Chapter 1

I ripped the contract to shreds in front of my father and the entire family.

The pieces fluttered down like pale snow, landing on the white linen tablecloth of the Michelin-starred restaurant.

I threw the fountain pen. Its nib pierced the cloth, and the ink bled out like a pool of cooling blood.

The private room fell silent.

The cigar dropped from my father’s fingers, hissing into a porcelain bowl of half-melted ice cream—like the sound of some small life being extinguished.

Then, the door opened.

The light was devoured first, then the figure. He walked in as if the room belonged to him, and we were all just trespassers.

Dante Costello.

The uncrowned king of New York. The city's walking law.

His black suit seemed woven from the night itself. His gaze swept over the torn agreement on the table before finally landing on my face. He wasn’t looking at a person, but at a prized possession that had been recovered, albeit with a new flaw.

"That wasn't just paper you tore up, Ava."

He sat across from me and picked up the untouched dessert fork from my plate. He gently pushed aside the paper scraps, revealing a crossed-out line beneath: "During the marriage, the wife must fulfill all of Mr. Costello’s needs."

"What you tore," he said, setting the silver fork down with a cold clink against the china, "was your father's three years of breathing room, the rights to two casinos in Brooklyn, and…"

He paused, his eyes shifting to my father. The man who had never once bowed his head in my memory was now visibly shrinking.

"The Steinway piano your mother left you. The bank will be by to appraise it tomorrow."

My blood turned to ice.

He knew. He knew everything. He knew that piano was the last thing my mother played before she died. He knew it was the one thing I would never, ever compromise on.

A brand-new Montblanc pen was pushed in front of me, the white star on its cap cold and piercing.

"Sign," Dante’s voice was flat, without a ripple of emotion. "Or I’ll make a call right now, and you can watch them chop that piano into firewood."

I grabbed the pen. The metal was cold against my burning palm.

On either side of the long table, my cousins held their breath. The lawyer’s fingers trembled. My Uncle Leo’s wine glass was slick with the damp print of his hand.

They were all waiting—waiting for me to break, for this sacrificial ritual to be completed.

Then, I did something that made time freeze.

I grabbed his tie.

The deep blue silk tightened in my fist. I yanked it, forcing him to lean forward—so close I could see the fine gray lines in his irises, so close I could feel the warmth of his breath.

"Mr. Costello," my voice was a low whisper, but it scraped like a razor on glass. "You can take the casinos, the docks, the house. You can even burn the damn piano."

I stared into his suddenly constricting pupils, saying each word slowly.

"But you will never—take me."

The pen nib stabbed through the paper.

I wasn’t signing my name. I was piercing straight through the printed letters of "Ava Moretti." The sound of tearing fibers was as loud as a gunshot in the dead silence.

I threw the pen back on the table and turned to leave.

A bodyguard shifted to block me, but Dante didn’t give the order. My hand closed around the brass doorknob—

"Ava."

His voice came from behind me, steady, but with a new, dangerous frequency.

I turned back.

A thin silver chain was wrapped around his fingers—I don't know when he took it off me. Dangling from the end was the simple band I had worn for seven years.

"You forgot something," Dante said, closing his hand around the ring, his knuckles tightening.

"It’s time for my property to be returned."

In that instant, my world went completely silent.