The Don’s Crown Was Built on My Father’s Grave

To wed his first love, the man I was promised to broke Omertà and gave up my father as a state agent buried twenty years deep in the Families. They kept him for a full day and a full night. They cut off his legs, they gouged out his eyes, and at the last they threw him into an iron cage and set him alight while his heart was still beating.

I went mad with grief and swore a vendetta against my betrothed. That was when Salvatore Marchetti, the youngest Don in Sicily, came home from across the water with a procession that made whole streets go silent. He used every hand he owned.