One week since I’d given the order.
One week since I’d unleashed the Marcello family on the streets of New York with orders to take no prisoners.
One week since I’d declared war on the Rossetti family.
I sat at the head of the long table, trying to force myself to eat.
The rest of the table’s occupants were having no such qualms, it seemed. Vanessa and Eli were deeply engaged in a conversation that had them both smiling so wide, it should’ve made me grin, too.
But how could I grin when my heart was so cold?
Further down, Nonna and Melissa were comparing notes on meatloaf and asparagus, trading tips so fast, I couldn’t have kept up if I’d tried. Somehow, they were eating around all those words, too.
But how could I eat when I’d personally given the order for death, for killing—for
