From a Throne of Crime to the Sea

I had been Julian Valachi's ghost for five years, his secret weapon. And for the fifth time, he handed a core family business to someone else.

As always, he dangled the map to power before me. "Scarlett, think long-term. Just a little longer. Wait until I'm the Don, until we run the West Side. I promise, the next territory will be yours…"

At twenty-one, I had been a fool, willing to bet my life on a throne of crime beside him. Now, at twenty-eight, the years of shadow-play and bloodshed had stripped away my last shred of loyalty.

I emptied my safe and surrendered my ambition to climb the ranks of Chicago's underworld. I gave up on him, too.

Julian, this time, I’m not looking back.

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1

At a Chicago dinner that would decide the new balance of power, the top floor of a lavish hotel overlooking Lake Michigan was teeming with the city's elite—from the city’s criminal underworld to its public-facing elite. They wore well-tailored suits that hid their fangs.

Julian stood in the spotlight, his eyes deep and captivating—the kind that could disarm a woman and make her forget her own name. He scanned the room, then announced that control of the Chicago port's smuggling routes would be handed over to the Genovese family.

I gripped my wine glass so hard my knuckles turned white. Seconds later, the crowd rose to its feet, erupting in a wave of insincere but fervent applause.

This was my fifth year as Julian's ghost planner. It was also the final year of the "blood contract" I had signed with the Valachi family.

My lover, Julian Valachi, was the one carving up the city. He had just handed the twenty-two-year-old Principessa, Bianca Genovese of New York, a perfect betrothal gift. And just like that, he placed her on a throne of power while personally shoving me into the void.

Bianca descended from the stage in a white evening gown studded with diamonds. Her Christian Louboutin heels were silent on the plush carpet as she strode straight toward me.

"Oh my gosh, Scarlett, I really can't thank you enough…" she began, her bright brown eyes feigning a disarming innocence. A true master of deception, even if she couldn't plan her way out of a paper bag.

"I never thought it would go so smoothly," she sighed.

Then, Julian approached, one hand tucked casually into his suit pocket. "Bianca," he said, a proud smirk on his face, "since when does the winner thank the loser?"

He paused, his gaze sweeping over me without lingering.

"Scarlett, she's new to this. Cut her some slack. You know how important this alliance is to the family. There will always be a next time for you."

They stood before me like a king and queen.

Julian’s arm hovered protectively behind Bianca, who beamed. Together, they looked like the perfect power couple straight out of a gangster movie.

I stared into Julian's eyes, searching for a flicker of guilt, a hint of reluctance. I found nothing.

He had truly forgotten that winter five years ago, when he desperately needed cash to crush an internal rebellion. My only living relative, my father Marco, had racked up crippling debts to loan sharks in Oregon. The bills piled up, forcing me into a desperate gamble: a seven-year, exploitative blood contract with the family.

If I could prove myself worthy of becoming a Made Man within seven years, the family would wipe the slate clean. If not, the astronomical debt, plus punitive interest, would become my burden alone.

With that contract, I had miraculously helped Julian secure his position as heir and saved my father's life.

I had bet everything on this game. And in the final year, Julian had shattered my hopes with a single, casual decision—handing over the very prize that would have made me a Made Man.

The brutal truth settled in. The Valachi family wouldn't give me another seven years. And my sixty-three-year-old father didn't have much time left, either.

There won't be a next time, Julian.

Camera flashes swiveled toward us. I took a step back, forcing the most graceful smile I could muster.

"Congratulations to you both." I paused, my voice dripping with ice. "The union of Valachi and Genovese is truly a blessing for Chicago."