Chapter 3

The boutique held the kind of quiet that only cost money.

I ran my hand over the thick, charcoal wool of the coat.

It was heavy.

Structured.

It was designed for sub-zero temperatures and biting winds.

It was a New York coat.

"Chicago isn't that cold yet, Princess," Luca's voice drifted from the doorway of the dressing room.

He was leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest.

He looked exhausted, shadows clinging to his under-eyes, but he remained handsome in that dark, brooding way that used to make my heart skip a beat.

Now, it just made me wary.

"Winter is coming," I said, checking the fit in the mirror.

"You have twenty coats," he said. "Why do you need this one? It looks like armor."

"Maybe I need armor."

I handed the black card to the sales associate without looking back.

"Wrap it up."

We walked out to the armored SUV waiting at the curb.

Matteo was in the driver's seat.

Sofia was in the passenger seat.

My seat.

The seat where the Principal Protection Officer sat.

It was a breach of protocol so flagrant it bordered on a joke.

I opened the back door and slid onto the leather.

"Hey Elena!" Sofia turned around, flashing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "My landlord said the gang activity near my apartment is getting bad. Someone got shot down the block."

She shivered dramatically.

"That's terrible," I said, scrolling through my phone, checking the weather in Manhattan.

"It's unsafe," Luca said, climbing in next to me. "We can't let her stay there."

"So move her," I said without looking up.

"We were thinking," Matteo said, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. "The Safe House on 4th Street is empty."

My head snapped up.

The 4th Street Safe House wasn't just a house.

It was reserved for Made Men and blood family.

It was where we went when the rival families put hits out on us.

"No," I said.

"Why?" Sofia pouted. "It's just an apartment to you, isn't it?"

"It's a sanctuary," I said. "For family. You are not family."

"She's with us," Luca said, his voice hard. "That makes her family."

"Since when does a soldier decide who is Vitiello blood?" I asked.

"Since you stopped having a heart," Matteo spat. "We're moving her in tonight. We already cleared it with the shift commander."

They used my name.

They used my authority to bypass the Capo.

"Fine," I said. "Do what you want."

I went back to my phone.

I wasn't fighting for territory anymore.

I was leaving the map entirely.

When we got back to the estate, there was a package waiting in the foyer.

It was wrapped in brown paper with Italian stamps.

My parents.

They were in Italy on business, finalizing the asset transfer for my move, though the boys didn't know that.

The package had been ripped open.

A screeching sound filled the hallway.

I walked into the drawing room.

Sofia was holding the violin.

It was a 17th-century Guarneri, a gift from my grandfather to my father, and now to me.

It was worth more than Sofia's life.

She was sawing the bow across the strings, holding it by the neck like it was a cheap toy guitar.

"Look, I'm playing!" she giggled.

Luca and Matteo were sitting on the sofa, clapping.

"Stop."

My voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the room like a blade.

Sofia froze.

"Give it to me," I said, holding out my hand.

"I thought it was for the house," Sofia said, clutching the instrument to her chest. "Like decoration."

"It's an antique," I said, taking a step forward. "Hand it over. Now."

She stepped back, her eyes darting to the boys.

"You're scaring me," she whimpered.

"Elena, back off," Matteo warned.

"Give me the violin, Sofia," I said.

She smirked.

It was a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch of her lips.

She loosened her grip.

The violin slipped from her hands.

Time seemed to slow down.

I lunged for it.

But I was too far away.

The wood hit the marble floor with a sickening crack.

The neck snapped cleanly off the body.

The strings hummed a discordant, dying note.

Silence.

"Oops," Sofia whispered, her hand over her mouth. "It slipped."

I looked at the shattered wood.

It was the only thing my grandfather had ever given me.

I looked up at Sofia.

And for the first time in my life, the Ice Queen melted.

And underneath was pure, boiling rage.