoulders.

The fit was entirely wrong.

The bodice was too tight for her frame, and the length dragged on the ground.

Lorenzo frowned in disgust.

"It is garbage," he sneered, his voice loud enough for the entire street to hear. "It is unworthy of my new Queen."

He bunched the train of the Nirvana gown in his fist. The heavy silk resisted for a moment, the threads groaning under the strain, before a long, tearing sound ripped through the air, splitting the fabric from hem to waist.

But as his hands moved up the fabric, he subconsciously avoided the collar.

He did not touch the area where the initials SN were embroidered in delicate silver thread.

"Let me keep it," Vivian demanded, her lower lip pushed out as she pulled at a shredded panel of silk. "I want to use it as a floor mat for the guest bathroom."

"No," Lorenzo refused sharply, tossing the destroyed gown onto the dirt.

The dress no longer mattered. Only the documents.

I dove to the ground, my knees striking the pavement, the impact sending a shock of pain up through my bones, and reached out to gather the classified blueprints before the wind could blow them into the street.

Lorenzo stepped forward, grabbing my shoulder.

He shoved me backward.

"Leave it!" he roared.

I lost my balance, my heels slipping on the scattered papers.

I fell backward, my lower back slamming directly into the sharp metal edge of a shattered glass table that had been dragged outside.

A sharp, shearing pain erupted deep in my abdomen. It was not a blow, but an internal tearing, hot and absolute.

I collapsed onto the ground, my lungs refusing to draw air.

A warmth spread beneath me, too quick and too copious to be anything but blood. I looked down. A dark stain was blooming across the front of my dress.

I looked up at Lorenzo.

The sneer on his face did not fall; it froze, and the colour drained from his skin, leaving a waxy, grey pallor.