His Cruelest Atonement, Her Final Silence

When the men from Chicago's Callahan family captured me, I sent ninety-nine messages to my fiancé, Killian, begging for help.

He deleted them all.

"After Stanra orchestrated that car crash to hurt Briar, I sent her back to Long Island—but I had my most elite team of bodyguards escorting her. The Callahans couldn't possibly touch her," he scoffed. "I just gave Briar the design rights to that one office, that's all. Now Stanra's overreacting again, trying to get my attention back. It's pathetic."

He paced, his movements sharp with irritation.

"Briar's brother died protecting me. He was my most trusted Capo. I swore I would protect her in his place. Tell Stanra—no matter what tantrum she throws, I will not abandon Briar. If she keeps making a scene over nothing, I'll call off the engagement."

Three days later, he drove to the Caruso estate, engagement ring in hand, ready to make peace with me.

At that very moment, an envoy from the Callahan family delivered a refrigerated box.

Killian glanced at it and breathed a sigh of relief. "Looks like she's given in. All that drama was just Stanra kicking up a fuss over nothing."

The lid was lifted.

Inside was—

My head.

The funeral bells atop the estate's chapel began to toll.

Slow. Heavy. Final.

The chapel doors opened. The priest emerged, dressed in black funeral vestments, his face grim.

"Miss Stanra Caruso, daughter of the Caruso family, has been returned to us. The funeral will begin immediately."

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1

"Don Vitali, an urgent message from Miss Caruso. She says she was taken by the Callahan family three days ago on her way back to Long Island. They're demanding a ransom."

Killian's personal assistant, Nico, stood with a pale face, his hand trembling as he clutched the phone. "Sir, this is the ninety-ninth message she's sent. Are you certain you wish to ignore it?"

Killian Vitali sneered as he deleted the messages from his phone. "Another play for attention. Ignore it. The Caruso estate is on Long Island—that's true—but a few Chicago scumbags aren't about to start a war on New York turf. Captured? Does she take me for a fool?"

Nico swallowed hard, venturing, "The messages are being sent from Chicago, sir. They seem legitimate."

"Enough."

Killian slammed down his whiskey glass, shattering it. Shards skittered across the floor. "She's consumed by jealousy. I show a little kindness to a loyal man's sister, and she tries to have her killed in a staged car crash."

"If she’d truly run into the Callahans, how could she have been captured? I sent my most elite bodyguards with her. It's impossible."

By then, a bullet from the Callahan leader's gun had already torn through my head.

But my soul had returned to Manhattan.

I floated above them, listening to Killian's dismissive certainty, and let out a faint, bitter laugh.

He seemed to have forgotten one thing.

He had once granted Briar Connolly authority that mirrored his own.

Before the entire Vitali family, he had declared: "Briar Connolly's word is my word. Anyone who defies her will answer for it."

Armed with that authority, she used a burner phone, mimicked his voice, and ordered all of my bodyguards to stand down. As I drove down the highway toward Long Island, I had only my driver with me.

Before dusk, the Callahan family's hitters ambushed us.

One of them, like a novice, muttered carelessly, "This is Vitali's future Donna? How come she doesn't have a single bodyguard? Was the intel we got wrong?"

My route had been leaked. That was the only explanation.

So, was it Briar?

That day, in a desperate attempt to cover my escape, my driver slammed our car into the guardrail, his body shielding me from the spray of bullets.

As we fled, he shoved me into a dense patch of woods, drawing the pursuers after him.

The bullets chased him.

They hit him, again and again, until his body was riddled with holes.