YOU CAN STAND TONIGHT, SARAH. THERE'S NO ROOM LEFT AT THE TABLE.” MY MAFIA HUSBAND LET HIS MISTRESS TAKE MY CHAIR IN FRONT OF TWENTY-FOUR RELATIVES—BUT HIS 83-YEAR-OLD GRANDMOTHER NOTICED SOMETHING ON THE WOMAN'S PHONE AND ORDERED EVERYONE TO STAY SEATED -

Chapter 11 – THE QUEEN’S TOLL

The morning air was freezing as I walked down the long cobblestone driveway.

Vincent was right behind me, his hand resting on his weapon, his men fanning out across the lawn. But I walked ten paces ahead.

Outside the iron gates, five black SUVs idled aggressively.

A tall man in a bespoke charcoal suit stood leaning against the hood of the lead car. Half of his face was covered in terrible, shiny burn scars.

Dante Falcone.

He smiled as I approached. It was a cold, empty expression.

“Mrs. Romano,” Dante said, his voice raspy from smoke damage long ago. “You are braver than your husband.”

“I don’t have time for pleasantries, Dante,” I said, stopping on my side of the iron gate. “You want Leo.”

“He is Falcone blood,” Dante sneered. “Vincent stole him. I am simply taking my nephew home to New York.”

“Leo stays here,” I said evenly.

Dante laughed. “And how do you plan to stop me, little housewife? You have ten men. I have fifty waiting three blocks away. Hand over the boy, or I kill everyone in that house.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the burned rosary. I held it up through the bars.

Dante’s eyes locked onto it. His smirk vanished.

“You left this under my table,” I said. “To scare us. To show us you were in our home.”

“It belonged to my father,” Dante growled. “It is a promise. Fire and ash.”

“No,” I corrected him. “It’s a debt.”

I reached into my other pocket and pulled out the silver locket Nonna had given me last night. I opened it and took out the tiny brass key.

Dante’s good eye widened.

“You know what this is,” I said. “The key to the Chicago territory deeds. My father held them. But do you know what else is in that vault, Dante?”

He didn’t speak. He looked genuinely rattled.

“The ledger,” I bluffed smoothly, my voice ringing with total authority. “The one proving your father sold out the New York bosses to the Feds twenty years ago. The reason your warehouse burned down.”

Dante gripped the iron bars. “You’re lying.”

“If you attack this house,” I said, stepping closer until I was inches from his scarred face, “my lawyer has instructions to send the ledger to the Five Families in New York. You won’t make it past Ohio before your own men turn on you.”

The silence stretched. The wind howled through the trees. Dante stared at me, searching for weakness. I didn’t blink. I stood tall, the matriarch of the Romano family, protecting my son.

Dante slowly let go of the bars.

“Keep the boy,” he spat. “For now.”

He turned, got into his SUV, and slammed the door.

I watched as the five black cars reversed and drove away, disappearing down the tree-lined street.

My knees finally gave out.

I started to fall, but strong arms caught me. Vincent pulled me against his chest, burying his face in my hair.

“You did it,” he whispered, his voice full of awe. “You saved us.”

I looked up at the mansion. Nonna Vittoria was standing on the balcony, nodding in quiet respect. And in the window below, little Leo was pressing his hands against the glass, waiting for us to come back inside.

I squeezed Vincent’s hand.

“Let’s go inside,” I said. “It’s time for breakfast.”