Neon and Nicotine

Chapter 1

Silk and Shadows

The blood on my silk dress was the exact shade of the roses Leo had sent me that morning – a cruel, crimson irony. I stared down at the stain, the scent of iron thick in the air, and knew my life was irrevocably changed.

My name is Emilia De Ashworth, and until a few hours ago, I was just the daughter of a respected (if somewhat eccentric) art dealer in Florence. My days consisted of gallery openings, whispered conversations about brushstrokes and provenance, and the occasional stolen gelato by the Arno. Now, I was standing over a dead man, my hands shaking, the ornate palazzo echoing with a silence that was far more deafening than the gunshots that had preceded it.

Father had always warned me about the shadows that lurked beneath the shimmering surface of Florentine society. He’d hinted at debts, favors owed, and the dangerous men who controlled the city’s underbelly. I’d dismissed it as his penchant for the dramatic, the ramblings of a man whose world revolved around Renaissance masterpieces, not modern-day machinations. How wrong I was.

The dead man at my feet was Emmett Vitale, a name I’d only heard whispered in hushed tones – a Capo in the Roman Family, rivals to the Florentine Famiglia, the Donati. He’d been here, in Father’s private study, arguing vehemently. I’d retreated upstairs, as I always did when business was discussed, only to be drawn back down by the sound of raised voices, escalating into a violent shouting match.

By the time I reached the study door, it was too late. A single gunshot. Father slumped in his leather chair, a look of shock frozen on his face. Vitale stood over him, a smoking gun in his hand. He turned, his eyes cold and devoid of any remorse, and for a moment, I thought I was next. But then, a flicker of something – recognition? – crossed his features.

"Emilia De Ashworth," he’d said, his voice a low growl. "The artist's daughter. A pity."

He hadn’t shot me. Instead, he’d advanced, a predatory gleam in his eyes. I’d reacted without thinking, grabbing the heavy bronze statue of David from the nearby table and bringing it down on his head with every ounce of strength I possessed. He’d crumpled to the floor, the gun clattering beside him. Now, he was dead, and I was alone with two corpses and a secret that could shatter my world.

The Donati would find out. They always did. And when they discovered that Emmett Vitale had been murdered in my father’s house, that I, Emilia De Ashworth, was the one who’d done it… I shuddered. I knew what happened to those who crossed the Famiglia. I was as good as dead.

But then, a thought, desperate and daring, sparked in my mind. There was one person, one name, that inspired as much fear in the Donati as they themselves instilled in others. A phantom, a legend whispered only in the darkest corners of the city. A man who could offer protection, or a fate far worse than death. A man named Leo Cavallaro.

He was the head of the Cavallaro Famiglia, the Roman Family, and Emmett Vitale had been one of his top men. Seeking his protection after killing one of his own was madness, a dance with the devil himself. But it was the only chance I had.

I reached for my phone, my hands trembling so badly I could barely dial. I had heard whispers about how to contact him, a series of numbers passed from one terrified soul to another. I pressed the call button, the silence stretching into an eternity as the phone rang… and rang… and rang. Just as I was about to give up, a voice, smooth as velvet and cold as ice, answered. "Who is this?"

"My name is Emilia De Ashworth," I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. "I need your help, Leo Cavallaro. I think I've just made a very big mistake."

A pause. A long, agonizing silence. Then, a chilling laugh that sent shivers down my spine. "Indeed, you have, *Signorina* De Ashworth. Tell me everything."