* Three weeks ago *
I sat in my apartment, rundown but undeniably mine. There was a stain from where I had tried to paint the kitchen backsplash myself, and a dent in the wall because… long story. Just blame inertia.
Dante spread surveillance photos across the table I had once tried—and failed—to flip. The whole place smelled of my perfume, lavender essential oil and his cigarettes. He knows that I hate the smell of its smoke but doesn’t skip smoking anyway.
And even more than that I hate that I can’t sneak up on him to our parents.
“The only way to bring down Don Vittore De Luca is through his son,” he said, tapping one of the photos—Alessandro, caught mid-stride on some campus pathway.
I studied the photo. In it, Alessandro looked dangerous but distant. Like he had been born knowing he would never have to check a price tag in his life or neck he steps on to.
“Our ‘mafia prince’ lives relatively unprotected off-campus,” Dante continued. “And he needs a live-in personal maid. Convenient, right?”
“Suspiciously convenient,” I said looking up at him, already feeling some plotting behind the words.
“That’s because I’ve been planning this for months.”
He grinned, and it was maybe the first real smile I had seen from him since our parents died. Sometimes I miss my funny older brother.
“Sofia Russo. Twenty years old, light hair, dark eyes, same height as you. Her family really does owe the De Lucas money—a lot of it. Enough that the debt story will check out when they vet you.”
“When they vet me,” I repeated. “Not if.”
“The De Lucas don’t hire anyone without vetting them. But here’s the beautiful part—I paid Sofia Russo off. Gave her enough money to change her name, relocate to California, and never look back. She’s gone. You will be her now.”
He slid a manila folder across the table. I opened it, and there she was—Sofia Russo, smiling in what looked like a senior photo. Same age. Same height. Same dark honey hair, though hers was styled in soft waves while mine was currently in a ponytail that had seen better days.
The resemblance was close enough. Close enough to fool people who had never met her. Close enough to die for.
“Your mission is simple,” Dante said, and I almost laughed because nothing about this was simple. “Play the meek, invisible servant. Gain Alex’s trust. Search his private spaces for proof that Vittore personally ordered the Caruso massacre.”
The Caruso massacre.
Our family. Our parents.
I traced the scar on my shoulder—the one I had gotten ten years ago when I was ten and thought the worst thing that could happen was getting grounded.
Turns out the worst thing that could happen was watching your parents get executed in your living room while you hid under a table like a little stray from rain.
Bloody rain, really.
“Once you find it,” brother continued, “the remaining loyal families will back an all-out war. But we need proof. Hard evidence. Something that’ll make them commit.”
“I’ll find it,” I said, and my voice didn’t shake.
It should have, maybe. But it didn’t.
Dante studied me for a long moment. “You’ll need to pretend to be broken, poor, and submissive. Everything our family’s daughter was raised never to be.”
“I can do broken. I’ve had ten years of practice.”
He flinched slightly at that, and I immediately felt bad.
Dante had been carrying the weight of this family since he was thirteen. The guilt of not being able to do anything that night. The responsibility of keeping me alive.
“Hey,” I said softer. “I’m not actually broken. Just really, really good at pretending.”
“That’s what worries me.” He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “You’re my baby sister. I’m supposed to protect you, not send you into the lion’s den dressed as a sheep.”
“I’m twenty, not twelve. And technically, I’m dressed as a maid, not a sheep.”
“Sophie…”
“Dante.” I squeezed back. “We both know this is the only way. They killed our parents. Destroyed our family and legacy. Now we destroy them right back.”
He nodded, then pulled his hand away. Back to business.
“On campus and in the public, you treat me like a stranger. All contact goes through Tommy. We can’t risk anyone connecting us.” Dante’s grin turned sharp. “We’ll destroy his family and I’ll beat him on the strip. Two victories in one.”
“You two fence as if you don’t have guns in the holster. Multiple guns each, actually.”
Dante shrugged. “Can’t a guy have a hobby?”
I flipped through more papers in the folder—Sofia Russo’s ID, her school records, samples of her handwriting. Everything I needed to become someone else.
“What about Chiara?” I asked, because I had seen the texts on Dante’s phone, seen the way his expression shifted when her name came up. “She’s clearly into you. Can’t we work through her? Get information that way?”
Dante’s expression hardened so fast it was like watching a door slam shut. “Chiara doesn’t know shit. She doesn’t want to know. She’s there to be pretty and waste family money.”
“She’s still a De Luca.”
“Her status as ‘mafia princess’ doesn’t mean shit. She has no real power, no access to the business.” He leaned forward, edge in his voice. “We need Alessandro because he’s the future Don. The one with access to everything we need.”
“Okay then. When do I start?”
“Columbia University accepted you in two weeks. You’ll use a real scholarship—academic merit, full ride. That part’s actually legitimate.”
“Because I’m actually smart, or because you paid someone off?”
“Both. I’m a multitasker.” He stood, grabbing his jacket. “Stay focused, Sophie. Alessandro De Luca is dangerous. He’s not like the other spoiled mafia brats. He’s being trained to run an empire, and he’s actually good at it, I must admit.”
“So am I,” I said. “Dangerous, I mean. You trained me yourself.”
“I did.” He moved toward the door, then stopped. “If anything goes wrong, if you feel unsafe, if your cover’s blown, you get out. Immediately. I don’t care about the mission. I care about you.”
There was a beat of silence, because I didn’t want to lie to him. But when needs must…
“Promise me, Sophie.”
I crossed to him, looking up at my older brother. “I promise. But it won’t come to that.”
He pulled me into a hug and for a moment we were just kids again. Before the massacre. Before everything. “I love you, little sis.”
“Love you too, big bro.”
After Dante hugged me and left, I sat alone at the small table with the manila folder in front of me.
I spread out the documents once again, slowly and methodically. Sofia Russo’s smile is bright and genuine. Her school records showing decent grades but nothing exceptional.
Photos from a senior picture, a family barbecue, friends laughing together.
I studied them until my eyes burned, then pulled out my cracked compact mirror and held up Sofia Russo’s photo next to my reflection.
Same dark honey hair, but mine were half a shade lighter. Same hazel eyes, but hers were warmer. Almost the same height, same build.
Close enough.