The first time Dante Rossi touched his wife, she begged him not to hurt her.

The next morning, the Boston underworld woke up to a seismic shift.

Dante called a council of the Five Families. They met in a neutral location—an abandoned meatpacking plant on the docks. Dante sat at the head of the rusted iron table, while the heads of the other syndicates looked on nervously.

He threw a blood-stained dossier onto the table.

"Last night, an extraction team tried to kill me in my own home," Dante announced, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. "My men broke the survivor. He confessed he was hired by Julian Sterling, using funds funneled through the Senator's offshore accounts."

A murmur of shock rippled through the bosses. The Sterling treaty was supposed to guarantee peace.

"The Sterlings broke the pact," Dante continued, his eyes cold and devoid of mercy. "They have proven they have no honor. Therefore, the treaty is void. I am calling for the complete eradication of the Sterling bloodline."

The head of the Irish mob, a grizzled old man named O'Connor, leaned forward. "And what about the girl? Your wife? She's a Sterling."

The heavy metal doors at the back of the warehouse opened.

Aria walked in. She was flanked by Sienna and Enzo, but she walked with the posture of a reigning monarch. She wore a tailored black suit, her hair slicked back, her bruised neck hidden beneath a black silk scarf. She looked nothing like the terrified girl from the cathedral.

She walked directly to Dante’s side and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"My name is Aria Rossi," she said, her voice clear and commanding. "I have no ties to the men who share my former blood. If you stand in Dante’s way, you stand against me. And I assure you, we will bury you."