ella

only by Angelo's wet, ragged breathing

grandmother, desperation bleeding through her iron facade. She believed the old Sicilian

estured toward a towering, battle-scarred man standing near the wall. "Vittorio Moretti. A decor

. Another cage. They still thought

voice slicing through

y gaze to the massive oil portrait hanging

and *Capo* could hear. "I choose the man who truly embodies the honor of this f

rrying a dead man. Becoming an untouchable, revere

s flashing with immediate disapproval. I stepped

ect. "His name makes me untouchable. And for this 'sacrifice,' the Morettis will owe us a deb

profound sorrow, dabbing her dry eyes with a lace handkerchief. "My brave, tragic girl," she proc

whelming relief and guilt. The

, Angelo weakly raised his he

absolute disgust. "You are a *dison

ty lashes." As Angelo was dragged away screaming, Nonna Caterina turned her cold eyes to

ed, hauling the sobbing Genevieve up by he

all, I excused myself. The crisp winter air of th

carrying a black medical bag. Dr. Valachi. The butc

led. What was a Falcone dog doin

moment to pray. As soon as she was gone, I slipped into

sealed mausoleum, strictly off-limits. I lost sight of Valachi as he turned a

eavy oak door open, and slipped inside, pressing

ky breath and o

k with the scent of old leather, a freshly poured glass of amb

rt sto

at a man. He leaned forward, the dim light catching the sharp, rut

n Mor

al power. His cold, gray eyes locked onto mine,

cigar, the ember glowing li

lly voice vibrated through the floorboar