ella
ter was the sweetest s
ater swallowed his tailored suit. He gasped, choking on the very water that had stolen my Josie's fin
The memory of Don Damien Falcone's deep, rumbling voice echoed in the ho
aded my body and my dignity to the Devil of Chicago for a pathetic
remnants of the naive, obedient wife I had once been. "I swear it," I whispered to t
nto a searing, absolute white. The sound of splashing water vanished, replaced by a high-pitched ringing tha
reezing win
me, mingling with the heavy, expensive scent of aged whiskey and Cuban cigars. I blinked
ssive floor-to-ceiling window. Outside, the glittering skyl
and bleeding from the stone fountain. They were perfectly manicured, tre
28
ct winter night Hudson Higgins, a lowly Associate desperate for a seat at the table,
ed, growing heavy and charged with a dangerous, suffocating gravity.
mien F
dline. At thirty-two, he ruled the *Cosa Nostra* (Our Thing) with an iron fist and a heart of ice. He was a predator wr
ating heat of his massive frame behind me before he even touched
I had suffered in my past life-shot down my spine. My body instinctively
Isabe
kin. It was the voice that had haunted my memories, laced
in his gilded cage. But the woman standing here now was a mother who had held
the bile rising in my throat and leaned ba
wanted to use me to climb the ranks, I would use the Don's dark, twisted obsession with me to
g his pitch-black, predatory eyes
keeping my voice perfectly steady, playing the
tion. Tomorrow, my treacherous husband would undoubtedly want to celebrate his sickening t
ying the perfectly tamed wife, while I carefully w
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