I tightened my grip on my phone. The screen's glow burned against my palm, and I could feel the cold, sinking weight of understanding spreading through me like ice water injected directly into my veins. I knew exactly what he was doing. This wasn't just about revenge — it wasn't the wounded pride of a man whose woman had defied him. He wanted to destroy any chance I had of moving forward. Every family, every crew, every legitimate front operation on the Eastern Seaboard would see those photos before morning. No one would touch me. No one would shelter me. In a world governed by Omertà and reputation, he was stripping me of both in a single gesture.
Ginevra smirked. She had disentangled herself from Nico's arms now, standing on her own, and the pain in her stomach had evaporated as completely as morning fog. Her voice dripped with mockery, each word placed with the precision of a woman who had rehearsed this moment in the mirror.
"Rosalia, you're done for. Completely ruined. From now on, even a stray dog has more dignity than you."