Matilda stormed out of the meeting, her heels clicking sharply against the cold marble floors of La Familia’s headquarters. The betrayal stung deeper than she expected. She had anticipated resistance, yes, but not a complete rejection. They had turned on her—all of them. Even those she once counted as loyal.
The rage in her chest simmered, dangerous and volatile. She clenched her fists, inhaling deeply to steady herself. They thought this was over. They thought they had won.
They were wrong.
She reached the parking lot, where a black sedan idled in the shadows. As she approached, the back window rolled down, revealing a man in his late forties—Lorenzo Salvatore, a powerful underboss with no love for Martina or Silas. His dark eyes studied her, unreadable.
“So,” he said coolly, “it seem
