THE NIGHT I WOKE A SLEEPING EMPIRE

The silence in the meatpacking plant was so absolute I could hear the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above us.

My brain refused to process the woman on the catwalk. She was older, her dark hair streaked with silver, her face scarred down the left cheek. But the eyes—the fierce, unyielding Vela eyes—were exactly the same as the ones in the photograph Vincent had shown me.

My mother was alive.

"Elena," Salvatore choked out, his leathery face turning the color of curdled milk. He gripped the edge of the steel table, his knuckles white. "You're dead. I saw the blood."

"You saw what Katarina wanted you to see, you old coward," my mother’s voice rang out, sharp and steady. She didn't look at Salvatore. She kept the rifle locked squarely on Beatrice. "Step away from my daughter, Beatrice. Or I'll put a bullet through your eye before your brain registers the sound."

Beatrice’s sneer faltered. Her hand holding the gun to Sofia’s head trembled. She was a rat, a spy, an opportunist. She wasn't prepared to fight a ghost.

"Mom?" Sofia whimpered, struggling against the ropes tying her to the chair.

"I'm here, baby bird," my mother said softly, before her voice turned back to ice. "Vincent. Secure my daughter."

Vincent didn't hesitate. He moved forward, his gun trained on Beatrice as he reached out with his free hand to begin untying Sofia.

"Nobody moves!" Salvatore suddenly screamed, a frantic, pathetic sound. He pulled a small silver revolver from his coat and pointed it wildly between me and Vincent. "This is my empire! Mine! You are all traitors!"

"It was never yours, Salvatore," I stepped forward. My fear was entirely gone. I felt a surge of power, a connection to the women in my bloodline who had survived decades of this man’s pathetic paranoia.

I held up the gold pocket watch. The Russo crest glinted under the harsh lights.

Salvatore’s eyes locked onto it, and his chest heaved.

"I went to the bank," I said, my voice echoing off the blood-stained tile walls. "I found the marriage certificate. I know the truth."

I turned to the twenty armed guards who had filed in behind us, men who were blindly loyal to the Russo name.

"Look at your Don!" I shouted to the men. "Look at the man you bleed for! He broke the sacred syndicate law! He married Katarina Vela, and when he realized she was stronger than him, he tried to murder his own wife and his firstborn legitimate heir so he could steal the throne!"

Murmurs rippled through the guards. The Sicilian code of honor was absolute. Betraying a legitimate bloodline was punishable by death.

"Lies!" Salvatore shrieked. "She's a waitress! A fat, lying pig! Shoot her! Shoot them all!"

None of the guards raised their weapons. They looked at the pocket watch in my hand, then up at my mother on the catwalk, and finally at Salvatore, who was sweating and shaking like a cornered rat.

Beatrice realized the tide had turned. She lowered her gun, taking a slow step back toward the shadows. "I'm just an employee, Salvatore. This is family business."

"You're not going anywhere," I said, stepping into Beatrice’s path. I towered over her. For years, this woman had made me feel small, agonizing over my weight, my uniform, my existence.

She looked up at me, panic flashing in her eyes. She raised her gun, but I was faster. I grabbed her wrist, twisting it sharply. The gun clattered to the concrete floor. With my other hand, I shoved her hard against the steel pillar.

"Agility and discretion, Beatrice," I whispered coldly. "Isn't that what you said? It turns out, I just needed the right motivation."

I left her cowering and walked straight toward Salvatore.

He aimed his trembling revolver directly at my chest. "I'll kill you. I'll kill you like I should have killed your mother."

"Do it," I challenged him, stepping until the barrel of his gun pressed against my sternum. I looked down at him with pure disgust. "Pull the trigger. Show your men what a coward you are. Shoot an unarmed woman who carries the true blood of this empire."

Salvatore’s finger twitched on the trigger. He sobbed, a pathetic, wet sound. He was broken.

Suddenly, a gunshot echoed through the plant.

But it didn't come from Salvatore.

It came from the catwalk.

Salvatore screamed, dropping his gun as blood bloomed across his right shoulder. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his wound.

My mother lowered her sniper rifle. "That was for making me live in the shadows for thirty years."

Vincent finished untying Sofia. The little girl ran straight to me, burying her face in my apron. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tight against my chest.

"It's over," Vincent said, standing over his father. He kicked Salvatore's dropped gun away. "The Russo empire is dead."

The guards in the room lowered their weapons completely. One by one, they bowed their heads. Not to Salvatore.

To me.

"We need the police," I told Vincent, holding Sofia close. "We have the adoption records, the hospital files, and Beatrice’s confession. We have enough to put Salvatore away for the rest of his miserable life."

"Wait," Salvatore gasped from the floor, blood pooling around his knees. He looked up at me, his eyes filled with a new, terrifying manic light. "You think you've won? You think you can just take my throne and live happily ever after?"

He reached into his jacket with his good hand and pulled out a small, black detonator.

"If I can't have this empire," Salvatore smiled, blood staining his teeth, "then nobody will."

He pressed the red button.

A deafening explosion rocked the foundation of the building. The concrete floor cracked, and a massive fireball erupted from the loading dock behind us, blowing the steel doors off their hinges.