bel

ore a storm. My father, Jerrold, stared at me, his cigar forgotten in his hand, ash dropping onto the

clasped, head bowed just enough to sugg

d forward, her arthritic hands grasping at my arm. Her face was a roadmap of wrinkle

ease! You cannot send her to the Griffith estate. They say the Don.

her barked, though hi

bell, listen to me. The stories... the women who go i

her figure I had ever known in this cold, loveless house.

, the kind that men like my father mistook for resignation. "Someone must pay the price for our family's safety. If Emma

a mixture of guilt and overwhelming relief. She t

her voice thick with emotion

laugh. *I am doing this

e walked over to me, his heavy hand landing on my shoulder. It wasn't a gesture of affection; it was the appraisal of a merchant checking the quality of his goo

er," I replied, kee

I will call the Griffith *Consigliere* in the morning. We will tell them Emmalee has falle

drink, Emmalee scrambled to her feet and threw her

You saved my life. Now I can be with Coleton. We'll be so happy. He

, my eyes staring over her sho

l. A beautifu

saw a handsome young lawyer with a charming smile

New Jersey for being a *Rat*. In our world, the sin of the father stains the son forever. Coleton was marked. He would never be a partner. He wo

iper who would strip Emmalee of every cent

mediocrity, social exile, and the slow, suffocating death of a housewife

ee," I lied, my voice smo

ears. "I will. And don't worry, Isabell. May

e," I

om to call her lover, her

. Maria was still weeping in the corner, cross

didn't need God.

where out there, in the heart of the city, Damian Griffith was

o

o a trap. I placed my hand against the cold glass, watching my reflection. I

ificial lamb. I was going to