Prologue

Adriana

Four Years Ago

My fingers fumbled with the buttons of my ill-fitting uniform; the same one I wore every night to my job at the local fast-food joint. The old grandfather clock on the wall ticked ominously, reminding me I was running late again. The flickering fluorescent light cast a harsh glow over the tiny kitchen of our apartment, filled with the lingering scent of my father’s latest attempt at cooking. My nose wrinkled, and I longed to get outside quickly for fresh air. Not that the streets of our part of the smog-infested city held any.

I’d done my best as I always did to eat the supper my father, Giuseppe, had prepared, but as usual he hadn’t been paying attention as he was adding the spices, already too far gone into drink. When I couldn’t force another bite, I lied and said I had a stomach ache, figuring I’d spend of some of my earnings from the restaurant to buy myself a burger after my shift. Glancing over, I saw that Papa now sat slumped in his worn-out armchair, the bottle of cheap whiskey dangling from his calloused fingers. His eyes, bloodshot but still full of the familiar warmth, watched me with a mixture of pride and regret.

“Papa, I have to go,” I said, my voice soft but urgent. I knew he meant well, that he loved me despite his flaws, and that he was doing the best he could to give me a proper upbringing. Since my mother's death, it had been the two of us against the world. However, I often felt more like the parent, caring for him as he spiraled deeper into the bottle as the years went on. Yet, in his sober moments, he was still my hero, the man who had once taught me to ride a bike and sing lullabies to chase away my nightmares.

Giuseppe tried to sit up straighter, his lips forming a weak smile. “Be careful out there, Adriana. You work too hard for a girl only 16 years old. You should be out having fun with your friends, going to dances and dating boys.”

“I don’t want to do those things, Papa,” I lied, my tone gentle but firm. “I like to work. Besides, we need the money.”

My father's eyes clouded with a mixture of guilt and gratitude. He opened his mouth as if to say something more, but the words never came. Instead, he nodded and reached out, gently squeezing my hand. I smiled back, but my heart ached for the man he used to be, the man who had been my rock before our mother died and gambling and drink had taken over.

The walls of our small apartment were thin, and I could hear the distant sounds of traffic, the occasional shout from the street below. I grabbed my bag, checking one last time that I had everything I needed for my shift. It wasn’t just a job to me; it was our lifeline. The meager pay kept a roof over our heads and food on the table, no matter how scarce.

Giuseppe's voice broke the silence. “I’ll try to find some work tomorrow,” he mumbled, though we both knew it was an empty promise. He had been saying that for months now, ever since he lost the last of a string of jobs due to poor attendance.

“It's okay, Papa,” I replied, my smile bittersweet. “We’ll manage.”

He looked down at the floor, shame etched into the lines of his weary face. He’d been a salesman, and a good one, before Mama went to be with the Lord, but the charismatic, extroverted personality Giuseppe was once known for seemed to have gone with her, leaving a broken shell of a man in its place. I felt my heart bleed for the pain he carried. I wished I could do more to help, that I could somehow lift the burden from his shoulders. But reality was harsh, and I had to focus on one day at a time. For both of our sake.

As I turned to leave, the rickety front door shuddered under a sudden, forceful pounding. I froze, my heart leaping into my throat. The pounding came again, louder and more insistent.

“Adriana, you need to leave. Now,” Papa’s voice trembled, filled with an urgency I had never heard before.

Confused, I turned back to him. “What? Why?”

Giuseppe’s face turned ashen. “It's too late,” he whispered, grabbing my arm and dragging me towards the bedroom. “Go. Hide in the closet. Don't make a sound.”

My heart raced as I crawled into the cramped space, pressing myself against the back wall. Through the slats of the shuttered doors, I could see my father standing in the center of the room, his hands shaking. The door to our home suddenly burst open, and a group of men stormed in. At their head was a tall, imposing figure dressed in a business suit with slicked back, black hair and cold, calculating eyes.

“Mr. Capuzzo,” Papa said, his voice cracking with fear. “Sir.”

My blood ran cold. I had heard the name Carmine Capuzzo whispered in fearful tones around the neighborhood, the notorious boss of the local Italian crime syndicate. I pressed a hand over my mouth to stifle the sobs threatening to escape.

“Giuseppe Gorga,” Carmine's voice was smooth, almost gentle, but laced with deadly intent. “You owe me money. I have come to collect.”

“I-I'll get it,” Giuseppe stammered. “Please, just a few more days.”

Carmine shook his head slowly. “You've had more than enough time.”

