Chapter 4

My palm collided with her cheek before the impulse even fully registered in my brain.

The sound was sharp, sickeningly loud-like a pistol crack in the silent room.

Sofia stumbled back, clutching her face, her eyes wide with theatrical shock.

"Elena!"

Click-click.

The distinct, mechanical sound of safeties being disengaged.

I turned slowly, the blood roaring in my ears.

Luca and Matteo were on their feet.

Their guns were drawn.

Half-raised.

Pointed at me.

Pointed at the girl they had sworn blood oaths to take a bullet for.

The air vanished from the room, sucked out by the gravity of their betrayal.

I looked at the black barrels of the Glocks. Then I looked at their faces.

There was no hesitation. Only instinct.

And their instinct was to protect her from me.

"You hit her," Luca breathed, his eyes wild, unrecognizable. "You actually hit her."

"She shattered a three-hundred-year-old instrument," I said, my voice unnervingly steady, though my heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. "And you drew weapons on a Vitiello."

Matteo looked down at his gun, then at me. His grip tightened.

He didn't holster it.

"You're out of control," he said coldly. "Apologize to her."

"What?" A harsh, dry laugh clawed its way out of my throat.

"Apologize to the guest," Luca commanded. He stepped between me and Sofia, using his broad chest as a shield. "Now."

Sofia began to sob behind him, a jagged, pathetic sound. "I didn't mean to! She pushed me! She pushed me and I dropped it!"

"There are cameras," I said, pointing a shaking finger toward the ceiling corner. "Pull the footage."

"I don't need footage to see you're a bully," Luca spat.

"Apologize," Matteo repeated, his voice devoid of the warmth I had known all my life.

I looked at them.

Really looked at them.

The boys I grew up with were dead. They had died the moment those safeties clicked off.

These were strangers with familiar faces.

"No," I said.

I turned and walked out of the room.

I felt the laser burn of their eyes on my back, waiting for the shot.

They didn't pull the trigger. Not with bullets, anyway.

Later that night, I had to make an appearance at the Social Club.

It was a mandatory gathering for the Outfit's younger generation. If I didn't go, it would look like weakness. And tonight, I could afford nothing less than absolute armor.

I wore black.

Severe, high-necked, long-sleeved.

Mourning clothes.

When I walked in, the music didn't stop, but the whispers started, slithering through the air like smoke.

"Where are her dogs?" someone muttered near the bar.

"I heard they have a new owner," another voice laughed.

I ignored them and walked straight to the poker table in the back.

The high-stakes room.

I took my seat. The dealer slid the cards across the green felt.

Texas Hold'em.

I peeled up the corners of my hand.

Two Jacks.

I stared at the painted faces of the Knaves. The servants. The foot soldiers.

They stared back at me with hollow, mocking eyes.

"Are you in, Elena?" the dealer asked.

I looked across the room.

The double doors swung open.

Sofia walked in, flanked by Luca and Matteo.

She was wearing a short, red dress. Tight. Cheap. She was clinging to Luca's arm like a parasite.

Matteo was scanning the room, playing the tough bodyguard, but his gaze kept snapping back to her.

They didn't even look for me.

They had abandoned their post.

The entire room watched them. The disrespect was palpable, heavy enough to choke on.

The Underboss's daughter was sitting alone at a card table, exposed, while her sworn protectors were parading a nobody around like she was the Don's wife.

"I'm folding," I said.

I threw the two Jacks face up on the green felt.

"I'm discarding the trash from my hand."

The dealer looked at the cards-the two treacherous servants lying on the table.

"You're out of the game, Miss Vitiello?"

I stood up, smoothing my skirt with deliberate, icy calm.

"I'm done playing games," I said, my voice carrying over the sudden silence of the table. "I'm changing tables."

I walked past them on my way out.

Sofia smirked at me, a flash of victory on her tear-stained face.

Luca looked away, shame flickering in his eyes for a microsecond before he hardened his jaw.

Matteo glared, daring me to speak.

I didn't say a word.

I just walked into the cold Chicago night, knowing that the next time I saw them, I wouldn't be their Princess anymore.

I would be their judge.