"They killed your father, Mila. They're coming for you next. They're watching you. Waiting for the right time to strike."
"Who killed my father?" I snapped at Giovanni, my father's right-hand man.
"We're still searching," he muttered before running a tired hand over his face. "Listen, I'm leaving town for a while."
"Now? Why?" I questioned wildly.
"To find the person responsible for your father's death. Vito would've done the same for me." He said before placing his hands on my shoulders.
"The Blood Assassins would never take me seriously, Uncle Gio. I'm not cut out for this. My dad kept me away from this life for a reason," I argued.
"You are cut out for this. You have Vittorio Caruso's blood running through your veins. If they had any respect for him, they'll respect you," he assured me. "You got this, Mila."
"No, I don't." I shook my head at him.
He shot me a dismissive look. "Don't mention your dad. Don't cry at his funeral. Don't take disrespect lightly. Don't rely on anyone. And don't trust anybody but yourself. Live only for yourself. I'll be back as soon as I find your father's killer."
I nodded at him. "Fine. Just keep me up to date."
"Don't trust anyone, okay?" He muttered before jumping into his car. I watched as he sped off into the night.
He was the last person I could trust after my father.
His funeral is tomorrow. My initiation will be hours after.
I quietly drove home. Not to my penthouse in the city. To the house I grew up in. I parked my car in the driveway and found security guarding the house as if my father was still inside.
I greeted them with a curt nod before entering the mansion. Inside, the house still smelled like him, whiskey and Old Spice. I dropped my purse on the countertop before making my way upstairs.
I entered his room and quietly opened his closet. I pulled out a bag before throwing two hoodies inside. A picture of us at the beach, taken when I was six years old.
I walked over to the painting hanging on the wall. I carefully pushed the art piece aside and found a safe behind it. I punched in the code, and it opened with a soft click.
The only thing inside was a crisp white letter with my name written on it. I took the letter and tucked it into my coat pocket. I couldn't bring myself to read the letter so I quietly closed the safe before lying down on his bed.
"I hate this," I murmured into the pillowcase. "I really hate this," I started crying, tears soaking into clean linen.
The next morning, I took a warm shower. I made my way inside my childhood bedroom. I looked out the window and found a long line of cars parked in front of the house.
I quickly pulled on a black suit. I did my make-up to perfection before gently brushing through my inky black hair. I placed a pair of sunglasses high on my nose before sliding my feet into a pair of high heels.
I sighed before slipping a gun into my waistband. First impressions last, apparently.
Once I got downstairs, I braced myself. The vultures were circling. The door opened, revealing Luca, my father's favorite button man.
He dropped his cigarette and hit the ground with a light tap.
"Pick your filth up off my property," I demanded coldly before walking towards my car. He smirked before handing the cigarette butt to a cugine.
"You look hot," he muttered before jumping into his car, earning a few chuckles from his friends.
My jaw clenched as I slowly drove down the driveway. A long line of SUVs followed my car as I drove toward the funeral hall.
We arrived after a twenty-minute drive. The streets were filled with hundreds of people. People who knew and respected my father.
I grew up in front of these people. To them, I was nothing but a spoiled child who inherited her father's throne by luck.
None of this was lucky.
I stepped out of my car and entered the funeral hall without greeting anyone. I took a seat in the front row.
The funeral hall was filled to the brim. The front row remained empty. There was just me. The last of my name. I was all that was left of the Caruso family.
I sat through the wailing, the eulogy, the speeches and the prayers that didn't include me. None of it was real.
A capo took to the stage, microphone in hand. "The capos have decided that it would be best to postpone Mila's initiation."
A frown creased my forehead, and before I could stop myself, I was on my feet. "Postponed until when?"
"Until further notice," he muttered.
I scoffed at the audacity. I didn't even know his name, and he was deciding my fate.
The door swung open, and the crowd parted like the Red Sea. I curiously turned around and found a man dressed in a tailored black suit standing in the doorway.
He set his light blue eyes on me, and a shiver ran down my spine. "Until further notice?" He questioned.
"That's what we decided." The Capo blankly replied.
"Let's do this the old way. The Vittorio Caruso way," he stated, though his eyes never left mine.
"No. It's too dangerous. Vito wouldn't want us to risk his daughter's life," the capo immediately argued.
"He wanted to make her the Boss. Sounds like he's risking her life to me," the man snapped back at him.
"I'm sorry, but who the hell are you?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him in suspicion.
A few chuckles filled the air.
"Ronan King. You can call me King," he started with a clean smirk on his face. "What do you say I train you to become the next big thing after your father?"
"We can't allow that. She belongs to the Caruso Family," the capo sharply cut in.
King confidently stalked over to me. His hand firmly wrapped around my wrist. "She's under my protection until her training is over. Touch her, and you deal with me." He barked out the order.
Before I could argue, he left the funeral hall, pulling me along with him.