Chapter 4

Salvatore's face went dark as old blood. He set his jaw and bit out each word. "Fine. You want it big? I'll make it big for you."

Without another word, he drew his phone and made the call.

My heart surged with anticipation.

Yes. Stir it up. The bigger, the better. Let every Family in New York witness the rot inside your perfect, untouchable bloodline.

A man with the Ferrante reach did not have to wait long. Within minutes the associates came, the leeches who trafficked in gossip for the Families, all of them raising their phones, hungry-faced, spreading the word to every corner of the five boroughs.

"Listen close, everyone. We've got something ripe here tonight. See this woman? Don't let the face fool you. She's rotten straight through."

"Years back she tried to drag her own sworn sister down into death with her after a man was through with her. That sister risked her life to pull her back from the edge. And how does she repay blood-loyalty? With envy. Envy that her sister married better, lived cleaner. Nothing but trouble since."

"She's fed off that sister for years. Every time her pockets went empty she came crawling. Heavy with child, her sister still ran her errands, cleaned up her filth, dragged herself out into the dark to fetch her when she'd drunk herself blind."

"And in return? Nothing. She burns through tribute like water, takes her sister's kindness as owed, even pawned her sister's wedding gold to buy trinkets for the men she keeps. Ran her sister's credit dry to cover the gambling debts she racked up."

"Her private life is a plague of its own. A married woman, yet she's forever spreading her legs, playing the mistress, knowing full well the wives she wrongs. Beaten in the street for it more times than anyone can count."

"Word is she caught something filthy for her trouble. Slipped off to a doctor in secret, dragged her sister along to cover the shame. Who can say how many men she poisoned before that?"

"Mark her face, all of you. If you've got the spine, strike her where you find her. If you don't, keep your distance. She's a disease that walks."

They stacked lie on lie, conjuring sins out of empty air, swelling every word past all reason.

Soon every channel where the Families and their associates traded whispers was boiling with curses.

"Dio, her sister and her husband must be saints to carry trash like this."

"That's no woman. That's a tumor with legs."

"Right? Letting her breathe is letting the plague spread."

The dishonoring fermented at lightning speed. Within minutes my face was passed hand to hand across every screen in the territory, my name at the top of every foul thread.

Leech.

Snake in her own blood.

Whore.

Ugly labels piled onto my name, one after another, until they became my new identity.

As the associates fanned the flames, the crowd's blood came up.

One by one, they began hurling eggs and rotted vegetables at me.

Some who had been eating at the curb smashed their bottles at my feet, the glass singing against the pavement in the sudden hush before the next wave of shouting.

Like a lamb before slaughter, I stood in the middle of the filth, drowning in insults, reeking of garbage.

And then, through the chaos, a familiar figure came out of the crowd.

It was Marco.

At the sight of his face, my lonely heart finally found a refuge.

To me, Marco had always been my strongest support.

No matter what grievances I faced beyond our door, he would patiently comfort me, help me, shield me.

He was not only my alliance-bound husband. He was my safe harbor. My home.

In that moment, every defense I had left fell away.

I wanted nothing more than to run into his arms, to collapse into the warmth I trusted most.

So I did.

But the moment I reached him, he shoved me away.

The force caught me off guard. I stumbled back, lost my footing, and crashed heavily to the ground.