Gianna Vitiello POV

The rumors traveled through the Outfit like a contagion.

In our world, weakness is a scent, blood in the water. And right now, the Moretti name reeked of it.

But he had done the unthinkable.

Within forty-eight hours of leaving me at the altar, he had married her. A courthouse wedding. No guests. Just him, the waitress, and the child.

He gave the bastard girl his name. He legitimized her.

He did for that mistake what no one had ever done for him.

It was almost poetic, if it wasn't so pathetic.

Two weeks later, I stood outside the iron gates of St. Jude's Academy.

It was the only school for the children of the Outfit. High walls, armed guards, and a curriculum that conveniently ignored certain legalities.

I was there to drop off my nephew, Leo. My brother was handling a shipment, and I needed the distraction.

"Aunt Gi, is that him?" Leo asked.

He was ten-old enough to know the code, young enough to still have a temper.

I followed his gaze.

A black SUV pulled up to the curb. Luca stepped out.

He looked exhausted. His suit was wrinkled, his eyes shadowed by sleeplessness. He walked around the car and opened the rear door.

Elena stepped out.

It was the first time I had seen her in three years. She had changed.

The drugstore makeup was gone, replaced by a polished, neutral look that screamed 'new money'.

She wore a designer coat that didn't quite fit her shoulders. She held the hand of a little girl.

The child was undeniable. She had Luca's nose, his chin.

Luca saw me. He froze, his hand on the car door.

Elena followed his gaze. She didn't look away.

She smiled. A small, victorious curve of her lips.

She lifted her chin, flashing the diamond on her finger. My diamond.

The one he had bought for me three years ago, repurposed for the help.

I felt the bile rise in my throat, but I swallowed it down. I stood perfectly still, a statue of judgment.

Luca walked the child toward the gate. He had to pass me.

"Gianna," he said, his voice rough. He stopped a few feet away. "You shouldn't be here."

"I go where I please, Luca. This is Vitiello territory," I said, my voice ice. "Or did you forget who built this school?"

"I'm just dropping off my daughter," he said, emphasizing the word.

Leo stepped forward. He was small, but he was my brother's son.

He kicked Luca hard in the shin.

"Traitor!" Leo shouted. "My dad says you're a rat!"

Luca didn't stumble. He barely flinched.

The guards at the gate tensed. Parents stopped talking. The air crackled with sudden violence.

Luca looked down at the boy.

For a second, I saw the old Luca, the dangerous soldier. But then he looked at his daughter, who was hiding behind Elena's legs, eyes wide.

He looked at me.

"Control your family, Gianna," he said coldly. "Or I will."

The disrespect stung like a slap. He was threatening a Capo's son. In public.

To defend the honor of a woman who had used a child as a bargaining chip.

"You don't have family, Luca," I said, my voice low enough that only he could hear. "You have liabilities."

He stiffened. He grabbed Elena's arm and ushered her and the child through the gates, not looking back.

I watched them go.

He thought he was protecting them. He thought he was being a man.

He didn't realize he had just painted a target on their backs.

Gianna Vitiello POV:

The air in the penthouse still carried his scent. Cedarwood and expensive scotch.

It was supposed to be our sanctuary. We had closed on it six months ago-the top floor, commanding the Chicago skyline.

I had hand-picked the Calacatta marble for the counters. I had chosen the silk drapes. Now, I was here to gut it.

"Take the paintings," I directed the movers, my voice flat. "Clear the furniture in the master bedroom. And burn the mattress."

I stood in the center of the living room, clutching a crystal tumbler of water. My grip was white-knuckled, but my hand was steady. I needed to be hollow. If I let myself feel, I would shatter.

The private elevator chimed.

The doors slid open, and Luca stepped out. He wasn't alone; two of his soldiers flanked him, but he waved them off the moment he saw me.

"What are you doing?" he asked. His gaze swept over the chaos, landing on the boxes strictly labeled 'Vitiello'.

"Evicting myself," I said. I set the glass down on a side table that was already tagged for removal. "Unless you want to buy me out? But we both know your liquidity is tied up in your new... family expenses."

He walked toward me, looking like a man who was drowning but trying to convince himself he was swimming. The exhaustion was etched into every line of his face.

"Gianna, please," he rasped. "I didn't want this."

"You walked out of the church, Luca. You made your choice."

