The gates groaned shut behind Roman’s order

While the mafia dons debated the future of the city's wealth, I sat in the anteroom, looking down at my phone.

I hadn't called my mother yet. I didn't want her to see me like this—with my hair hacked off, living in a golden fortress, surrounded by men with guns. But my mother was a woman from Queens; she didn't need a phone call to know when her daughter was in trouble.

The heavy door to the anteroom burst open, and Marcus immediately raised his weapon, his finger tightening on the trigger.

"Lower that gun before I break it over your head," a sharp, familiar voice barked.

My mother, Clara, marched into the room. She was wearing her faded winter coat from the department store, her boots dripping with melted snow, and her face set in a look of absolute fury.

"Mom?" I gasped, trying to stand up, but she rushed over and caught me, pulling me into a fierce, tight embrace.

She didn't care about the guards, the guns, or the millions of dollars surrounding us. She looked at my head, her eyes filling with tears of pure rage as she touched the short, uneven strands of my hair.

"Who did this to you, Bianca?" she demanded, her voice shaking with the kind of anger only a mother could possess. "Tell me right now."

"It was Roman's mother," I whispered, holding onto her jacket. "But Roman saved me. He brought me here. He's handling it."

Clara snorted, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "Handling it? These mafia boys think everything can be solved with a bullet or a bribe. They don't understand what real survival means. You are eight months pregnant, Bianca. You shouldn't be sitting in a concrete bunker while they divide up a dead man's money."

Before I could answer, the door from the main boardroom opened, and Roman walked in. He looked exhausted, but when he saw my mother, he stopped, his expression turning respectful.

"Clara," Roman said, bowing his head slightly. "I didn't expect you to find this place."

"I raised a daughter while working three jobs in a neighborhood where people disappear for looking at someone wrong, Roman," my mother said, stepping between him and me. "Do you think a couple of guys in suits could keep me from my girl?"

Roman nodded slowly. "I apologize for what happened. I failed to protect her at the estate."

"You did," Clara said bluntly. "But you're here now. So what's the plan? Because that wicked woman isn't going to just sit back and let a girl from Queens inherit her empire. She's going to strike back, and she's going to use everything she has left."

Roman looked at my mother, then down at me. A strange, new determination settled into his eyes.

"She has money, and she has a few loyal soldiers," Roman said. "But she doesn't have the streets. The families have officially recognized my daughter's claim. Vivienne has been exiled from the Commission. She has twenty-four hours to leave New York, or she becomes an open target."

I looked at Roman, a deep sense of dread settling in my chest. "She won't leave, Roman. She would rather see the city burn than leave it to us."