The night air outside the Aster Hotel was sharp, carrying the heavy scent of harbor salt and exhaust fumes from the city traffic.

The sun was barely cresting the horizon when a sharp knock woke me from a troubled sleep filled with shattering glass and men in dark suits.

I threw on a silk robe from the closet and opened the door. Standing there was a striking woman in her late thirties with razor-sharp cheekbones, dark hair pulled into a severe bun, and a silver tray holding steaming coffee and fresh pastries.

“Good morning, Ms. Hayes,” she said, her voice crisp and professional. “I’m Elena, Mr. Romano’s head of household administration. The Boss asked me to ensure you were settled.”

“Thank you, Elena,” I said, stepping back to let her in. “Please, just Dora.”

Elena set the tray down on a small marble table by the window, her sharp eyes scanning the room with clinical efficiency before settling on me. A faint, knowing smile touched her lips.

“Mr. Romano does not bring guests here, Dora. Especially not women. When he brought you through those gates last night, every phone in the syndicate lit up like a Christmas tree.”

“I’m not a guest,” I muttered, wrapping the robe tighter around myself. “I’m a liability. There’s a half-million-dollar bounty on my head.”

Elena poured a cup of coffee and handed it to me. “A bounty set by fools who don't understand who Victor is. Marco Moretti thinks he can flex his muscles because his father left him a seat at the table. He forgets that Victor built this empire from the pavement up, brick by bloody brick.”

“Is Victor okay?” I asked, unable to keep the concern out of my voice.

“He spent the entire night in the downstairs war room with Dante and the capos,” Elena said, her tone dropping into something resembling respect. “They’ve already identified three Moretti safe houses in the North End. By sundown, those properties won’t exist.”

Before I could process the terrifying casualness of her words, a heavy thud echoed from downstairs, followed by the muffled sound of shouting.

Elena’s expression hardened instantly. She set her tray down, pulled a sleek silver panic button from her pocket, and pressed it once. A soft chime echoed through the suite.

“Stay in this room, Dora,” Elena commanded, moving toward the door. “Do not open it for anyone except Victor or me.”