Under my rule, we’ve fought for and conquered territory, both in this city and California as a whole. But power struggles within my family would be a distraction and could threaten the ground we’ve gained. The Triads, especially, have been testing my patience lately.
Silvio’s jaw is tight with tension; gone is my relaxed best friend. “You’re really going to go through with it?”
I glance at the picture, then at my brother and best friend, before I study my Don’s ring on my finger.
The ring with the Santoro crest—a shield divided into four quadrants with a symbol in each. A tree with deep roots, interlocking rings, a rose entwined with olive branches, and a lion’s head.
Each has a specific meaning to my family. Legacy and loyalty; unity, alliance, and oaths; sacrifice and mercy; and finally, power, pride, and protection.
“We rule as lions. The kingdom comes before any one man’s desire.”
“What time are we heading over to Caruso’s?” He accepts my decision without further argument.
My jaw shifts with annoyance. I’m not a fan of Franco Caruso. The man is an ass-kissing snake, in my opinion. He’s here in my territory at my father’s bidding. Honestly, I think he sent Caruso here because he can only stand him in small doses.
My father called this morning with the order that I was to attend the dinner and meeting tonight. The only reason I didn’t argue was that the Pisani family—Don Emanuele, and his son and heir Vincenzo—will be in attendance.
They’re from the founding family of the ‘Ndrangheta and serve as the de facto convenor. Usually, any meetings with the Dons in the syndicate happen back in Catanzaro, Italy, in their territory, but this isn’t an official Don meeting.
I’m unclear why they’re here to meet with Caruso, or why he’s hosting instead of me,orwhy I wasn’t given an appropriate heads-up that the Pisanis were in my territory. But regarding the last one, I know it’s because neither my father nor Emanuele views me as the actual leader here. As for the reason they’re here, my father was tight-lipped when I asked. If it weren’t for the threat of war erupting for power in this city, especially with the Triads challenging us for control of the port, I might rock the boat a bit more with my father.
“We’re to be there at seven.”
Silvio’s smile is wiry. “Caruso better have the good stuff out tonight. I feel the need to get shit-faced to survive this evening.”
Marco cuffs him on the back of his head, making me laugh, and Silvio mock-glares at him while fighting a grin.
“Get out of here, both of you, and do something productive.” I point to my office door, and they both rise, grumbling but complying.
After they’re gone, I push the forged contract to the side, forgetting about it for now. Instead, I focus on growing my power, rather than challenging my father and risking everything I’ve built.
Chapter 2
Gina
Okay,Iwillneveradmit it to my father, but traveling commercial is the shits. It’s grueling, and I’m exhausted, and it feels like a film is covering my teeth.
But there was absolutely no sane reason he should send a private jet for me halfway across the world, empty for one part of the trip, just to pick me up and fly me here all alone.
Over the years, and while our wealth increased, my father loved to flash his money around, but that was just plain stupid. Not to mention arrogant and bad for the environment.
So, I made sure that I arrived here before the private plane was scheduled to leave. I mean, it’s not even his plane. Probably had to borrow it from his boss, and sell one of his kidneys in the process. Because my father is rich, but not I-have-a-private-plane-at-my-disposal rich. And his boss is mafia, just like him. Or bosses, I should say, because he always talks like he still reports up the chain to Stefano Santoro, whereas, in reality, Tommaso is the big head cheese here in San Francisco.
I study the city as I ride in a cab. I already miss the quiet, secluded town where I had been banished to ever since my father could afford to send me to private school. I only came to visit my parents during the holidays, when it would look bad if your child was abandoned at school. God forbid someone judge my parents poorly. Keeping up appearances has become everything to Franco and Guila Caruso.
Hence why, as soon as my father rose high enough in the Santoro mafia ranks and could afford it, he sent me off to Santa Elisabetta. A private all-girls school, where most of the students were the poster children for privilege, wealth, and prestige. Then there were the other students, like me, who weren’t old-money or old-power. We were allowed to attend because we could pay the exorbitant tuition, but more importantly, we knew someoneconnected who had pull to get us in. As you might suspect, those other students like me were treated horribly by the entitled, snobbish princesses and reminded daily that we shouldn’t even be there.
As much as I hated Santa Elisabetta and the rich bitches who went there, including mafia princesses, I had two close friends, Allesia and Mia, who I already miss. Plus, I loved the town itself—one on the coast with narrow cobblestone streets winding between sun-bleached buildings, not this modern, cramped, bustling city that feels claustrophobic.
But at least this wasn’t LA or something just as sprawling and huge. I’ve always wondered why the Santoros started with San Francisco to conquer new territory rather than a larger city. But I’ve never asked, not because I don’t care, but because it’s not my place. Something my parents ruthlessly drilled into me, the higher up my father rose.
My curious, inquiring mind was why I was sent to Santa Elisabetta, so I could learn how to be polished and compliant. Pretty to look at while keeping my perfectly painted mouth shut.
I stifle a giggle, feeling almost maniacal from lack of sleep.
God, my parents are going to shit kittens when they see me, pulling up in a cab, hair in a messy ponytail, no make-up, and in sweatpants of all things. Seeing all their money and the last few years spent at that school learning how to be a proper lady not sticking one bit.
Truth be told, I love classic, elegant clothes. Think Jackie O and her style—polished but understated and chic. Quiet sophistication and power.
