Chapter 2
The next afternoon, the door lock clicked.
I thought my daughter had forgotten her key.
Instead, it was Luciano, with Sara on his arm.
They were no longer pretending to play father and daughter in front of me.
“Sara, you don’t need to call me Dad anymore. From now on, you’re the lady of this house.” His tone was casual.
Sara smiled and began sizing me up, a trace of unconcealed wariness in her eyes.
I had raised her for so many years—she felt a flicker of guilt for what she had done, but it was quickly replaced by the vanity she felt at this moment.
“Mom hasn’t left yet?” she asked sweetly. “After we get married, she won’t still be living here, will she?”
Luciano’s hand rested on her waist. “She won’t.”
I sat on the sofa, slowly wiping down my daughter Jenny’s Beretta pistol.
“Why aren’t you gone yet?” he said coldly.
I didn’t look up and replied calmly, “Shouldn’t you be the one leaving? You might as well sign the divorce papers already. What are you hesitating for?”
I caught a conflicted anger in his eyes.
Sara walked to the iron railing and looked at the wolfhound inside. “Why does it look so fierce? It was never like this before.”
“It only bites people who invade its territory. Didn’t you know?” I said lightly. “Right, Don?”
Hearing the sarcasm, her face changed instantly.
Luciano walked over and swept the neatly folded clothes off with one motion.
“Still as sharp-tongued as ever.” He bent down close to my ear. “Guess where the last person who spoke to me like that is now?”
“Under the Brooklyn docks.” I lifted my eyes. “But I won’t be there.”
“Oh?”
“You swore in front of the old Don back then. Everyone knows.” I said slowly. “A Don must keep his word. If you kill me, do you still expect to be Don?”
He narrowed his eyes.
I added, “What, is the new Don going to kill me?”
He laughed and stepped back. “The wardrobe on the right side of the bedroom. Your things are packed. Take them and leave.”
Sara, however, dropped herself into the rocking chair I used to sit in and began swaying, then touched her slightly rounded belly. “Leave the rocking chair. It’s quite comfortable. Our son can play on it in the future.”
“Sure.” He smiled at her, then turned to me. “You heard her. Don’t take the chair when you leave.”
That rocking chair had been brought back from Sicily by the old Don while he was still alive.
The earliest mark of the family was branded into its wood.
“Fine.” I took out my phone. “Based on the family antique appraisal, one hundred thousand. Cash or transfer?”
Sara stopped rocking.
Luciano narrowed his eyes. “Have you gone insane from poverty?”
“You taught me that.” I smiled. “Family property comes with a clear price.”
He was silent for a few seconds, then pulled out his checkbook, wrote down the amount, tore it off, and threw it onto the table.
“Satisfied?”
The check landed beside the small dagger my daughter used for practice.
I bent down and picked it up.
Just enough to buy my daughter a new batch of ammunition.
I moved out, and secretly took Jenny with me.
But Jenny was still young. I couldn’t bear to tell her the truth, so I only said that Luciano and I would be living separately from now on.
A few days later, Luciano sent a text: “19:00, bar. If you don’t show up, child support is suspended.”
My phone slipped from my dazed hand and hit the floor with a loud crash.
My daughter, who was practicing shooting, took off her goggles and turned back to look at me. “Mom, is it Dad?”
“It’s nothing.” I rubbed her head and held her a little tighter. “Go to the basement and finish your dagger drills. End in forty minutes.”
At the entrance of the bar, the moment I pushed the door open, I knew it was a trap.
At the head of the long table, Luciano had his arm around Sara.
To his right sat members of the Five Families, along with several unfamiliar faces whose suits bulged underneath.
Sara was dressed in red, as if afraid no one would notice who the new lady of the house was.
“Emily actually showed up?” Lee grinned. He was Luciano’s Underboss. “The Don said you wouldn’t dare come. We bet six grand.”
