The Rocchetti Queen - Bree Porter Page 0,1

the coffin with little care, looking almost irritated with this whole ordeal. Enrico and Carlos Sr showed more restraint, murmuring quiet words that disappeared into the wind.

Alessandro and I were after his big brother. I watched as my husband swept up the dirt, gripping it in his hand. Together we stood on the edge of the hole, peering down at the shining casket, where Piergiorgio Rocchetti was finally resting.

“Any last words?” Alessandro said quietly to me.

I regarded the Don’s casket.

The exhaustion of having a newborn had not stopped my brain from mulling over the last minutes of Don Piero. I woke up with the scent of metallic blood in my nose, the sound of the gunshot ringing through my ears.

Together, you make a Don, a Boss. Together you will be the Rocchetti Dynasty.

“No,” I said, tongue heavy. “Do you?”

My husband flicked his wrist, the dirt falling into the hole. Darkness gripped his face, harsh and cruel. “Sleep well, bastardo.”

The reception was held in our home. Guests milled around, nursing flutes of champagne and blotting at their dry cheeks. The guestbook was signed furiously, and every available surface was taken up with a dish someone had brought us.

After feeding Dante and soothing him to sleep, I returned downstairs. As I went down, I nodded at Raul, who would make sure no one dared to approach my sleeping son. Alessandro had been very strict in his orders about Dante’s protection—to the point where I had pitied Raul.

Nina joined me first, her veil gone, revealing her brown curls. “You really must get a nanny, Sophia.”

“I haven’t had the time.” We kissed on both cheeks. “Have you eaten yet?”

She ignored the question, instead setting her lips tightly.

“What is the matter, Nina?” I asked, even though I already knew.

“You fired Elizabeth.”

I had. Elizabeth Speirs, Nicoletta’s round-the-clock nurse, had been dismissed. “I have moved Nicoletta to the gated community, Nina. You understand how vigilant we must be with security here. And she was such a loudmouth, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I hired her because I thought she was the best fit,” Nina said, trying to sound diplomatic and failing miserably.

I smiled lightly and led her around the house, greeting people as I went. “I hope you’re not taking this as a personal attack, Nina. I’m doing what’s best for the family.”

That seemed to soothe her slightly, or at least remind her not to show her emotions so readily. “Of course,” she said. “Whatever you feel is best. Who will replace her?”

“I’ve sent Nero to collect her as we speak.” I patted her arm. “Make sure you eat something. Grief makes people gluttonous.” I left Nina in the living room doorway.

To the untrained eye, this might look like just another reception. But I could see the bodyguards loitering around the shadows—all protecting their respective bosses. Each conversation was tense and strategic, each greeting had a purpose to it. Alliances and marriages were hinted at, paired with threats and challenges.

Eyes danced around the Rocchetti men, predicting who would be the next don—predicting who they should make their alliance with.

I smiled and entered the room.

Alessandro stood in the middle of the room, joined by an older dark-haired man and a young woman. I recognized him as the Don of the Lombardis, but the woman was unfamiliar.

My husband’s dark gaze settled on me and he stretched out his arm. “Sir,” he said, bringing me closer to him. The heat of his touch warmed my bones. “May I introduce my wife, Sophia? Sophia, meet Vitale Lombardi, head of the Lombardi Mafia, and his daughter, Isabella.”

New York was divided among five families, all of them ferociously fighting over borders and ports. The Lombardis were one of the Italian mafias, their territory stretching over Queens and Manhattan.

I couldn’t imagine brushing elbows with enemy families the way they did in New York. The closest family to the Outfit was the McDermotts, but they were up in Milwaukee.

“You are as beautiful as they say, Mrs Rocchetti,” purred the don, kissing my outstretched hand.

“You are too kind, sir,” I replied.

I caught a slight eyeroll from his daughter, and my attention moved to her. Isabella was a tall, slender young woman, with long dark hair and olive skin. However, pretty was too tame a word to describe her—her features were a collection of hard, sharp lines that created a striking beauty. One I had never been able to achieve.

She held up her shoulders at my attention, the fabric of her dress clinging to her. She looked much more comfortable