The Discarded Wife Is A Mafia Queen

ella

on the upper floor smelled of old parchment and the heavy, suffocating scent of expensive ciga

tion papers across

t," I d

ity and condescension. "Mrs. Moretti, you know I cannot dissolve your consulta

olely to wash the family's bootlegging money through legitimate fronts. You have five minutes, Henderson. If this isn't st

ate terror of the Feds trumped his loyalty to Dante. With trembling hands, he brought the brass seal

copy and w

ran into Luca. Dante's most trusted right-hand man

t over us. "The name is Falcone," I corrected him, my voice echoi

s to your *Underboss*. Tell him I no longer work for him. He better find a re

thality radiating from my posture. He realized instantly

r of an engine cut through the city noise as a flashy red Bugatti Type 35 pulled up to

torious, mocking smirk. "What, sister? Tired of playing your

nstead, I stepped off the curb and leaned down until my face was inches fr

ura"* (I'm here to take out the trash),

e unease flickered in her eyes. I didn't give her another glance. I turned m

I stared blankly at the flashing lights outside the windo

g a severe meltdown in class.

o get off at the next stop and run to my daughter. But I forced my spine

voice a robotic, clinical monotone. "Direct all matters concerning h

s of my eyes. It was a brutal sacrifice, but it would force Dante an

achine, perfectly predicting the scene playing out in the penthouse. Luca would hand Dante the paper. Dante, blinded by his own arrogance, w

e was dealing with a broken wife, completely unaware that *

n't enough. I needed to build an untraceable node. Tomorrow morning,