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Suna
Following cultural traditions, on my first birthday, my family carried out aDoljanchiand gave little baby-shaped me a glimpse of my future. Eight items lay on the mat, and led by fate—or so my halmoni would believe—I grabbed the one that best represented my future. I ignored the money and the stethoscope. I didn’t even try for the test tube or the instrument.
I homed in on the gavel.
Justice.
My father, Minho Song, patriarch of the Song family syndicate, stood up, applauding fiercely and proudly, when his baby girl chose the same one he had, fifty years before. Like daddy, like daughter.
The gavel might have signified a future as a lawyer or a judge to people who hadn’t dealt in death and destruction. But I’d been born into the dark side of New York, and it meant I could be a judge, jury, and executioner. A perfect mafia princess.
I’d liked to poke fun at my superstitious mother, yet I’d lived up to myDoljanchifate as it had been foretold.
When I was seven, a made man in my family cornered me at a family party and plaited my hair into a braid. I’d thought it was the weirdest thing, but the braid was pretty, so who cared?
When I turned eighteen, that same man applied to my father, the patriarch of the infamously shrewd and brutal jopok, the most powerful Korean mafia in New York, for my hand in marriage. He must’ve had dirt on my old man because I was the eldest daughter of the Song family, the jewel in the crown, and despite the match not bringing new business or alliances, my father said yes.
When I was nineteen, I stabbed that man in the chest the night before the wedding. At that tender age, I fulfilled my destiny to become a judge and carried out his sentence.
“Suna!Don’t get crumbs on your dress,” my mother snapped at me, pulling me back to the present.
At that moment, my illustrious and brutal fate seemed to pale compared to the reality bearing down on me. She was bustling around the fancy hotel suite reserved for Song women to get pretty before the big engagement dinner. She wore a traditionalhanbokand appeared to float on a pale pink cloud as she snapped instructions and orders like the cruelest drill sergeant.
I was again on the cusp of getting married, four years after I’d supposedly killed a fiancé. This time, I’d never even met the groom in person.
Vincenzo Luciano.
Even the name sent a whisper of icy fear through me. I might not have met him, but I’d heard of him. Few hadn’t in this city. New York was ruled by an iron fist. Five families made up the bone-crunching knuckles of said fist, and the Lucianos were one of the most notorious. This engagement would ensure the future prosperity of the Song family, and it was my duty to fulfill the contract he had signed for me.
This was the world in which I lived. It didn’t matter what progress women’s rights were making because in my dark corner, a daughter was an object to sell for the highest return, and I was no different. As much as every modern woman thought of herself as unique and special, I was under no illusions. I was a hostage who would be kept forever. A life sentence. Unless Vincenzo Luciano changed his mind.
“Suna, snap out of it.Halmoniis watching you like a hawk.” Hana, my younger sister, elbowed me hard in the side.
The plushly decorated room was filled to the brim with women in evening wear, putting on make-up, primping for their owners. I was no doubt being uncharitable, but tonight, I couldn’t seem to muster up a positive thought. Every Song woman was bought and paid for, and I was next. However, I would not be the turkey that climbed onto its platter and posed prettily for the butcher. I wanted to be the tough, unpleasant bird the buyer spat out as unpalatable. Maybe then I could claw some kind of freedom for myself out of this miserable life.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I muttered, making for the doorway to the suite.
“There’s one through here,” Hana reminded me, reading my rebellious mind with a knowing look.
“There’s no air in that one,” I retorted. I needed to take a breather from the familial pressure to look pretty, smile, and stitch my reservations behind painted lips.
* * *
Outside in the hall,I made my way toward a restroom. Ahead, I saw a group of Luciano men turning the corner and swiftly ducked behind a cluster of floral arrangements near the men’s room door. Damn, I was grateful I was pint-sized at that moment.
“Not today, but soon. I’ve never seen Jae’s face look more punchable than today,” someone said, and the rest agreed.
Jae? They were talking about my older brother and heir to the Song family. Jae-Han. He wasn’t known for making friends, and I constantly worried that this alliance with the Lucianos would cause trouble for him. I couldn’t stand him sometimes, but he was still my brother.
“What about the bride-to-be? Seen her yet?”
“No, she’s in hiding, probably sharpening her poisoning skills or whatever she used to kill her first fiancé,” someone laughed.
A chill swept across my skin. The memory of sticky blood coating my hand that night four years ago threatened to tug me down.
“Maybe he was testing the goods, and it was a coital injury? Like strangulation, or blood loss because of the tightest, virgin p-,”
“If you’ve come to pay your respects to the couple, do so to my face.” A deep voice whipped across the hall like a lash.
The tension creaked as silence fell. Footsteps strode down the hall, and I peeked out to see who had arrived. By the respectful silence, it was clear it was a Luciano and a powerful one.
“Vincenzo,figlio mio,” someone started.
“Zio Giovanni, I’m not your son. I’m soon to become your capo, don’t forget it. I don’t want to hear the name Suna Song from your mouths or anything to do with the Song family. I’ll tell you what and when to think about them. Understood?” The words were an annoyed snap, and then those heavy steps were striding away.
The gossiping men moved on, muttering to themselves in Italian, and I risked a glance at the departing back of Vincenzo Luciano. My very first glimpse of the head of the Luciano family.
My fiancé.
Panic broke free in my chest. I couldn’t do this. Vincenzo was terrifying. Huge and strong and cruel in his dark good looks. I’d seen his profile and heard his commanding voice, and I was calling it quits. I'd never manage this man. I'd never survive him. This wasn't someone I could escape from or stab in a fit of desperation. I couldn’t do this. I had to get out.