"I couldn't let her grow up like I did," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "You know what this world does to bastards. You saw how they treated me. I couldn't condemn my little girl to that life. Elena threatened to go to the Commission with proof of paternity. They would have blacklisted the kid before she even started kindergarten."

"So you saved the child," I said, cold as ice. "And in the process, you destroyed me."

"I love you," he whispered. He reached for me.

I didn't flinch. I let his fingers graze my arm. The touch that used to set my skin on fire now felt cold. Clammy. Wrong.

"Don't lie to me," I said.

"It's not a lie. I married her for the paper. For the name. It means nothing."

"It means everything!" I screamed. My composure snapped. The rage that had been simmering in my gut for weeks finally boiled over. "You humiliated me! You made me a joke to the entire outfit! You chose a whore over a Vitiello!"

I swung my hand.

Crack.

The slap echoed through the empty apartment like a gunshot. My palm stung violently. His head snapped to the side, a red mark blooming instantly on his high cheekbone.

He didn't move. He didn't strike back. As a Made Man, he could have killed me for laying a hand on him. But he stood there, taking it. Accepting his penance.

He looked back at me, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Sorry doesn't fix honor, Luca," I spat. "And it doesn't pay debts."

I brushed past him, marching to the elevator and jamming the button.

"Keep the apartment," I said, refusing to look back as the doors slid shut. "It's haunted anyway."

Gianna Vitiello POV:

Moretti Shipping Logistics.

It was the sanitized face of Luca's operation. The front for his legitimate income. The clean money.

This was the cash flow that paid for the penthouse, the private school, and the designer coats for his new wife. And half of the contracts that kept this building running belonged to my father.

I walked through the glass doors. I didn't have an appointment. I didn't need one.

Two of my father's enforcers, mountains of muscle encased in dark Italian wool, flanked me.

The receptionist, a young girl who looked pale with terror, reached for the phone.

"Don't," I said.

Her hand froze. She dropped the receiver back into its cradle with a clatter.

I marched straight to the double doors at the end of the hall. I didn't knock. I pushed them open.

Luca was behind his desk, reviewing a manifest. He looked up, startled.

But he wasn't alone.

Elena was there. She was sitting on the edge of his desk, her legs crossed, her skirt hiked up high on her thighs.

She had a pen in her hand, playing with it idly. Her hair was messy, her lipstick smudged. The air in the room was thick with the musk of sex and the cloying sweetness of cheap perfume.

She jumped off the desk when she saw me, smoothing her skirt down frantically. But she didn't look ashamed. She looked annoyed.

"Do you ever knock?" Elena asked. Her voice was grating. "This is a private office."

I ignored her entirely. I looked only at Luca.

"We're pulling the contracts," I said. "The North Side distribution. The harbor access. All of it. My father signed the termination papers this morning."

Luca stood up, panic flashing in his eyes. "Gianna, you can't. That's sixty percent of my revenue. That's the clean money. The IRS will be all over me if that cash flow drops."

"Should have thought of that before you breached our alliance," I said.

I tossed a blue folder onto his desk. It slid across the polished wood, stopping inches from Elena's hand.

Elena picked it up. She opened it, pretending to read, pretending she understood the complexities of a syndicate contract.

"You can't do this," Elena said, glaring at me. "We have a family to support. My daughter needs security."

I laughed. It was a cold, sharp sound.

"Your daughter isn't my problem," I said. "And neither is your mortgage."

"Luca!" Elena whined, turning to him. "Tell her to get out. Tell her she can't bully us. I'm your wife."

She grabbed his arm, digging her nails into his suit jacket. She was marking him. Like a stray dog pissing on a fire hydrant.

Luca looked at me. He looked at the contracts. He knew I was cutting his throat financially. He knew I was right.

But Elena was there, playing the victim, playing the mother.

"Gianna, leave," Luca said. His voice was hard, but forced. "We'll discuss business through the lawyers."

"Lawyers," I scoffed. "Since when do we use lawyers, Luca?"

"Since you became an outsider," he said.

He chose her again. To save face in front of his men. To keep the peace in his broken home.

"Fine," I said. I turned to leave. "Enjoy the paperwork."

I paused, my hand on the door handle.

"And Elena?"

She looked at me, her eyes narrowing.

"Try to keep your legs closed during business hours," I said. "It's unprofessional. Even for a rat."