The grand ballroom of the Salvatore estate was a masterpiece of lethal elegance. Crystal chandeliers fractured the light over hundreds of guests—men in bespoke tuxedos who commanded illegal empires, and women draped in diamonds bought with blood money. Waiters wove through the crowd carrying trays of vintage champagne. Laughter echoed over the smooth jazz playing from the live band.
It was a kingdom at the height of its power. And I was about to burn it to the ground.
Don kept me close to his side as we descended the grand staircase. The moment we entered the room, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations hushed. Heads turned. I could feel the weight of their stares, sizing up the fragile stray the Don had elevated to his side.
I smiled. I nodded. I played the part. But beneath the silk of
