All outposts, all informants, all peripheral connections—all have been mobilized.
They must resolve this before the vultures of the Federation smell the blood—
It must be resolved.
My mother hasn't left the underground operations room for three days.
The lights there are deathly white, the air as cold as a morgue.
She's kept going with coffee, like a machine that never stops.
Seraphina isn't here.
She went north to "visit" the Marchetti family.
Naturally—
No one brings my mother food anymore.
Late at night.
Dominic walked in carrying a case of coffee and pastries.
He handed out paper cups one by one, a smile on his face.
“Your precious niece didn’t bring lunch today?”
He said casually, then turned to my mother.
“And—Mrs. Ferraro.”
“Your biological daughter, I’ve never actually seen her even once.”
He swirled the coffee in his hand.
“You’re not hiding her, are you? Afraid we’ll take her away?”
My mother paused, her espresso sizzling.
Her brow furrowed.
“Don’t mention her.” Her tone was as cold as a knife. “It’s annoying to even think about her.”
Dominic didn’t notice.
He leaned against the table, twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers.