Betrayed by the Capo, Crowned by the Don

Gianna POV:

I rose from the ground and brushed the dirt off my knees.

Inside my spartan quarters, I sluiced the sweat and grime from my face. Before stepping back out into the harsh daylight, I retrieved my black leather satchel from the foot of my cot. It was a stark contrast to the grim, blood-stained concrete of the compound, but it was the only piece of my old life I had left.

"Stand down," Luca ordered the men.

The men collapsed in the dirt, gasping for air, their hatred a palpable thing that followed me as I moved past them.

I went to Lucia and took her arm, my touch a deliberate, calculated gesture of support.

"I have some pain medication in my bag," I lied. "Let us go."

Lucia leaned her weight against me with theatrical force.

As we walked toward the isolated washroom at the edge of the compound, I paid close attention to her body. She made a great show of her distress, her gait a slow, ponderous shuffle meant to display a burden she did not carry.

I glanced down at her open tote bag. A bottle of prenatal vitamins sat right on top of her makeup bag, a detail too perfectly staged to be accidental.

A knot of cold dread tightened in my gut. The dossier was right.

I slipped my hand into the front pocket of my satchel, letting my fingers close around the cold, smooth metal of the recording device.

The note's chilling promise returned to me: it was linked directly to the Syndicate's encrypted communication server. Every Capo, and the Don himself, would bear witness to what it captured.

I pressed the small button on the side, and a tiny vibration confirmed it was recording.

We stepped into the damp, poorly lit washroom. The caustic smell of bleach and corroding pipes hit my nose.

"Stay by the door," Lucia ordered.

Her voice was suddenly sharp, stripped of its tremulous fragility, like splintered glass.

She rushed into the large handicap stall and slammed the metal door shut. I heard the lock click.

A second later, she turned on the sink faucet to its highest pressure. The loud rush of water echoed off the tile walls, a crude attempt to muffle any other sound.

But it was not loud enough to hide her abrupt, agonizing groans.

"Lucia?" I called out, my voice pitched with false concern. "You sound terrible. I am going to call Dr. Romano."

"No!" she screamed over the running water. "Do not call anyone! I am fine!"

A sharp, blood-curdling cry of pain ripped through the humid air. It was followed by a heavy, wet thud on the tile floor.

My own heart hammered against my ribs. I beat my fists on the metal stall door.

"Lucia! Open this door right now or I am calling the guards!"

The lock clicked, and the door violently swung open.

Lucia stood there, her face the color of ash. Her hands were covered in dark red blood.

In her arms, she held a tiny, lifeless infant. The baby was entirely still, covered in blood and fluid.

A sour, metallic taste flooded the back of my mouth, and I had to clench my jaw to keep from gagging. I took a step back, my hands trembling with a revulsion that was not feigned.

Lucia dropped her fragile facade completely. A wicked, triumphant smile spread across her pale, blood-spattered face.

"Look what you did, Gianna," she whispered, her eyes wide and manic. "You killed your own baby."

I stared at the dead infant. I forced myself to look terrified, to play the role of the speechless victim.

But deep down, a cold, calculated smirk tugged at the corner of my own mouth.

I had her.