Gia POV
Cassio's voice dropped to a low, freezing register as he stared at the diamonds in the dirt.
"Are you walking away?" he demanded. "Do you plan to leave my territory naked?"
A deep cold settled in my bones, but I refused to cower. Without a second of hesitation, I reached for my collar and undid the first button of my silk blouse.
Around us, the Soldiers standing guard turned their backs. They were terrified of witnessing the Don's blood sister expose herself.
Cassio's jaw worked as he watched my fingers move.
I unbuttoned the second button. Then, the third.
His control fractured. He lunged and clamped down on my wrists; under the immense tearing force, the silk cuff of my shirt emitted the faint sound of ripping fabric, a button popping off and striking the gravel.
"If you have no shame," he roared, his grip a cage of bone and sinew around my wrists, "I still do!"
Exerting his physical dominance, Cassio dragged me away from the mausoleum and shoved me into the back of his armored SUV. Behind us, the sharp, frantic clicking of high heels echoed against the pavement. Serafina scurried after the convoy, refusing to be left behind, and slid into the passenger seat as the engine roared to life.
He slammed the door shut, and the heavy convoy sped off down the private road.
Inside the vehicle, the air seemed to solidify, a mixture of Cassio's pungent bergamot cologne and the stuffy, animal scent of leather warmed by body heat, forcing one to take only shallow breaths. Serafina sat in the passenger seat, relentlessly complaining.
"This sacred memorial is ruined by your presence," she whined, berating Cassio for ever pulling a peasant out of the city's gutters.
Cassio stared straight ahead. His voice carried the terrifying, deadened calm of a Boss about to order a hit.
"Shut your mouth, Serafina," he ordered.
Serafina recoiled in her leather seat.
"Why are you turning your wrath on me?" she demanded, accusing him of broken loyalty.
I calmly interrupted the girl.
"I want nothing from the Syndicate," I stated. "I demand my freedom."
Cassio's face was a mask of fury in the rearview mirror. He accused me of mimicking Serafina's manipulation tactics, warning me that the Don's patience had a limit.
The atmosphere inside the SUV became dangerous, yet I unflinchingly repeated my demand to leave his car.
Enraged, Cassio issued a cold command to his driver. The convoy shuddered to a halt on a desolate stretch of road.
The automatic locks clicked, and the door beside me swung open. A storm raged in Cassio's eyes as he snatched the designer bag from the floorboards and held it out of my reach.
"Get out of my vehicle," he ordered. "Let's see how long you survive without the Family's protection and wealth."
His hand connected with my shoulder, and I stumbled out of the high cabin, my knees striking the rough asphalt.
The armored SUV accelerated away, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust.
As I regained my footing, I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my Syndicate-issued smartphone. A banking alert flashed across the cracked screen: the Don had frozen the meager emergency funds attached to my name. Disgusted, I tossed the useless, traceable device into a nearby storm drain. I pulled out my hidden burner phone to check the time, the weight of the hundred dollars in crumpled bills in my other pocket a grim reminder of my circumstances.
Three days. I just had to survive three more days until Leo's signal had promised he would land. I clutched the phone tightly and began walking.
I walked for miles until I found a rundown motel in neutral territory. I paid the clerk and locked myself in a room that smelled of bleach and stale smoke.
I sat on the edge of the lumpy mattress, calculating my survival. I knew Leo would not return from his operations for three more days, and the meager cash in my pocket would not cover food and shelter.
The next morning, I walked the city streets, attempting to find legitimate work at civilian fronts.
I applied at diners, laundromats, and grocery stores, but I was turned away by every establishment. They denied me even the most menial labor.
At the final front—a small bakery on the corner—a clerk leaned over the counter and whispered a warning. A decree had come down from the Syndicate overnight, prohibiting anyone in the city from hiring a girl named Gia.
"You have offended the Don," he told me.
I walked out of the bakery, a dry, bitter laugh escaping my throat. I acknowledged Cassio's methods: he was orchestrating my starvation to guarantee my submission.
I pulled my jacket tighter, turned my back on the busy street, and walked toward the derelict warehouses and forgotten alleyways of the industrial district.
Somewhere out there, Leo was preparing. And when he landed, Cassio's entire empire would learn what happened when you pushed a survivor too far.
