The weight of the envelope felt like a verdict.
Elena sat on the edge of the bed in the penthouse suite, the city glittering sixty floors below, and turned the white envelope over in her hands. Her name was written in ink that looked almost black in the low light — the Don's own hand, no secretary, no intermediary. Just him.
Inside: an offer. Not for her father's debt — that had been settled months ago, in blood and silence — but for something else entirely. A position. A role in the machine that ran half the Eastern seaboard. The kind of offer that you didn't refuse twice.…