Chapter 3

The following afternoon, my gallery was suddenly surrounded by a fleet of black Chevy Suburbans.

Over a dozen thugs armed with baseball bats and heavy chains completely blockaded the gallery’s entrance.

Passersby gave them a wide berth, terrified of crossing paths with the vicious-looking gang members.

I sat on the second-floor terrace sipping my afternoon tea, watching the commotion below with cold indifference through the one-way glass.

Standing right behind me was Marco, the captain of the personal guard detail Cassian had assigned to me.

Marco was one of the Falco family's most lethal assassins. Currently, his hand rested casually on the grip of his holstered gun as he asked for instructions in a low voice.

"Donna, would you like me to have the men outside clear them out? I guarantee we won't make a mess of your street."

"No need." I picked up a freshly brewed cup of scalding black coffee and gently blew on the steam. "I want to see what new stunts he thinks he can pull."

Just as I expected, a few minutes later, Gideon strutted into the gallery flanked by a posse of lackeys, looking like a triumphant general.

He had swapped his suit for a black trench coat, an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. He clearly thought he was channeling his inner Godfather, but in reality, his sleaziness was just nauseating.

He marched straight up to the second-floor terrace. Seeing me still leisurely sipping my coffee, his brows knitted together in a deep scowl.

"Valeria, you see me and you're still sitting here casually drinking coffee?" Gideon stormed over and slammed his hand on the table.

"Look at those men outside! This is what real power looks like! All I have to do is lift a finger, and this pathetic gallery of yours will be reduced to rubble. And that loser husband of yours? He’ll mysteriously disappear on his commute home tonight!"

I stared at his face, twisted with manic excitement. I felt absolutely nothing but a faint sense of amusement.

To Marco and the elite Falco family operatives lurking in the shadows, those street punks outside weren't even qualified to be cannon fodder.

Taking my silence for fear, Gideon let out a smug laugh. He pulled a document from his coat and slapped it onto the table.

"I’m a sentimental guy," he said, pulling out a chair, sitting down, and crossing his legs.

"Bianca was furious yesterday, but I’ve managed to placate her. As long as you sign this ‘Voluntary Transfer Agreement’ and sign this gallery over to Bianca as an apology for your little outburst, my offer still stands."

He tapped the signature line on the document.

"Sign it, then be a good girl and move into the apartment I’ve set up for you. I’ll give you a twenty-thousand-dollar monthly allowance—more than enough for you and that kid of yours to live decently."

"This is your last chance, Valeria. Don't force my hand."

I glanced down at the bullshit agreement. It was riddled with loopholes and didn’t even use the correct legal terminology. Finally, I couldn't hold back a soft chuckle.

"What are you laughing at?"

"I'm laughing because you're not just blind, you're illiterate."

"Gideon, do you honestly believe that just because you clawed your way up to some mid-level Capo in the Russo family, you suddenly rule New York?"

"What the hell do you know?!" Gideon shot to his feet, pointing a finger right in my face and roaring.

"A woman like you, destined to scrape by at the bottom, has no idea how brutal the Mafia world really is! The terms I’m offering you are a goddamn blessing!"

"A blessing?"

I stood up, picked up the cup of scalding black coffee without a second thought, and splashed it directly into his face.

"Aargh—!" Gideon stumbled backward, clutching his face as the piping-hot coffee dripped from his hair and soaked into his expensive trench coat.

"Know your place, Gideon," I said, pulling a napkin to dab my hands.

"Your so-called power isn't worth shit to me. Take your scrap paper and get the hell out. If I ever have to look at your disgusting face again, I promise you, I will make you regret the day you were born."

Gideon grimaced in agony. The two bodyguards behind him moved to intervene, but a single, icy glare from Marco pinned them dead in their tracks.

"You... you just wait! Valeria, you're dead!" Gideon spat, clutching his scalded, red face as he backed away, throwing out hollow threats in a fit of impotent rage.

"At the Blood Oath Gala next week, I'll show you what true hell looks like!"