The heavy oak doors of the grand dining room slammed shut behind us with a sound that felt like a final judgment. The air inside the room was stiff, saturated with the rich scent of aged whiskey, expensive cigars, and the cold, acidic tang of fear. Seven men were seated around the massive table, the Capos and underbosses of the Costa crime family. They were the architects of my new world, and today, they were here to see if their Don had made a fatal mistake by marrying a Russo.
Luciano’s hand was heavy and possessive on the small of my back, a constant, grounding force that held me together even as my heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. He wasn't guiding me into the room; he was presenting me. A prize won in blood, now sitting at the head of his table.
"Gentlemen," Lucia
