Iwake before sunrise. Frost is etched onto the corner of the windows, the birds singing their songs in the crisp air. I sit with my notebook, scribbling thoughts that scatter like restless bugs. Gen's message glows on my phone—a cryptic, hurried request for advice.
I need to talk. Can you meet?
She's been unraveling for weeks, her life stitched together by fragile threads: the looming divorce, the secrets that haunt the Mancini family, the sharp edges of Samson's temper.
I dress carefully, choosing an oversized sweater and slacks. Something neutral, non-threatening, and comfortable enough to hide my baby bump, which is getting harder and harder to conceal.
I tell Matvei I have an early client meeting and leave. Evgeny drives me and I instruct him to drop me off at a café around the corner from the Mancini townhouse, hoping he doesn’t question the area. He and Matvei are well aware where the Mancinis live.
I go inside the café and choose a table near the back. After a few moments, I exit out the rear entrance and make my way to the Mancini home. It’s imposing, all stone and cold elegance, perched on a quiet street where old money whispers through manicured hedges and perfect lawns.
Surprisingly, Rodolfo opens the door himself. His expression is stern, his salt-and-pepper hair swept back.
Genevieve stands behind him and greets me with a brittle smile. Her eyes nervously dart to Rodolfo before she speaks. “Thank you for coming, Sonya.” She leads me to a sitting room, sunlight filtering through leaded glass. The walls are lined with art, some of them famous pieces, and I wonder how much illegal money paid for all of it.
The tension is palpable as the sun slants through the tall windows, a static charge waiting for release. Rodolfo sits beside Genevieve, his legs crossed, hands folded in his lap. Her gaze finds mine, searching, and I see the question she doesn’t know how to voice aloud.
“Let's talk about the divorce,” I say gently, meeting Rodolfo's eyes as well as hers. “We should be clear about what Genevieve wants so Samson can't come after her.”
Rodolfo's mouth tightens. “Samson won't come after her if he knows what's good for him.” His voice is clipped, measured—a man used to his word being law.
Genevieve shakes her head. “I just want peace. I should have listened to all the stories before I—” Her voice wavers, but she doesn't look away. “Before I said yes.”
I lean forward, hoping my words will help. “You have the right to ask for what you need. It's not just about money; it's about safeguarding yourself for the future.”
For a moment, Rodolfo seems to soften as he glances at his daughter. “Our family has always done what's necessary to protect our own. We will continue to do so.”
I nod, choosing my words with care. “Sometimes what's necessary is letting go. Gen, you aren't alone in this. You have options.”
A man comes in with a silver cart and passes out mugs of freshly-poured coffee. It’s strong and bitter and smells like heaven. Rodolfo adds a single sugar cube to his before waiting for the employee to leave.
“Do you know what Samson is called in our circles?” he asks after taking a swallow from his coffee cup.
I shake my head.
“He's known as The Coin, because everyone knows he's a two-faced cheat who extorted, lied, and killed his way to where he is now. I warned Genevieve about him, but she wouldn't listen.”
Gen's cheeks color with embarrassment, but Rodolfo ignores it and continues.
“What can you tell me about Samson?”
“Only what he told me when he was drunk and angry.” I sigh and sip at the coffee slowly as I gather my memories, savoring the taste. “His mother, Laura, was from the Genovese family and was supposed to marry into yours. Piotr Volkov ruined her, promised he would divorce his wife and marry her, then left her in disgrace and poverty. Piotr refused to formally acknowledgeSamson, but he still ensured they had a home, money, and Samson received a good education. I guess that wasn't enough for Samson, though.”
I stop just short of rolling my eyes and adding,Nothing ever is.I'm so glad I dodged that bullet. But Gen did not, and now she's dealing with the consequences.
“Laura chose her own path,” Rodolfo grumbles, still angry after all these years, apparently. “She could have had the world with me, but she chose to betray me, to betray our alliance, and to shame my family name. She got what she deserved. I took over the Genovese as retribution.”
The head of the Mancini syndicate says it all as though he didn't just admit to ruining a woman's life because she made a mistake. A mistake he could have simply moved on from.
“I told Genevieve this was only a plot by Samson to get back at me,” Rodolfo adds.
Gen's eyes narrow. “No, Dad. What you said was that he was finally realizing who has the real power in this city and allying himself with those who can give him legitimacy.”
I realize the woman's earlier flush wasn't embarrassment—it was anger. Her eyes glint with it as she glares at her father, and suddenly the room feels several degrees colder despite how cozy it was when I entered.
“Genevieve, if you want to leave Samson, you can. You don't owe anyone an explanation. I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but I've dealt with worse. It’s a benefit that I know Samson, so I can handle him more easily.”
Genevieve presses her lips together, her anger turning to tears that shimmer in her eyes. “I just want to be free of him. I don’t want anything from him. I just want him out of my life.”