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She looked around the luxurious yet cozy mansion. Although the house oozed money, it had a homey feel to it. It wasn’t her style. She preferred gold trimmings and to be surrounded by only the best and classiest pieces of furniture and large mirrors. Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “I’ve had enough of this dump. Why Salvitore loved coming here is beyond me.”
Fiorella Sanchigo readily admitted she was a rich, spoiled woman, but it came with the territory. She had been born into the dark world of organized crime. Luckily, her mother had protected her from direct involvement in her father’s dealings, grooming her instead to be the perfect mafia wife. Fiorella went along. Why would she not have? She got everything she desired in life. Money was never a problem, and she was envied by every woman she ever came across. If only Salvitore hadn’t done the unexpected and got himself killed... and left her penniless. She was still irked that he had cut her out of his will.
“Not a penny. After all I had given up and done for the bastard, he didn’t even leave me a penny!” If not for Aria’s generous handout, she would be destitute and out on the street.
But no more. She might have once lurked in the shadows of her powerful husband, the Don of the Sanchigo Mafia, but she had listened and learned. Unbeknownst to Salvitore and his caporegimes, behind her demure exterior, Fiorella had quietly built her own power base.
The day she realized Salvitore had become obsessed with revenge at the expense of their empire’s strength, she began recruiting her own network of loyalists. A whispered word here, a meaningful glance there, and she drew the dissatisfied and ambitious into her circle.
She stroked egos and promised glories, binding men’s fates to her own. And she waited, biding her time until her husband’s foolishness left an opening for her to seize control.
Now, with Salvitore gone, she saw her chance. The old guard would not easily accept a woman Don, but she had the loyalty of the new blood. She had cleverly taken the reins and now ruled openly, not from the shadows. The Sanchigo Mafia would once again thrive under her cunning leadership.
“Once Aria takes her place beside me, no one would dare oppose me.” Fiorella was no fool. Aria was respected and feared because, deep down, she had the same mean streak as her father. Over the years, desperate for recognition from the mighty Don and with a driving desire to be acknowledged as his successor, Aria had honed her skill as an assassin, leaving the path behind her scattered with victims.
Fiorella was cunning enough to know Aria’s reputation and skills would cement her power. Her daughter’s mean streak and assassination talents struck fear in their world. Securing Aria’s loyalty was key to her ascension as an undisputed leader. She would reward those who aided her and crush any who dared oppose the new regime. Like in the early days before Salvitore became self-centered on vengeance, the streets would once again flow with blood and money alike.
Fiorella Sanchigo was on the rise.
“Yes, and the most important item on the agenda is to finalize and implement the plan for government control that Cesare and Salvitore began.”
Her heels clicked sharply on marble as she quickly walked through the mausoleum of a house and minutes later, descended to the underground dungeon a couple of yards from the main house. Though not her first visit, Fiorella cringed as she entered the endless halls that echoed with phantom screams. The cold, damp air reeked of human suffering—desperation, terror, death. This was where Salvitore’s cruelty had bloomed. It was the one aspect of being a Mafioso that he enjoyed to the utmost.
Shadows flickered across Fiorella’s pinched face, and her nose wrinkled at the stench. With bile rising in her throat, she scowled at the blood-spattered tools lining the walls. Salvitore’s depraved pleasures turned her stomach. Swallowing hard, she steadied herself, knowing that a leader had to bear all burdens for the family’s prosperity.
As she followed the twisted hallways, she realized once again that only with Aria at her side would the Sanchigo empire rise higher than ever before. Aria already had the support and loyalty of the older regime—something Fiorella didn’t have.
Soon, everyone in the criminal world would know that Fiorella Sanchigo ruled the new regime with an iron fist in a velvet glove. She needed only to finish securing her power base. Then, blood and fear would fuel the family's glory.
“So, how are our guests doing?” Fiorella said in a chirpy voice as she entered the dank room where two people were imprisoned. “Ah, I see you’re relaxing.” She glanced around with a snicker. “Obviously, this isn’t The Ritz, which I’m sure is the standard both of you are used to, but it’s much better than the holding cells you were in, non è vero?”
“Who are you, and what the fuck do you want with us?” Luc Delaware was too young to realize that a woman of Fiorella’s stature didn’t take kindly to disrespect, especially from a little prick who was young enough to be her son.
She cast a deadeye look at him, one that could chill an entire lake with a blink.
“I would’ve thought that Celine Delaware had taught her son manners or, at least, a little decorum.” She studied her brightly painted red nails. “On the other hand, you apparently spent so much time in my husband’s company, you probably forgot all the valuable lessons she drilled into you as a youth.”
“Your husband?” Luc stared at her with narrowed eyes. “Salvitore...” His voice drifted off as he turned pale when he made the connection. “You’re Fiorella Sanchigo.”
“Ah, I see you do have some common sense in that head of yours. So? Do you have something to say to me?” With raised eyebrows she struck a model’s pose with her hands resting on her hips.
“I apologize for my rudeness, Mrs. Sanchigo. It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t. I have a volatile temper that I’m sure you don’t want to witness firsthand.” Fiorella turned to the woman who sat staring at the floor. “Now, you, I have to admit, were a surprise.” A brittle laugh escaped her lips. “Although, I can see now why Salvitore had an affair with you all those years ago.”
Still, the woman showed no sign of listening to her.
“He made sure you would rise to a position of power that would benefit him one day,” Fiorella smirked. “If you ask me, I can testify to the millions of dollars he paid to have you push up the ranks so quickly. Money always talks, doesn’t it, Whitehouse Chief of Staff? Tell me, Mrs. Anne Winston, was allowing him to drill between your legs all these years worth realizing in the end that you were nothing but a game piece to him?”
“Why are we here? How did you manage to get the charges dropped against us?” Luc leaned forward and rattled the cuffs that chained him to the steel chair. “And why are we chained inside a stinking dungeon?”
“Like Salvitore, I have many contacts, dear boy. And like Salvitore, I have a need for you.” She cocked her head sideways. “Or did you believe for one moment you would be exonerated from your crimes against the country by ratting out the rest of the capos in the organization?” She walked around his chair. The crack of her hand slapping him hard against the back of his head echoed through the room. “Pensi che io sia stupido?”
“I wouldn’t have talked. I know what’s at stake,” Luc snapped over his shoulder. “I might be young but don’t forget, I spent two years as your husband’s intern. He taught me many things. One being loyalty to the family. You may not know me, but to me, the Sanchigo Mafia has become my life.”
“Veramente?” Fiorella stopped in front of him and watched him pensively. Maybe there was more value in him than the information she was after. “What about your family? Your father, the Vice President of the United States. I’m sure he would’ve loved his son to follow in his footsteps.” She smiled as his eyes flashed with suppressed hatred. “And your dear mother. I’m sure her heart must be breaking knowing you have lost your way... so to speak.”
“My father can go fuck himself for all I care, and my mother... well, I stopped caring what she thought when I realized she had known all along what he—” He cut himself short and fisted his hands. “It doesn’t matter, but I can assure you, I don’t give a rat’s ass what they want or think of me.”
