Chapter 7

"I will keep looking," Tony promised hastily. "Once I catch that rat, I'll skin him with my own hands."

"Good." Carmine issued the dismissal. "Go back, Tony. Take care of your injury. And tell Maria that Clemenza is living very well here, like a true princess."

Tony stood up with difficulty and took one last look at his daughter. That look was filled with an unspeakable sorrow—he knew he had thoroughly lost her. She no longer belonged to him, nor to that old house in Brooklyn.

"Goodbye, Papa," Clemenza said softly.

Watching her father’s hunched back disappear into the elevator, Clemenza felt a strange sense of relief. The father figure she had once feared, whose approval she had once craved, had utterly collapsed. In its place rose a clearer, colder realization: in this dog-eat-dog world, weakness was the original sin.

"He's old." Carmine let go of her, walking back to the bar to pour himself a second drink. "The lion has no teeth left."

"But he is still my father," Clemenza said quietly, walking up behind him.

"That is precisely why I keep him." Carmine turned, leaning back against the bar, studying her with an amused expression. "You know, Clemenza? I've been thinking about something these past few days."

"What?"

"That night at the restaurant, you weren't afraid at all." Carmine took a step toward her, radiating the scent of alcohol and cigars. "Ordinary women would have been screaming at the first sign of an explosion. But you... you were calm. Even calmer than I was."

Clemenza did not retreat. She knew this was a test. Before this paranoid man, any flicker of panic would be a fatal flaw.

She raised her head, looking straight into his eyes, and a faint, bitter smile touched her lips. "Because I had already died once, Carmine. On the night my father sold me to you to pay his debts, the girl who danced ballet died. The dead do not fear explosions."

Carmine stared at her for a long time, seeming to weigh the truth of her words. Finally, the suspicion in his eyes slowly faded, replaced by an arrogance that had been thoroughly stroked.

"Well said." He reached out, gently caressing her cheek. "That is exactly the kind of woman I need. Not some weeping vase, but a queen who can stand beside me atop the ruins."

He downed his drink in one gulp and slammed the empty glass onto the marble countertop.

"Tomorrow night, I have to go out," Carmine said suddenly. "A very important 'gathering'."

"Where to?" Clemenza asked casually as she helped him undo his tie.

"An abandoned freight station in Jersey City." Carmine closed his eyes, enjoying her service. The alcohol was making him talkative. "Ivanov thinks he's hidden well, but he forgot that with enough money, even the Devil can be bought. His second-in-command, that big ox Yuri, sold him out. Tomorrow night, we go there... and end this farce once and for all."

Clemenza’s fingers paused on the knot of his tie for less than half a second before continuing their fluid motion.

Jersey City. Abandoned freight station. Tomorrow night. Yuri has turned traitor.

This was intelligence potent enough to be lethal. If Ivanov knew about this trap in advance, the one walking into the slaughterhouse wouldn't be the Russians, but Carmine.

"Sounds dangerous," Clemenza whispered, draping the tie over her arm. "Do you need me to pray for you?"

"Pray?" Carmine scoffed, opening his eyes to reveal a gaze full of hubris. "That’s a placebo for the weak. In this world, guns and money are God."

He grabbed Clemenza’s hand, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her. The kiss was heavy with possessiveness and the metallic tang of bloodlust. Clemenza did not resist; she responded obediently, like a perfect doll.

But in her mind, she was already calculating.

She had no phone, no internet, no freedom to leave. This apartment was an island suspended in the sky. How was she going to get this message out?

Carmine released her and turned toward the bathroom. "I'm going to take a shower. Wait for me in bed."

Carmine stood at the entryway, his fingers on his tie knot.

With a soft *hiss*, the silk tie was loosened. He tossed his suit jacket casually onto the leather sofa, where it landed with a heavy, muffled thud.

Clemenza’s gaze snapped to that jacket like iron filings to a magnet. There was a distinct rectangular bulge in the left pocket—Carmine’s personal phone, her only lifeline to communicate with the outside world.

The bathroom door clicked shut. The sound of water hitting tiles soon followed.

Clemenza stared at the closed frosted glass door, the steam gradually blurring the silhouette behind it.

Get the phone now?

No.

Carmine was like a wary beast; even in the shower, he might not fully lower his guard. If caught, she would lose this last chance and face even stricter confinement. She had to wait. Wait until he was exhausted, until his vigilance was at its absolute lowest.

Clemenza took a deep breath and walked toward the massive double bed. She shed her clothes and slipped under the cold silk sheets. Her body was trembling—not from cold, but from the anticipation of humiliation and fear. But she had to endure. This was a gamble with her body as the chip. She had to use this flesh to weave a tender web and make Carmine fall completely into it.

Ten minutes later, the water stopped abruptly. The bathroom door opened, and warm, humid mist poured into the bedroom.

Carmine walked out wearing only a white towel around his waist. Water droplets dripped from the tips of his wet hair, sliding over his broad pectoral muscles and pooling into the jagged scar on his abdomen—his medal of power, his proof of violence.

The mattress sank sharply as Carmine, carrying the scent of dampness, loomed over her. His rough fingertips grazed Clemenza’s cheek, inducing a shudder.

"Are you afraid of me?" Carmine’s voice was low and raspy, tinged with amusement. He leaned down, his nose brushing against the hollow of her neck, deeply inhaling the scent of her skin.

"I’m just... not ready," Clemenza forced herself to raise her hand and circle that steel-hard arm, her fingertips touching his burning skin. She was lying; her body was already prepared for battle.

"You don't need to be ready." Carmine ripped away the final barrier and pressed his heavy weight down upon her.