No One Could Handle the Mafia Boss’s Daughter — Until a Poor Waitress Did the Impossible. Everyone around held their breath in anticipation.

And slowly, to everyone’s astonishment, the screaming fits shortened.

Not because Casey tamed her. Casey would have hated the word. Sienna was not a beast. She was a girl with too much grief, too much power, and nowhere safe to set either of them down. Casey didn’t conquer her. She refused to indulge her. There was a difference, and Sienna, under all that rage, knew it.

Then the first real crack in the wall came on a Thursday night.

Casey woke at two in the morning to the distant purr of an engine.

By the time she hit the driveway in jeans and unlaced boots, Sienna’s silver McLaren was already gliding toward the gate with its headlights off. Casey swore, looked around, and saw a motorcycle by the garage.

Dante’s.

She had no time to think about consequences. Only angles.

Thirty seconds later, the bike roared alive beneath her, and she flew after the taillights disappearing into the night.

The chase took them down the interstate and into the city, to an underground club in the old meatpacking district. Sienna stumbled out of the McLaren in a red dress and enough bravado to cover terror if you weren’t looking too closely. Casey followed her inside through bass so heavy it felt like a second heartbeat.

She found Sienna in a private booth with five men.

The wrong five men.

They looked amused, predatory, too attentive. One kept texting under the table. Another touched Sienna’s thigh with a familiarity that had not been earned. Every instinct Casey owned went cold and bright.

“We’re leaving,” she said.

Sienna rolled her eyes. “Go home, nanny.”

One of the men stood up. Gold tooth. Snake tattoo on his neck. Smile like a wound. “Lady wants to stay.”

Casey picked up a vodka bottle and smashed it across his face before the sentence had even fully landed.

Chaos came all at once. Men lunged. Glass broke. Someone yelled for the back door. Casey drove a table into one attacker’s knees, elbowed another in the throat, grabbed Sienna’s wrist and dragged her toward the kitchen. Two men with knives blocked the exit.

Sienna froze.

Casey didn’t.

She seized a cast-iron skillet from a rack and swung hard enough to break bone.