Chapter 1
The grand atrium of the Falcone estate was bathed in bright, natural light, pouring through the massive skylights to illuminate the space with a cinematic brilliance. There was no heavy yellow tint to dull the room; the colors were vivid and sharp. Polished marble floors gleamed beneath a long, immaculately set birthday banquet table. To the side, velvet crowd posts with thick crimson ropes guided guests toward the main dining area, flanking a low marble sculpture plinth that held a heavy, decorative bronze statue. Around the perimeter, rich leather ottomans provided seating for the arriving guests. The room was filled with white American adults in formal wear, their fair, rosy skin glowing with health and wealth as their sharp American accents echoed through the expansive, luxurious space.
At the center of the head table was an empty, high-backed chair reserved for the patriarch of the family. Beside it sat another ornately carved chair, intended for his bloodline.
Three-year-old Ruby Falcone walked toward the table. Her fair, rosy cheeks were flushed with the excitement of the evening. She wore an elegant, pale-pink birthday-dinner dress, layered perfectly beneath a soft white cardigan. Her tiny feet, clad in polished flats, carried her toward the seat directly to the right of her father’s empty place. She reached out, her small hands brushing the fine silk upholstery, preparing to climb into the chair.
Suddenly, a manicured hand clamped down on the carved wooden backrest.
Valentina Falcone, striking and terrifying in a luxurious, emerald-green formal gown, violently yanked the heavy chair backward. Her diamond jewelry flashed blindingly in the bright light, matching the cold sparkle of the massive wedding ring on her finger. Her fair complexion flushed with a sudden, vicious surge of spite.
With the chair ripped out from under her, Ruby lost her balance completely. The little girl pitched backward, tumbling through the air before hitting the thick, woven carpet with a dull, heavy thud. She let out a sharp gasp, her blue eyes widening in absolute shock as the wind was knocked out of her small lungs.
Before the surrounding guests could even register the cruelty of the act, Valentina reached down and grabbed the arm of her eight-year-old son, Ethan Cole. The boy, dressed in formal child’s dinner clothing with perfectly polished shoes, looked momentarily confused, but his mother did not give him time to hesitate. Valentina hauled him forward and immediately seated Ethan in the very chair she had just pulled away from her stepdaughter.
Ruby sat on the carpet, her lower lip trembling as she looked up at the towering woman. Tears welled instantly in her bright eyes, spilling over her rosy cheeks.
Valentina looked down at the weeping three-year-old, her expression devoid of any maternal warmth. Her American accent was sharp, her tone freezing the air around them.
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"My son sits with family," Valentina said coldly, her voice laced with absolute, unyielding venom. "Beg on the ground."
The guests standing nearby abruptly stopped their conversations. The clinking of crystal glasses ceased. A heavy, suffocating tension immediately hijacked the bright, vibrant atmosphere of the birthday banquet. No one moved to help the child. In the world of the Mafia, you did not interfere with the wife of the boss, no matter how profound the cruelty. Ruby pulled her knees to her chest, her tiny fingers clutching the hem of her elegant dress as she wept softly on the floor.
