The Assassins Kiss

Chapter 26

Ezra's POV

Five years.

Five long years.

And guess what? Not a single call from Luca. Not one. Not from Roman, not from Killian—absolutely no one.

I've tried to move on, but let's be real: I still can't stand those assholes. They broke my heart, and worse, they broke Lily's. I don't care how much time passes; they can rot in hell for all I care.

But here's the thing: there's a silver lining in all of this.

While Luca, Roman, and Killian were busy with their little games, we—the Ferraris—were busy taking over.

The Vincenzos? Oh, they used to be number one, the kings of the game. Not anymore. Now? They're fifth. Fifth place. It's almost poetic, the way they fell.

And the best part? It was all me. I worked hard day and night to become number one mafia to kick them out of their spot. And I did.

Now, I'm not just a woman in this game—I'm the most feared one. In Italy, in Europe, hell, probably all around the world. If someone hears the name Ezra Ferrari, they start sweating.

People fear me more than they fear the men who used to run this place. I've built my empire from the ground up, and no one is stupid enough to cross me.

But as much as I've changed, there's still that gnawing hole inside me. That tiny part of me that wonders, what if Luca had picked up the phone five years ago?

What if he had made things right?
What if we were still together?

I hate the fact that I still think about him sometimes, I hate that he still has this effect, I hate the fact that every time my phone rings I hope it's him.

I rebuilt my dad's entire mafia worked hard as fuck to be number one to show them that I'm fine, that I'm over everything when I'm not.

I thought it would make me feel better beating them, but it didn't. Maybe for a short while it did.

"What if we see him?" Lily asks, her voice small but steady.

I glance down at her, smoothing out a wrinkle on her navy-blue gown. She looks so grown up, and yet—still so much my baby.

"Then be cool about it, ok mi amore," I say with a soft smile.

She nods confidently. "I'm cool."

But her eyes stay fixed on the grand double doors in front of us like she's about to storm a battlefield.

We're at a mafia ball—the mafia ball, where the most dangerous, powerful people in Europe show up in overpriced suits and designer dresses pretending they haven't all killed someone in the last week.

And here we are, fashionably thirty minutes late because we stopped for ice cream. Priorities.

Lily's eleven now. Eleven going on twenty, with a mouth that can cut sharper than a knife and a heart still full of hope—especially when it comes to him.

Iris stands beside me in a deep green mermaid dress, elegant as always. My dad is classic in a black tux, somehow looking like he could either walk a red carpet or kill a man in the next five minutes.

Me? Red. Bold, sharp, intentional. Like blood on silk. It feels right tonight.

We push open the doors and walk in together, our footsteps echoing across marble floors.

Conversation dies, eyes turn, and silence stretches just long enough for it to get uncomfortable. Because when the Ferraris enter a room, the air shifts.