A City Without a King
The war was over.
Anatoly was dead. The Bratva was in ruins. The Romano family had won.
But victory did not bring peace.
New York’s streets were eerily quiet, as though the city was holding its breath. Power vacuums never remained vacant for long.
On an old rooftop building owned by the Romano, Luca watched over the city. His city now.
The wind buffeted his blood-soaked shirt, though by now he hardly registered the pain in his shoulder. His thoughts were elsewhere.
Sofia came beside him, resting against the edge, her knife spinning between her fingers. “You’re overthinking it,” she said.
Luca exhaled. “We won. But I don’t feel like we did.”
Sofia scoffed. “That’s because you know what’s going to happen next.”
Luca turned to her. She was right.
Murdering Ana
