Chapter 1

Eight years ago, my brother Rowan dropped Rohypnol into my champagne so Damien could put his ring on my sister at the engagement gala instead of me.

I woke up handcuffed to a bed in a New Mexico motel — Boyd's filthy hands on my throat. I cracked a whiskey bottle across his skull and walked twenty miles barefoot across the desert before sunrise.

Now I'm a wreck — desert dust caked on my jeans. Eight feral kids tearing around my legs. A strip of beef jerky between my teeth.

So, when eight years after I was thrown out of New York, my brother Rowan finally tracked me down to a dust-blown desert town on the outskirts of Vegas?

So funny.

"Eva—" Rowan's eyes went red. "You hated kids. You were going to be the first female Underboss in Marchetti history. What the hell happened to you?"

I kept chewing. I just chewed on a piece of beef jerky, reached into a pile of mud, and hauled out two filthy toddlers. Then I waved for the rest to head inside.

Then Serena stepped in front of me. Tears already brimming, right on cue.

"Eva—" Her voice cracked sweet and broken. "It was Rowan who talked Father and Mother into the Rohypnol that night. It was Damien who switched us at the altar."

Damien Marchetti just stood there, holding her hand. Calm. Waiting for me to fall apart.

But I didn’t.

Rowan’s voice turned cold.

"Boyd was ugly, sure. But he took Serena in when she was on the streets. He wasn’t all bad. You just had a rough patch. Don’t make this ugly.”

Eight years ago, Serena had shown up at the Ashford estate, claiming to be the real daughter. She told everyone I was the fake—that I wouldn’t let her through the door. And my family believed her.

These eight years had been my lesson.

“Eva, Boyd is dead now. We’re here to take you home.” Serena’s voice was soft, almost kind. “But these little strays are filthy. Low-blood. You can’t bring them. If they've made you suffer this much—let's just get rid of them."

My head snapped up.

Get rid of them?

The child swinging from the rafters was Consigliere DeLuca’s only daughter. The one glaring daggers at them was Don Harlan’s daughter. In the corner, throwing dice like they didn’t have a care in the world, were the Volkov family’s two heirs.

These kids weren't strays. They were the future of every empire that mattered between the East River and the Pacific.

“You’d be relieved to be rid of them, wouldn’t you, Eva?”

Serena smiled, dabbing at her tears.

Then her bodyguards raised their guns and formed a ring around us.

I pulled the farthest child into my arms and let out a long, quiet breath. This one I couldn’t let get hurt. Don Calder’s only daughter. Fifth‑generation single heir. The whole Calder family were unhinged madmen, and they would burn the world down if anything happened to this little girl.

“What? You don’t want them dead?” Damien's voice dropped low. The heir to the Marchetti family radiated cold authority. “Eva Ashford, you want to drag eight little bastards into Marchetti territory?”

I frowned and clamped my hand over Harlan’s daughter’s mouth. That girl had the sharpest tongue in the West.

“Is Eva embarrassed?” Serena tilted her head, feigning concern. “But Damien doesn’t mind that you’ve been living like a whore. Come back with us. He’s willing to take you in—his woman, at least in name.”

Serena said it like she was offering me a crown. Like it wasn't a leash.

“I’m not going back.”

Three heads snapped toward me at once.

Rowan's face darkened. "You give Serena attitude the second you see her? Did you forget every single thing they taught you in the Ashford house?"

I'd forgotten more than that.

I'd forgotten the snowy night Rowan had walked Serena home with his arm around her, leaving me bleeding in the courtyard.

I had forgotten the sound of my engagement ring shattering under Serena’s heel, and the way Damien barely glanced at me when it happened.

Eight years was enough time to bury all of it.

"Do it, Eva. Don’t tell me you’re never going to marry again because of that punk. You want to be a widow forever? Or maybe you just liked being a whore."

Damien's smile was cruel. His eyes dragged over the kids like they were vermin.

"They're not mine. You also can't touch them. You can't afford to touch them."

Heir to the Marchetti throne or not—didn’t he see that these children weren’t afraid of him?They were doing their own thing, Like he wasn't worth the breath.

“You won’t even admit they’re yours?” Damien sneered, drawing his Glock and aiming at the youngest child. “I wouldn’t dare?”

My stomach dropped.

I lunged to block him—and Rowan's hand cracked across my face hard enough to whip my head sideways.

"I thought you were forced to have children. Now I see you spread your legs for him willingly. You disgrace every drop of Ashford blood."

The slap echoed through the dusty yard. The children finally looked up.

My ears rang. I took a slow breath, my heart sinking into my stomach.

"Damien. Look at him. Really look. He's your father's grandson."

I'd jerked Marco back fast, but not fast enough. A long, shallow cut had opened up his arm. Blood dripped down into the dust.

He buried his face against my chest, white-faced and shaking.

I tugged his collar back and bared his collarbone.

"Look closely."

The Marchetti family crest. A black obsidian serpent, crowned in thorns. Inked in surgical-grade ink across an eight-year-old's skin. The mark only direct blood of Don Salvatore himself was ever permitted to wear.

Serena's eyes blew wide as poker chips.

But Damien didn't lower the gun. "My father has no grandson."

"You can't even recognize the Marchetti crest when it's bleeding right in front of you?"

Lucia ripped free of my hand, fury crackling in every inch of her ten-year-old body. "My father is Don Vincent Harlan! Marchetti runs Manhattan, sure—but Harlan owns Chicago, you idiot! You touch us and my dad puts your whole family in the East River by Sunday!"

This time, Serena slapped her. Hard.

The desert went silent. Even the wind died.

In our world, you don't lay a hand on a Don's daughter. You don't even raise your voice at one. It's a declaration of war.

Serena lifted her chin. Smiled.

"Are these all the little kids you prepared for this performance, Eva?"