The Mafia Queen Who Went Home and Never Looked Back

There was an old code in the neighborhood: if you weren't married by thirty, Don Greco would call you home to sit across the table from the matches he'd chosen for you.

When I told Lorenzo Vitale about it, he let out a cold laugh.

"What is this neighborhood of yours, some kind of medieval cult?"

"Adriana Bellini, I told you I'd marry you, and I will. But cornering me into it is a completely different thing."

He drew a ring from his pocket and tossed it to the soldier-girl waiting by the door, without so much as a glance.

She caught it, her cheeks flushing pink.

"I was going to ask you, actually. But since you want to play it like this, let's take some time to cool off."

The ring I'd waited years for, and he just handed it to someone else.

For a moment, my mind went blank.

Lorenzo strolled out of my office, the corner of his mouth curved in a smug, victorious smile.

Gemma held the ring out to me.

I didn't take it.

"Keep it. He bought it for you anyway, didn't he?"

"Go ahead, put it on. I'm sure it fits perfectly."

The color drained from her face.

I showed her out.

Before I closed the door, I said: "Tell your Mr. Vitale that he and I are done."

……

That evening, Lorenzo came in from his rounds to find me packing.

His step faltered when he saw the two large suitcases in front of me.

"How come you didn't wait for me today?"

There it was again.

He always had this ability to turn the page on his own, as if nothing had happened.

And I was supposed to take the out he offered and step right down with him.

Pretend everything was fine. Play the devoted couple again.

But I was done pretending.

"Didn't your little soldier pass along my message?"

His brows knotted instantly, like I'd touched a nerve.

"I'm trying to talk to you like a normal person, and you just have to be passive-aggressive about it?"

"Gemma is practically your sister. You're the one who vouched for her, who brought her into the Family. What's with the attitude now?"

He wasn't wrong.

I was the one who'd brought Gemma Russo into the operation.

She was from the same old neighborhood as me. Don Greco had always told us that those of us who left the quarter were to look out for each other.

So when she finished her schooling and had no place, no one to stand for her,

I gave her a place in the operation myself.

She was sweet and eager to please, and I was glad to bring her along.

Until I noticed the way she looked at Lorenzo, her gaze growing softer, more lingering, more lovesick with each passing day.

I recognized that look.

Lorenzo had been the golden boy back in the early years,

and I'd watched countless girls look at him the exact same way.

But his eyes had never landed on any of them, not even for a second.

So I chalked it up to a young girl's crush and let it go.

Then her mistakes started piling up, the kind that cost the Family money and standing,

and I gave her a few words of correction. Nothing harsh.

She didn't talk back. She just stood there crying while I spoke.

But Lorenzo wouldn't have it.

He raised his voice at me in front of the whole crew for the first time.

"She's just a kid. You could've gone easy on her."

"She's practically blood. What are you doing, throwing your rank around like some petty tyrant?"

I was so furious I laughed, but I didn't back down.

"Do you have any idea how many people in this operation have had to clean up after her mistakes?"

He waved his hand dismissively.

"Fine then. Gemma answers to me from now on. She's mine to run."

He glanced around at the crew who'd gathered to watch the show.

"And if anyone else has a problem, you bring it to me. Stop whispering behind each other's backs."

"If you can earn your keep, earn it. If you can't, you know where the door is."

He walked off with long, sweeping strides, like a capo back from a clean job.

Gemma trailed after him, worship written across every line of her retreating figure.

……

I looked up. Lorenzo was staring down at me, towering, imperious.

Somewhere along the way, everything between us had stopped being about right or wrong and become about him winning.

Every conversation a sit-down he had to walk away from on top. Every disagreement a war he had to take.

He wasn't the same man who'd once whispered to me in our cramped little rented rooms above the old quarter: "The only person I'll ever lose to is you."