My vision blurred with tears as I watched my father plead for his life. The men surrounding Carmine were like shadows, their faces obscured by darkness, but their presence was ominous and menacing. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a painful reminder of my helplessness in the face of impending tragedy I knew I couldn’t prevent.

“Please, Mr. Capuzzo,” Giuseppe begged, his voice breaking. “Just a little more time. I’ll find a way to pay you back. I swear it.”

The mafia don’s stony expression remained unmoved. He reached into his coat and drew out a sleek, black pistol. The sight of it made my stomach churn. I wanted to scream, to burst out of the closet and stop what was about to happen, but I knew it would be futile. I was only a young girl, unarmed and powerless against these formidable men who ruled our part of town.

“You’ve made promises before, Giuseppe. Promises you couldn’t keep,” Carmine said, his voice devoid of emotion. “I can’t afford to show mercy. Not in this business. I have a reputation to protect, as I’m sure you understand.”

The room fell silent, the air heavy with dread. Carmine raised the gun, aiming it at my father’s chest. Time seemed to slow down, and I held my breath while each second stretched into an eternity.

“No, please!” Papa cried, his voice a desperate wail as he threw up his hands.

The sound of the gunshot was deafening, shattering the stillness like a thunderclap. I watched in horror as my father crumpled to the floor, blood pooling around him. My tears flowed freely now, and my body shook with silent sobs.

The crime lord lowered the gun, his face stoic. He turned to his men and gave a curt nod. “It is done. Let’s go.”

The men filed out of the room, their footsteps echoing down the hallway. I waited, my breath shallow and ragged, until the sound of their departure faded into the distance. Only then did I dare to move.

I emerged from the closet, my legs weak, and my heart broken. I collapsed beside my father's lifeless body as my sobs finally broke free.

“Papa,” I whispered, my voice raw with grief. I clutched his hand, feeling the warmth slowly seep away. The room seemed to close in around me, the walls pressing in with the weight of my loss.

As the reality of my father’s death settled over me, a cold, dark resolve took its place. I looked down at the bullet hole in his chest and the pool of blood surrounding his body, my eyes dry now and filled with a new, steely determination.

In that moment, I knew that my life would never be the same. The innocence of my youth had been stripped away, leaving only a burning desire for vengeance. I would not rest until those responsible for my father’s death paid for their actions. I bent down and placed a final kiss on Giuseppe’s forehead.

“Rest in peace, Papa,” I whispered. Then, I rose and quickly packed up what little I could carry. I had no other family to turn to, no one to help me. I ran away, spending the remainder of the night crouched behind a dumpster until dawn. In the morning, I found a small, dingy room in a rundown area far enough away from my old home that no one would recognize me, but still close enough to keep an eye on the Capuzzo operations. It wasn't much, but it was a place to start. I used the name Grimaldi for my last name, when really it was Gorga, even though the bleary-eyed, unshaven landlord likely didn’t care what my name was as long as I could pay.

The days that followed were a blur of grief and anger. I didn’t return to school, knowing that my high school diploma would be useless in the underworld I was determined to enter. Instead, I found work at two different restaurants, spending the hours of my days and nights trying to escape the pain by flipping burgers and cleaning tables. Grief became a physical thing, gnawing at my insides, leaving me hollow and empty by the time I collapsed into bed each night.

However, my mind kept replaying the events of that night over and over again, each detail etched into my memory. I remembered the look of fear in my father's eyes, the cold indifference on Carmine Capuzzo’s face, the sound of the gunshot that had shattered my world. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it all again, a never-ending nightmare.

In the wee hours of the morning, I began training myself in secret, honing my skills in self-defense, learning to handle a gun, and studying the intricate web of the Capuzzo crime family. My transformation was not just physical. The grief and rage that had consumed me had turned me into a formidable adversary. My body became leaner and more muscular, and my once friendly and gentle demeanor was replaced by a cold, calculating exterior. When I looked in the mirror, my brown eyes, once filled with warmth and love, now reflected only darkness within me.

I discovered that Carmine Capuzzo had an heir, his son, Luca. Luca was known to be as ruthless as his uncle, if not more so. He was the rising star of the syndicate, his name whispered in the same fearful tones as Carmine's. My heart hardened further with each piece of information I uncovered, each name I added to my list of enemies as time passed.

By day, I played the role of a humble waitress, blending into the background, invisible. By night, I honed my skills and crept like a cat, secretly gathering intel, and slowly building my plan. I had to find a way in to the Capuzzo’s inner circles. But how? After discovering that the family owns an upscale strip club and bar called the Velvet Room, I enrolled myself in bartending school and began building my resume.

And then one day, four years after my father’s murder, the opportunity I’d been waiting for became mine.