Too Late, Mafia Don: I Am Free

nna

ange, beautiful thing. It had a

morning shirts, of waking to the sound of a gun sl

recedented se

y, a constant hand at the

y on a Monday, the shift in the a

stride, his polished shoes making sharp, deliberate clicks

elvet-wrapped box on

ging open to reveal a diamond bracelet th

t toss a coin to a beggar who had f

p the box and slid it right back acro

nico," I said, my voice flat.

ico's eyes, the gathering of

ssal thing, could not bear th

side him, a soft, placatin

tone dripping with a sweetness so false it was aci

Lyla's frame, from her designer sh

arching a single brow, "after you two fin

over Lyla's face, her mask of innocenc

d like a pistol shot that made the surr

x back toward me, his k

ll," he issued the direct, cold order,

lked away before

I packed my bag with a del

d meeting spot, walked straight out the gre

syndicate, and with a deliberate pinch of my fingers, snapped the tiny piece of plastic in half. The sound was no louder

s later, when the results of the crucial midterm boa

oard, finding my name at

st in the en

p hundred, until I found Domenico's name

seen not as a scholastic lapse, b

the intellectual legitimacy the Family needed to launder its reputation. That w

on linoleum echoed down the hall

d over, his fac

spun me around, his grip

d, his chest heaving. "You are sa

he demanded, his body a wall in fron

d brushed at the fabric of my jacket

furious stare. "Does the future Don of the Cosa Nostra

oed from the students

crowd, her eyes wide wi

enna, please! The syndicate's stabi

m her grasp, repuls

said, my voice carrying clearly down the quiet corrido

back on bo

ft from my shoulders, my head held high, breathin

low, dangerous growl that vibr