Chapter 119 – Daphne POV
I let Julie handle my accommodations—bug sweeps, camera scans, emotional energy readings. The usual. He insists on checking for hexes now, too. "Just in case, darling," he said, tapping his glossed nails against a compact mirror laced with runes. I didn't ask questions.
Frankly, I'm too tired.
They said there's a "family gathering in memorial of Valentino Castellano." I already know what that means.
A smoke-choked room full of men who think a woman is most useful silent, married, or shot.
But I go.
Because I have to.
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The door groans open, and the scent hits me immediately—smoke, oak, and the lingering stench of arrogance.
It's just like the photo in the family archives: low lighting, leather armchairs, cigars burning slow, whiskey glasses sweating on polished wood. Power collected in a single room like a mafia parliament.
I step in, close the door behind me, and scan for an open seat.
