The Discarded Mafia Princess's Ruthless Return

I was the Falcone fam

declared me a

my title. My sist

e through glass, and lef

slum thug to be destr

e's voice over the p

th-floor window int

urv

ng back as their

the queen of thei

ones are abo

irl who has already

pte

fina

seventeenth birthday, a beam of projector light struck the ballro

tice of genetic markers, de

my former life rescinded. The alternative, he stated with the same dispassionate calm, was to be thrown to Don Alessandr

cold wire, threw a hard, surgical light upon t

at was cleared. The silence was

cles around her mouth tighten

revealing the reflective edge of a porcelain veneer as a faint, nasal sound squeezed fr

table; the report of cracking crysta

d, the title of Mafia Princess is dissolved. You will work off your debt in this house. Five hund

Don Alessandro Russo was not merely a monster; he was a collector of human tr

eventeen years, our heartbeats had bee

ly thing, her finger aimed at my unraveling hem. "She always had the look of

hour ago, called me family. A dense, cold mas

" I said, my voice a thread

only to gather enough coin to v

tured to

ment," he commanded. "She do

thick fingers digging into the fle

n a sweep of marble stairs, and cast me into

lt shot home with a sound of metallic f

unfinished concrete scraped against my cheek as a knot of pain tightene

soled shoes stoppe

oon enough," Carlo's voice, distor

ith the stray th

be reinstated. The Chicago Outfit demanded an arranged marriage, and I need her as a bargaining chip. They thought they coul

, swallowed by the corr

my body coiling against the pain.

egan to form in the

gainst the cold slab, letting the chill seep throug

ongratulatory lies drifting down through the stone. They thought they had buried me in this basem