Silence stretched on the other end for five seconds. Then, a low, rumbling chuckle vibrated through the speaker—a sound that would have made a lesser person faint from terror.
“Boring,” my father mused, tasting the word. “That’s a new one. Nobody has called a Moretti boring since 1975. And we buried that guy in the foundation of the Verrazzano Bridge.”
“I want him to understand, Dad,” I said, my reflection in the window looking sharper, more dangerous. “I want him to see what ‘class’ really looks like. And I want him out of that penthouse. Tonight.”
“Consider it done, sweetheart. Get dressed. Uncle Tony is already on his way with the convoy. Five hundred boys. We’ll make it a family reunion.”
“Dad?”
“Yes, Princess?”
“Bring the big car.”
“For you? Only the best.”
I hung up the phone. The housewife was gone. The daughter of the city’s most feared mob boss had just clocked in.
Chapter 2: The Awakening
