Don't Touch the Crippled Underwold King's Precious

"Going once, going twice... Sold. Wrap it up."

I slammed the battered suitcase onto the counter, the heavy thud of cash echoing in the silence as I fixed the auctioneer with a cold stare.

"I'm taking that diamond."

The "Sicilian Rose" was my mother's legacy. I wasn't leaving without it.

But just as I reached for the velvet box, a hand clad in a garish red glove slapped down on top of it.

"Not so fast," a mocking voice sneered from behind me.

I turned to see a woman in an ostentatious gown looking down her nose at my worn trench coat. Kayla Blake. The trashy heiress who used to beg for my attention.

"Ownership of this little trinket is currently... under review." She blew a thick cloud of cigar smoke directly into my face.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I frowned, waving the smoke away.

Kayla flicked imaginary dust from my shoulder with fingers weighed down by rings, her expression one of utter distaste. "What does it mean? Look at you, Noelle. You walk in here looking like a charity case, holding a suitcase that smells like a basement, trying to take the Vancetti crown jewel? You couldn't even afford the insurance on this rock."

I ignored her taunts and locked eyes with the auctioneer, who was suddenly sweating profusely.

"This is a Vancetti Blood Claim."

I tapped a finger hard on the suitcase of cash, my tone leaving no room for argument. "According to the Commission's old laws, cash on the table overrides any bid. Do I really need to give you a history lesson?"

"Laws?" Kayla laughed, a sharp, grating sound that raked across the auction hall. "Are you dreaming, sweetheart? In New York, the only law that matters is Ferraro law!"

Before I could react, the auctioneer, pale-faced, slid the suitcase back toward me.

"I'm sorry... Miss Vancetti. We can't process this transaction. What Mrs. Ferraro wants, Mrs. Ferraro gets."

The crowd around us began to back away, parting like the Red Sea, as if my last name were a contagion.

"See?" Kayla leaned in close, her grin triumphant. "My fiancé says that when it comes to Vancetti property, even a dog needs his permission to bark."

Fiancé.

My gaze hardened. My hand clenched the fabric of my coat so tightly my nails dug into my palm. "That traitor gave you this much power?"

"Watch your mouth," Kayla snapped, lifting her chin like a peacock. "Marco is the new Godfather. And you, Noelle? You're just a broken toy he threw in the trash three years ago."

Marco... Ferraro.

Hearing his name made my heart seize. Betrayal wasn't enough; he had to parade his conquests in front of me? Did he think sending this airhead would break me?

Kayla waited with a smug look, expecting me to flee in tears. But I didn't take a single step back.

My palms pressed flat against the glass counter, threatening to shatter it. I had nothing left to lose.

"I'm not leaving," I said, my voice ice-cold. "Not without it."

Instead of getting angry, a cruel smile curled Kayla's lips. "You want your mommy's keepsake back? Fine."

She extended one leg, tapping the floor with the tip of her diamond-encrusted stiletto. "Get on your knees. Lick my sole clean, and I might ask Marco to let you keep the stone."

The air in the room seemed to solidify.

I looked at Kayla, high on borrowed power. I didn't shake or cry as she expected. It was just... pathetic.

My eyes slowly raked over her earrings, her necklace, finally resting on her face, twisted with excitement.

"Draped in my family's stolen goods and you think that makes you royalty?"

I let out a short, cold laugh. "You're just lipstick on a pig, Kayla. The original owner kneeling to a thief? You aren't worthy."

"What did you say?!"

The insult landed perfectly. Kayla's face turned a blotchy crimson. "You bankrupt bitch! You think you can still look down on me?!"

"Take your dirty hands off it," I said, not yielding an inch. "It was never yours."

"Fine! You want it?" Kayla laughed, a manic glint in her eyes. "Then take it!"

She snatched the pink diamond and dropped it into a glass of murky liquor nearby.

Then, before the crowd could even gasp, she flicked her wrist. The foul mixture of diamond, ash, and alcohol splashed across my feet, soaking the hem of my coat.

"Oops. Slipped," Kayla gasped theatrically, covering her mouth, though her eyes danced with malice. "But trash belongs in the gutter. Just like you."

That was the last thing my mother left me.

Staring at my ruined shoes, the thin thread of my sanity finally snapped. The noise of the room vanished, replaced by the roar of blood rushing in my ears.

In this world, there was only one currency for insulting a Vancetti—blood.

Without warning, I moved.

I stepped forward, my left hand snatching a handful of Kayla's hair, yanking her head down violently.

"Ah—are you crazy?!"

As she was forced to bend, my right knee drove hard into her face.

CRACK.

The sickening sound of cartilage shattering.

"Whoa! She's got a death wish!"

The watching mobsters didn't show sympathy; they erupted into the sick frenzy of a crowd at a dog fight.

"Look at that! She actually touched Marco's woman!"

"This is going to be good. Someone's getting chopped up for dog food tonight!"

"God, Marco's going to skin her alive! Film it! This is the Vancetti family's final encore!"

The jeers didn't scare Kayla; they emboldened her.

Clutching her gushing nose, fueled by the crowd's curses against my family, her fear morphed into rampant viciousness. She smeared blood across her face with a snarl and lunged back at me.

"You hear that? I don't need to lift a finger! When Marco gets here, he'll strip every inch of skin from your—"

"Then let him come."

I sidestepped her clumsy claws, using the momentum to spin and deliver a heavy backhand.

It connected solidly with the side of her face. The impact spun Kayla around, slamming her back against the glass display case before she slid to the floor like a ragdoll.

But that wasn't enough.

Expressionless, I stepped forward and raised my heel over her throat—

Just then, the double doors were kicked open with a thunderous crash.

The noisy hall fell instantly silent.

A deep, indifferent voice rolled in from the entrance:

"Enough."