Chapter 10 - The Queen of Shadows
Before Falcone could pull the trigger, Julian lunged through the rain like a rabid shadow, plunging a combat knife straight into Falcone’s throat. The old Don collapsed into the crimson puddles, choking on his own blood.
Silence descended upon Pier 42. The storm raged on, but the gunfire had ceased. Dozens of bodies lay scattered across the wet asphalt.
Julian fell to his knees beside Cora, coughing up dark blood. His hands trembled as he touched her face, wiping away the mud and tears. "Cora... run. The police... the remaining men... they'll be here. Take the money... and run."
Cora looked down at him. She looked at her dead father, at the dead Don, at the blood on her hands, and at the man who had terrified her, kissed her, and died for her.
She didn't run.
She reached into her medical kit, pulling out a chest seal and a syringe of epinephrine. She plunged the needle straight into Julian’s heart, stabilizing his blood pressure, and applied the chest seal with professional, icy calm.
Six months later.
The grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel glistened with crystal chandeliers. Every surviving crime boss from Chicago to Miami sat at the long mahogany tables, whispering in hushed, terrified tones.
The double doors swung open.
Walking down the aisle was Julian Voss, completely recovered, dressed in an immaculate black tuxedo. But he didn't sit at the head of the table alone.
Beside him walked Cora Whitaker. She wore a dark crimson silk gown, her eyes no longer tired, no longer frightened, but shining with an absolute, terrifying authority. In her hand, she held the master key to both the Voss and Falcone syndicates.
She hadn't been saved by the mafia. She had conquered it.
As Julian pulled out the throne at the head of the room, Cora sat down, resting her chin on her hand, her gaze sweeping over the deadliest men in North America.
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"Gentlemen," Cora said, her voice dropping into a smooth, deadly purr that chilled the entire room to the bone. "My father thought I was a pawn. Don Falcone thought I was a puppet. And you all thought I was just a poor nurse."
She leaned forward, placing her hand over Julian’s.
