Giada, glowing with triumph, lifted her wine glass and drained it in one smooth motion. "Honestly, Seraphina," she said with a bright, theatrical smile, "you're like my fairy godmother. I should probably toast to you every year from now on." Her fingers drifted to the hollow of her throat as she said it, two fingertips pressing against the skin there, light as a whisper.
I smiled back.
Good.
Let's see how long that smile lasts.
Then everything changed.
My father, who had been standing there, forced to watch them revel in their victory, forced to watch a family legacy forged over five generations of blood and silence slip into the hands of a man who had once begged to carry his luggage, suddenly coughed.
Violently.
Once. Twice.
And then he collapsed.
Blood spilled from his mouth, staining the marble floor in a horrifying instant. The old Don of the Valente Family, the man who had once commanded the Commission of the Five Families with a closed-eyed pause and a single word, crumpled like something hollow had finally given way inside him.
"Papa!" I screamed, my voice breaking as I rushed toward him.