Chapter One: Blood-Soaked Birthday Party
The crystal chandeliers in the private banquet hall of the Moretti family shimmered, casting their soft light over the elegantly dressed guests. My heart fluttered as I looked at the sea of familiar faces—family, friends, associates of the Moretti crime family. I was twenty-two today, and the last thing I expected was that this birthday would be the one to change everything.
I stood in front of the room, my father's proud smile warm as he handed me a glass of champagne. The room hushed as he raised his glass to make his announcement.
"Lena, my only daughter. You’ve been a blessing to this family, and as a gift for your twenty-second birthday, I want you to leave Chicago. Go to Italy, study art, and leave behind this life—" His voice caught for a moment, but he quickly recovered. "Stay away from the family business. It’s time you lived a life free from the shadows."
I froze, the glass in my hand suddenly feeling heavier. I wasn’t ready to leave. My life had always been intertwined with this world, even if I hated it at times. My eyes darted to Vincent Rossi, standing at the back of the room, his cold eyes watching me with a look that sent shivers down my spine.
"Always so serious," I muttered under my breath.
Salvatore Mancini, the patriarch of the Moretti family and my godfather, beamed at me with pride, holding out an ornate antique jewelry box. The crowd cheered as he presented me with a diamond necklace that sparkled as brightly as the stars in the sky.
"To our future," Salvatore said, his voice deep and gravelly.
The tension that had been building inside me melted away for a moment. My father had always been protective, but this felt different. For the first time, it seemed like he truly wanted me to escape this world. But before I could say anything in response, a sound shattered the calm of the room—the loud crack of glass followed by a scream.
"Get down!" Vincent shouted, his face twisted with urgency as he rushed toward me.
The next moments unfolded in a blur. The gunfire erupted, chaotic and deafening. People screamed, ducking under tables, seeking cover wherever they could. Vincent pushed me behind a grand piano, using his body as a shield. My heart raced, but not from fear of death. No, it was something deeper—a chilling sense of betrayal that gnawed at my insides.
My father’s voice reached me just before everything went silent. "Lena... truth... irises..." he whispered, his hand gripping Vincent’s in a final act of desperation. My father’s hand went limp.
The world slowed. My father—my protector, my guide, the man who always kept me safe—was gone, and with his death came the crushing weight of everything I never understood about this world.
I gasped as I watched Vincent’s face darken. His expression was one I had never seen before—pained, terrified, and filled with something I couldn’t place.
"Vincent?" I whispered, barely able to speak through my shock. His eyes never left my father’s lifeless body.
“I’ll get you out of here,” Vincent said, his voice shaking with an emotion he rarely showed. But there was something else there, a hidden meaning behind his words I couldn’t grasp.
As we were led to the family’s safe house, I couldn’t shake the words my father had left me with: ‘irises’—why had he said that? What did it mean? And why had Vincent reacted the way he did?
The house was cold, and the silence between us felt suffocating. My tears flowed freely as I collapsed on the couch, unable to contain the grief, the confusion, the anger. I wanted answers, and I needed them now.
“Vincent…” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "What did my father mean by ‘irises’? Why did you look at him like that?"
Vincent turned away, his back tense, his shoulders rigid. He said nothing, and in that silence, my mind raced. What was he hiding?
Hours later, I slipped out of bed and overheard him speaking to someone in the hallway. I pressed my ear to the door. “Yes, she’s got it... But I’m not sure we should go through with it...” His voice was low, filled with uncertainty. “I promised Anthony... I can’t keep lying to her.”
I stepped back, heart pounding. What had he meant? What was he hiding from me?
But before I could process this, the house shook. Gunshots. More fighting. I grabbed my jacket and ran toward the back door, but before I could escape, I saw the tattoo on one of the attackers' arms—the image of a Sicilian iris, matching the one my father had given me on a necklace when I was a child.
I froze. This wasn’t an attack from the Irish. This was a betrayal from inside the family.
As I scrambled to get out, Vincent grabbed my arm, pulling me into a hidden passageway. "Stay close," he ordered, his grip tightening around my wrist. But it wasn’t his protection I feared now. It was the truth—what had my father been hiding? Why was Vincent so involved in this? And what exactly was in the iris?
The weight of everything—of my family’s secrets, of Vincent’s silence, of my own shattered world—pressed down on me. This was only the beginning.
And I was ready to find out just how deep the rabbit hole went.