The next morning, my burner phone rang. It was Vincenzo.

“Viktor’s workshop,” he commanded, his voice empty of emotion. “One hour. Katerina needs a new piece. You’re designing it.”

“I refuse.”

“This isn’t a request, Chiara. Don’t make me have my men ‘ask’ you again.”

He hung up.

An hour later, I was in the basement of the abandoned factory.

Vincenzo and Katerina were already there.

“Viktor,” Vincenzo said to the workshop’s owner, a legendary Russian weaponsmith. “This is Chiara. The best art forger in Chicago, and the best weapons expert. I need her to create a one-of-a-kind sidearm for Katerina.”

Viktor’s eyes lit up. “Art and arms! I like it!”

He led us to a workbench covered in black velvet, laid out with rare metals and gems.

Vincenzo came to my side. His voice was a low whisper, just for me. “I want you to build her the perfect gun. Use the same specs as my Glock. The one you built for my hand.”

My breath caught.

“I know you remember every detail,” he went on, his voice cold. “The 7-degree cant on the grip, the 2mm trigger pull, the platinum front sight that catches the faintest light in the dark. Replicate all of it. For her.”

I understood.

He wanted me to cut open our past, take the trust and blood we’d built, and gift-wrap it for another woman.

It was a hundred times crueler than another tattoo.

“Chiara?” Katerina came over, her voice sweet and innocent. “Can you help me? I’ve always wanted a gun engraved with my and Vincenzo’s initials. Wouldn’t that be the most romantic token of our love?”

I looked at her innocent smile, at Vincenzo’s unyielding stare. I forced a smile of my own.

“Of course.”

I picked up the stylus, but my hand was shaking.

I drew the streamlined frame, the perfect balance, every detail that had once been ours.

My hand was drawing, but my heart was bleeding.

“Brilliant!” Viktor admired the blueprint. “This is a work of art!”

“How long?” Vincenzo asked.

“Three weeks,” Viktor replied. “If Miss Chiara is willing to oversee the production.”

Oversee it. Watch another woman hold a “love token” made from my past with him.

“No.”

I stood up abruptly, my voice hoarse.

Everyone stared at me.

I took the design I’d just finished, and in front of everyone, I tore it to shreds.

“I don’t build fucking love tokens for your new whore!” I threw the pieces on the floor, releasing a rage that had been building for what felt like an eternity.

Vincenzo’s eyes turned dangerous. “Chiara—”

I turned to leave.

“If you walk out that door,” his voice was a threat, “don’t force me to use the family’s rules on you. You know what happens to traitors.”

I looked back at him, my eyes cold. “Then try me.”

I walked out without another glance, Katerina’s terrified scream and Vincenzo’s roar of anger chasing after me.

Back at my safe house, a gold-embossed invitation was waiting at the door.

“You are cordially invited to the engagement party of Mr. Vincenzo Russo and Miss Katerina Petrov.”

I stared at the beautiful card, imagining them picking it out together.

Then my phone buzzed. A photo from Marco.

Vincenzo was at my favorite private shooting range, coaching Katerina.

In her hands was the custom SIG Sauer P226 that used to be my favorite.

I flicked open my lighter and held the flame to the corner of the invitation.

I watched it burn. Watched their names turn to black ash, and with them, the last shred of hope I had.

I dialed my father’s encrypted number.

“Papa.”

“Is it time?”

I watched the invitation turn to ash. My voice was ice.

“It’s time. We do it tonight.”

I had just zipped the last bag when the door to the safe house was kicked off its hinges.

Vincenzo stood in the doorway, his eyes bloodshot, blazing with rage.

“Found you,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

My hand went to my gun. His was faster. Of course, it was.

Three strides, and he had me. He slammed me against the wall, his hand an iron vise around my wrist.

“Where did you think you could run?” he snarled, his breath hot on my face, smelling of whiskey and fury.

I struggled, but he had me pinned.

Suddenly, the rage in his eyes flickered, replaced by something almost broken.

“I’ve been looking for you all night,” he said, his forehead resting against mine, his voice rough with exhaustion. “I thought something happened to you…”

A sharp pain went through my chest.

But my head knew better. This was just another trap.

“Let go of me, Vincenzo.”

“Not until you tell me what the hell you’re doing.”

“It has nothing to do with you.”

“Nothing to do with me?” He let out a cold laugh, grabbing my chin. “You are mine, Chiara. Every inch of you has been branded Russo for ten years. You don’t get to decide when it has nothing to do with me.”

“Brands get old. They get replaced.” I looked him dead in the eye. “You and your family… you mean nothing to me anymore.”

The words were a poisoned knife, and they hit their mark.

CRACK.

His hand flew across my face. The force was so strong I tasted blood.

“Take it back,” he said, his voice like ice. “You’re not just insulting me. You’re insulting the Russo family.”

I wiped the blood from my lip with the back of my hand and smiled. A broken smile.

“You hit me for her. You hit me for the family. Vincenzo, what’s your line? Is there anything you won’t hit me for?”

“You don’t get to talk about lines!” He was furious. He reached into his suit and pulled out an old, heavy medallion carved with a two-headed serpent. He slammed it on the table.

The Rossi family blood oath seal.

“Your father swore a blood oath with the honor and blood of the Rossi family,” his voice was the Don’s now, every word a stone crushing my heart. “Your life, your loyalty, everything you are… from the day you were born, it belongs to the Russo family. It belongs to me!”

I stared at the seal. My blood ran cold. This was the chain I could never break.

“You’re going to use my father’s oath against me?”

“If it’s the only way to make you obey.” He picked up the seal, his eyes turning cold and hard again. “The night after tomorrow. The engagement party. You will be there.”

He paused, then delivered the final, cruel blow.

“And you will be the one to present Katerina with the Petrov ‘pact of peace’—the diamond dagger. You will kneel, and you will show every family in that room what Rossi loyalty looks like.”

I just looked at him. The man I would have died for.

Watching him chain me with my family’s honor, only to humiliate me with the sharpest blade.

“I understand,” I said, my voice empty.

“Good.” He turned to leave, satisfied. “Remember your place, Chiara. You are my property. Not my enemy.”

He and his men left.

I stood alone in the trashed apartment. The setting sun cast a long, lonely shadow on the floor.

A blood oath.

He was holding me to a blood oath.

I picked up the small blade I used for cutting canvases. I stared at its sharp edge.

“A blood debt,” I whispered, my voice as light as a feather.

“Must be paid in blood.”

Chicago’s Holy Name Cathedral had never looked so grand.

Every crime boss in the city was there. The air was thick with expensive perfume and gunpowder.

I stood alone in the shadows.

Katerina walked toward me in a priceless Vera Wang gown, a diamond tiara sparkling in her hair. A fairytale princess.

She stopped in front of me. Her eyes fell to my chest.

I was wearing a black diamond phoenix necklace.

The first piece I ever designed, for my eighteenth birthday. I’d given it to Vincenzo.

A few days ago, he had Marco “return” it to me.

“That poor little bird,” Katerina’s voice was sickly sweet, dripping with venom. “So lonely now that its owner has thrown it away. Tell me, Chiara, does it hurt? Knowing you were so easy to replace.”

Before I could answer, Vincenzo’s voice came from behind us.

“Darling, what are you talking about with my soldier?”

He came over, his arm sliding possessively around Katerina’s waist.

He didn’t even look at me. Like I was part of the furniture.

“Nothing,” Katerina pouted. “I just thought Miss Chiara looked lonely over here by herself.”

“A soldier stays in her post,” Vincenzo said, his tone freezing. “Chiara. Hold your position.”

I raised my champagne glass to them, a perfect smile fixed on my face. “Yes, Boss.”

The orchestra began a waltz.

Vincenzo led Katerina to the center of the floor.

They were the perfect couple, bathed in the admiration of the crowd.

Suddenly, all the lights went out.

The cathedral fell silent for a heartbeat, then the roar of automatic weapons tore it apart.

Rat-tat-tat-tat!

Screams. Breaking glass. The crash of overturned tables.

“Get down!”

“It’s a hit! The Torrinos!”

I instinctively drew the Glock from my thigh holster and took cover behind a stone pillar.

In the dark, muzzle flashes were like shooting stars of death.

“Katerina!” Vincenzo’s voice was raw with a panic I’d never heard before. “Katerina, where are you?!”

More gunfire.

Windows shattered as hitters poured in from every side.

I saw a small, black object arc through the darkness, whistling as it flew toward the center of the dance floor.

A grenade.

In that life-or-death moment, I saw them. Vincenzo and Katerina.

Huddled on the other side of the dance floor.

Because of where I’d moved, I was near him, too.

The three of us formed a deadly triangle.

The grenade landed right in the middle of us.

Time stopped.

Vincenzo saw the grenade. His eyes shot to a terrified Katerina. Then they shot to me.

He had one second.

He made his choice.

He didn’t hesitate. He threw himself at Katerina, covering her body with his, shielding her head.

As he lunged for her, his foot pushed off the marble floor. Right next to me. He used my position as leverage. One final push to propel himself toward her, and away from me.

BOOM!

The blast wave threw me against the stone pillar.

I heard my ribs crack. Warm blood coughed from my lips.

Shattered stone and glass rained down. My dress was torn, the blue silk stained red.

The chain on my phoenix necklace snapped. The pendant skittered away into a pool of my blood.

Through my blurring vision, I saw Vincenzo climb from the rubble, Katerina held safely in his arms.

His tuxedo was shredded, but he only had eyes for her.

“Return fire! Kill every last one of these motherfuckers!” he roared.

Then he picked her up and ran for the side door, for the safest way out.

The gunshots continued.

I lay in a pool of my own blood, listening to my breathing grow shallow.

He never looked back. Not even a glance to see if his most loyal soldier, the woman who’d bled for him for a decade, was dead or alive.

He had made his choice. He chose his queen. And he sacrificed his weapon.