Angelo Viscotti

About me (Violetta Birnaldo): My name is Violetta Birnaldo. To my father, I'm just "V," his little monster that he raised himself. My father is a don in the New York mafia, and he idolizes me. My two older brothers are always whining that I get away with everything. They might be right. But they don't know the most important thing: I won't marry for the sake of a clan union, and I won't hide behind men's backs when the going gets tough.

Appearances can often be deceiving. In public, I'm an ice statue in silk and diamonds. But under my dress, I have a Beretta holster, and in my hair, a steel barrette I can throw into the eye of anyone who dares threaten my family. I can bring guards to their knees in three minutes, without breaking a breath. My father says, "You could rule the whole world, daughter. If it weren't for your habit of laughing in the face of death."

About him (Angelo Viscotti): Angelo Viscotti. A legend. The one whose name is whispered in dark alleys, fearing the walls might hear. The head of the greatest syndicate on the planet. His influence is like an ocean: only the tip is visible, but the depths can drown any other clan. Veteran dons, who have seen wars and revolutions, freeze when he enters the room.

He's too young to be so powerful. So rich he buys banks like trinkets. He has no weak spots—so they say. No women, no children, no stupid habits. Just cold calculation and nerves of steel. They say he once watched an enemy's mansion burn and finished his dessert without wincing.

I never saw him in person. But I heard everything about him.