Too Late For Regret: The Exiled Mafia Princess

nna

t through the dim k

nside, I had rubbed gritty engine grease from the alley dumpster onto my cheeks and hacked my long dar

hat the hell is wrong with you people? You're t

arched toward the dish pit and grab

ok

y, letting my

light into my eyes.

raspy and flat, stripped of

narrowed

g in a dumpster two weeks ago. She didn't even know her own name. I ga

f his shotgun under my chin, forcing

slowly, eyes w

nose-me, at the syndicate gala, diamond neckl

seen thi

gle. Slowly, I pointed a trembl

t a piz

s eyes in disgust and

is flashlight swept across my ha

e your

ke out on my neck. To hesitate wa

ers and along the webbing of my thumbs-the marks of years firing heavy handguns a

to predatory realization. He rai

ai

t of the shadows by the back door. His voice was qui

heavy silver token engraved with a snarling black wolf-a high-level operative mar

weapons immediately, blood

ust following t

civilians without a Ca

, s

get

door slammed shut. Silence fell, broken only

breath. "Thanks for

k at her. His eyes

ed slowly toward the dish pit. "I

d a few f

Enzo. Your father was a man

edge so hard my knu

steel counter. It landed with a heavy metallic clink-a fragmented piec

on the inner band. I had made that scratch with a pair of scisso

ed, a tear cutting throu

acre three years ago wasn't a rival ambush. Someone

tighten

enough to hear it." He turned toward the back door. "The syndicate will keep hu

r, letting freezing win

rder," he added, looking over his shoulder, "