The Phantom Heiress: The Underboss's Obsession

phin

of dark water, cabin pressure, and th

staring at the passport i

r, her hair styled in a way that suggested she spent time in

ust as the sun dipped below the horizon, bleed

re-marble columns, gilded gates, and manicured lawns that scream

ress made of

upposed father, stoo

fit of his suit. He had a tight, nervous smile plastered on his face, flanked by a dozen g

vening, her face a mask of Botox and barely concealed loathing. She looked at me not as

n the stairs with his arms open. "My girl.

d the sentence.

om the long driveway, followed immediately by t

t gates, the wrought iron groanin

dows, MAC-10 submachine guns spraying

his mouth hanging open, paralyzed by the kind of panic th

h her fur coat. The Russo guards fumbled for their weapons, their movements slow, clumsy,

hyper-focused reality where time seemed to dilate. I didn't dive for

in a single, fluid motion. The weight

. P

pressed

ack, a red mist painting th

rajectory. It crashed into the estate's massive stone fountain, the soun

oughing through the smoke of the deployed airbags. He r

alread

ot him. I wanted

e. I grabbed him by the tactical vest, spinning him around, and dr

for air, I pressed the hot muzzle

I asked. My vo

med to cut through the ring

at the "convent girl" who had just dismantled his team in six seconds.

tate. I pulle

od up, wiping a single speck of blood from my cheek wi

g in mid-air as if he were trying to catc

and a sudden, greedy realization. He didn't see a dau

body at my feet, her face

a shell-shocked Russo guard who was

iovanni, stepping over the c

ty is a joke, and I don't intend to die beca

d arrived. And the Russo fa