The Don's Biggest Mistake: Sending Me to Jail

My first meeting with Chris felt like a dark joke.

It was my third year in jail. I was on the prison factory floor.

I was staring at the newspaper, lost in Falcone's midyear financials, when a voice sounded above my head.

"Leverage is too high. If I were you, I'd dump the two strip clubs and cash out immediately."

I looked up to see a man in a tailored suit.

He didn't look like an inmate. In fact, he looked like he'd walked in from a boardroom.

I learned later on that he was indeed here for a "meeting".

He was the heir to the Corleone famiglia, and he was there to "talk business" with the warden.

It was absurd.

From that day on, he became a regular.

We talked about finance, trade, and even human nature.

He was like an arms dealer, polishing my rusted claws piece by piece.

Before I got out of jail, he handed me a contract. He wanted me to be the Corleone famiglia's chief Consigliere.

"I don't do charity," he said. "I'm investing in your future. I want you to take back everything that was taken from you and help me erase the Falcones from Nelcaro."

…

A knock on the door snapped me back to the present.

My secretary's voice was tight when she told me Scarpa had arrived, unannounced. He was waving a gun.

I lifted my chin. "Send him up."

Five minutes later, Scarpa kicked the door open. His eyes were bloodshot.

He slammed a stack of bloodstained ledgers onto my desk.

"What did you do, Viviana?" he snapped. "Three of my smuggling routes were wiped out last night. It was you, wasn't it?"

I calmly leaned back in my chair. "Business is business, Don Falcone. The Corleones wanted your ports. That's just how it is."

"Drop the act! Do you think I'm an idiot? You're Chris's woman now, aren't you?" he said after letting out a sharp laugh.

He stepped closer. A familiar mix of control and rage burned in his eyes. "Is all this just to get back at me? By sleeping with another man? You disappoint me."

"You're disappointed?" I stood up and closed the distance. "Scarpa, when you sent me to prison five years ago, did it ever occur to you that I might be disappointed in you, too?"

He faltered, then snapped back in rage. "You broke the rules! You skimmed product and cost us billions! You never repented, and now you're blaming me?"

He seized my shoulders and shook me. "Come back with me. I'll pretend none of this happened. You'll still have a place in the Famiglia—"

"A place?" I cut him off cold. "In your garden, like one of your obedient Dobermans? I didn't survive five years in prison just to come back as your dog.

"As for whose woman I am now—"

I leaned in. My voice was razor-clear against his ear. "I'm the Corleone famiglia's Consigliere. I'm also your future undertaker."

Scarpa's fury boiled over. He raised his hand to hit me.

But this time, someone caught his wrist.

Chris had appeared at the doorway at some point. He had a cigar clamped between his fingers.

"Trying to lay a hand on my famiglia in my territory?" he began, slowly exhaling a puff of smoke. "Mr. Falcone, you must have a death wish."

Scarpa's eyes widened. He knew exactly who Chris was. "Chris, this is a private matter."

"A private matter?"

Chris shoved his hand away and shielded me. "She bears the Corleone name now. What does your famiglia have to do with her?"

Scarpa's face went white. "You'd go to war with the Falcones over this woman?'

Chris laughed. He was looking at a lamb ready for slaughter.

"You flatter yourself. This isn't a war. I'm going to kill you."