When The Mafia Queen Fights Back

"Boss, he's at The Crown. Gallo turf." The voice on the other end was my guy, low and steady. "Top floor. Sofia's private suite."

I hung up and started the car.

The lights of New York City blurred past my window.

I gripped the steering wheel. My mind went back seven years.

Back then, all I loved was skiing.

The Alps. Far away from my family's blood and bullshit.

I hated the men in suits with guns hidden under their jackets. Hated the fancy dinners that were just a front for backroom deals and bloodshed.

Sofia used to laugh at me. "You're a princess, always out on some mountain. What happens if something goes wrong? The family won't even have an heir."

I’d just wave her off and fly down the slopes. My own world.

Then the avalanche hit.

Marco appeared out of the storm. A ski patrol rescuer. He used his body to shield me, digging us out.

His eyes were clean. None of the ambition and bloodlust I was used to seeing.

"Are you okay, beautiful lady?"

His smile was like sunshine.

I thought I’d found the one.

Later, I found out he was a candidate to lead the Rossi family.

A small family, trying to survive in the Vettori shadow.

I didn't care.

He told me he hated the violence, too. That he wanted to legitimize his family's business. He said his dream was to travel the world with me, to escape this filthy kingdom we were born into.

"I just want you, Isabella. Forget being a Godfather, forget family honor. None of it means a thing next to your smile."

Those were his exact words.

For that "gentle soul," I went against my father for the first time.

My father ground his cigar into the mahogany desk. "Isabella," he warned, his voice like gravel, "a lion doesn't lie down with a lamb. He's playing you."

I didn't believe him.

I used all the Vettori family resources—my dowry from my father.

I pulled Marco out of the mud. I cleared out his rivals, gave him the funds, and practically gift-wrapped the Godfather's throne for him.

Then we got married.

For the first two years, he was the man I fell in love with. He loved me, spoiled me.

But slowly, after my father died, he changed.

He got cold. Distant. He started acting more and more like the kind of Godfather I always hated.

I told myself it was the pressure of running the family.

I told myself he just needed time to adjust.

Until tonight. Until I saw the way he looked at Sofia.

That look used to be for me.

I slammed on the brakes. The car skidded to a stop at the back entrance of The Crown club.

This was Gallo turf. But my name was the only pass I needed. A Vettori goes where she wants.

I took a small listening device from my purse. My father taught me: always be ready for the worst.

The elevator went straight to the top floor.

Sofia's private suite was at the end of the hall.

I pressed my ear to the door and switched on the device.

Voices came through clear.

"To our new Godfather!"

I knew that voice. It was Luca. I’d backed three of his casinos myself.

"Seriously, Marco," Luca's voice was slick with a dirty laugh, "how did you put up with that ice queen for five whole years? Everyone says the Vettori princess is a useless ornament. Probably a dead fish in bed."

A round of laughter.

My nails dug into my palms.

"Don't talk like that," Marco's voice was lazy, full of a contempt I'd never heard before. "Without that 'princess,' I'd still be shaking down shopkeepers on some shitty corner in Brooklyn. She's boring as hell, but her dowry wasn't just money—it was the entire Vettori machine."

Suddenly, Marco's voice cut through the noise. Sharp.

"Put that out."

His voice was suddenly soft.

"Are you crazy? You can't smoke cigars when you're pregnant. It's bad for the baby."

The air in my headphones went still for a second.

The blood in my veins turned to ice.

Pregnant.

"Oh, sorry. Force of habit." Sofia's voice was sickeningly sweet.

I could picture it.

Her putting down the expensive Cuban cigar, rubbing against Marco's arm like a good little kitten.

"You're so tense, honey," Sofia cooed, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "The doctor said the baby is strong. It's a boy, Marco. A true heir. With Rossi and Gallo blood."

"I just don't want anything to go wrong," Marco's voice was full of a tenderness he hadn't shown me in years. "After tomorrow, I'll give you and our son the best of everything."