THE PHOTOGRAPH IN THE PINK COAT

The air in the yellow room turned to ice.

Don Salvatore, the Godfather of the entire East Coast Syndicate, stood in the doorway of my house. He was seventy-five years old, with stark white hair and eyes like chipped obsidian. He radiated an absolute, terrifying power that made Olivia’s hired guards look like frightened children.

Olivia immediately lowered her pistol, her face paling. She straightened her posture, trying to project a confidence she clearly no longer felt.

“Don Salvatore,” Olivia said, her voice shaking slightly. “We weren't expecting you to arrive until the house was secured. As you can see, the transition is almost complete.”

Salvatore didn't look at her.

He looked at Marco, bleeding on the floor. He looked at Lily, sobbing quietly in the dumbwaiter shaft.

And then, he looked directly at me.

“Catherine,” the old man said, his voice gravelly and respectful.

I pushed myself up from the floor, ignoring the pain in my scalp where the guard had pulled my hair. I stood tall, locking eyes with the most dangerous man in America.

“Don Salvatore,” I replied, my chin held high. “You are a guest in my home. I apologize for the mess. The trash clearly let itself in.”

Olivia’s face flushed crimson. “How dare you—”

“Silence!” Salvatore’s voice cracked like a whip.

The room fell instantly quiet.

Salvatore leaned heavily on his silver cane, taking a slow step into the room.

“Olivia Rossi,” Salvatore said, finally looking at the younger woman. “You came to the Commission a week ago. You told us that Marco Bellini had lost his mind. That he was threatening your daughter. You asked for our blessing to remove him and place Vincent in charge of Chicago, with you as his Queen.”

“Yes, Godfather,” Olivia said eagerly. “And we have succeeded. Marco is finished.”

Salvatore hummed softly, a dangerous sound.

He reached into the pocket of his tailored vest and pulled out a heavy, antique silver pocket watch. It was tarnished, the silver worn smooth from decades of use.

He popped the lid open, checked the time, and snapped it shut.

I stared at that watch. My breath caught in my throat.

It was my father’s watch.

My father had been a quiet, unassuming man who ran a chain of bakeries in Chicago. Or so I thought, until the day he died twenty years ago, and half the city’s underground had shown up to his funeral. I had never fully understood his rank in this dark world until this exact moment.

“Your father, Catherine,” Salvatore said, looking at the watch in his hand, “was a man of honor. He saved my life in 1985. When he died, he gave me this watch, and he asked me for one favor.”

Salvatore looked up, his black eyes locking onto mine.

“He asked me to ensure that if the wolves ever came for his daughter, the Commission would stand behind her.”

Olivia stepped back, her eyes widening in pure horror.

“Godfather, wait,” Olivia stammered. “She is a barren woman! She has no bloodline to secure the territory! I have Marco’s daughter!”

Salvatore turned to Olivia. His expression was utterly devoid of mercy.

“You are a foolish, arrogant child,” Salvatore sneered. “You thought you could manipulate the Commission? We investigated your claims, Olivia. We know you’ve been skimming from our ports. We know you poisoned Marco’s men. And we know exactly what you did to the real mother of that child.”

The room spun.

I looked at Marco. He had forced himself up onto his elbows, staring at Salvatore in absolute shock.

“What?” Marco gasped, spitting blood from his lip. “What do you mean, the real mother?”

Olivia panicked. She raised her pistol, aiming it wildly between Salvatore and Marco.

“Don't listen to him!” Olivia shrieked. “I am a Rossi! You cannot touch me!”

Before she could pull the trigger, Salvatore’s guards moved with blinding speed. Two gunshots shattered the air.

Olivia’s pistol flew from her hand as a bullet shattered her wrist. She screamed in agony, collapsing to the floor. The guard who had been holding me at gunpoint was shot cleanly through the shoulder, dropping his rifle and falling beside her.

Lily shrieked, covering her ears.

I dove toward the dumbwaiter, pulling the wooden panel completely shut to shield the little girl from the violence.

Salvatore didn't even blink at the gunfire.

He walked over to where Olivia was writhing on the ivory rug, clutching her shattered wrist.

“Marco didn't sleep with you in Miami, Olivia,” Salvatore said coldly, revealing a truth that brought the entire world crashing down around us. “He slept with your younger sister, Elena. The quiet one. The good one.”

Marco let out a choked, agonizing sob.

“Elena had the child in secret,” Salvatore continued, his voice echoing in the blood-stained room. “And when Elena threatened to expose you for stealing from your own father’s syndicate, you had her killed. You took the baby, forged the birth certificates, and blackmailed Marco to secure your own power.”

I fell to my knees.

Lily wasn't Olivia’s daughter. She was the daughter of a woman Olivia had murdered.

Marco had been blackmailed, manipulated, and bled dry by a monster who had stolen his child’s true mother from the world.

Salvatore looked down at Marco.

“You are a fool for keeping this secret, Marco,” the Godfather said sternly. “But you are a man who protected his blood. The Commission respects that.”

He turned toward his men.