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"They buried her in a basement. But graves make poor cages for queens. I was the real power behind the Moretti syndicate—the negotiator who charmed Dons, the strategist who laundered millions. But when a new intern flashed a smile at my fiancé, I became ""difficult."" ""Too emotional."" Her idea to serve chocolate milk at the most critical meeting in syndicate history should have gotten her shot. Instead, my fiancé kissed her forehead and called her innovative. Last time, I intervened. I served whiskey instead. Saved the deal. My reward? A dark basement, a starved dog, and a match thrown on gasoline. I died watching my parents' bodies rot in gutters. Now time has spit me back to that fatal boardroom. The intern is simpering again. My fiancé is praising her ""fresh perspective."" But this time? I'm pouring the Yoo-hoo myself. Let them humiliate themselves. Let the Dons walk out. Let the empire crumble. I've already sold their secrets to the rival family. And the new Don has promised me more than power. He's promised me their heads. " "At the Capo Council meeting, our new intern—Bianca Rosetti—suggested we serve Yoo-hoo chocolate milk to the investors. My fiancé, Alessio Moretti, gave her a soft smile and nodded indulgently. The other capos around the table, all longtime allies, followed with quick, lazy approvals. In my past life, I'd objected—strongly. This was our most critical round of laundering investment for our front company. If we blew it, the cash flow would freeze, and every capo at the table would be staring down a pile of debts and enemies smelling blood. But Alessio had looked at me with cold accusation. ""You're just being petty, Seraphina. Admit it—you hate her because she's younger."" The other men muttered impatiently, ""Yoo-hoo's fine. Investors care about returns, not drinks."" But I knew better. Alessio and I built this enterprise from nothing—blood, sweat, and more than a few bodies buried along the way. I couldn't watch ou
