Chapter 1

Ten years ago, I saved the life of New York's most dangerous mob boss with a sewing kit. I gave Ethan Reed my youth, my loyalty, and my heart.

But the moment his ex-girlfriend Chloe returned, I became disposable.

It didn't matter that she had abandoned him. It didn't matter that she poisoned me, killing the unborn child Ethan didn't even know we had.

When Chloe needed a kidney transplant due to her drug abuse, Ethan didn't protect me. He strapped me to a gurney.

"It's just one kidney, Ava. You owe me."

He harvested my organ to save the woman who murdered his heir. And when he was done, he decided I was a loose end.

He dragged me to the edge of a bridge in the pouring rain.

"This is how it ends," he said, his eyes devoid of love. "A tragic suicide."

He pushed me into the freezing water, watching me drown to secure his happy ending.

He thought I was dead. He thought the canary had sung its last song.

But he forgot one thing. I was the chemist who built his empire.

When his greatest rival pulled me out of the river, I didn't pray for salvation. I prayed for revenge.

Three months later, I walked into his charity gala on the arm of his enemy, wearing a white suit and a smile sharp enough to cut glass.

Ethan dropped to his knees when he saw me.

But I wasn't there to forgive him. I was there to burn his house down.

Chapter 1

Ava POV

I held the vial that secured the Reed family's future in my hand just as the phone rang-a call that would dismantle my own.

Ten years ago, I had pulled a bullet out of Ethan Reed's chest with shaking hands and a sewing kit, saving the life of the most dangerous man in New York. Today, the man I saved-the Don of the Reed crime family-called me not with gratitude, but with the cold, clipped tone he usually reserved for executing traitors.

"Get to the manor. Now."

The line went dead before I could draw a breath.

The morning sun filtered through the high windows of the family's secret laboratory, illuminating dust motes dancing in the sterile air. I looked at the clear liquid in the test tube. It was a breakthrough-a synthesized clotting agent for the family's underground clinics. It should have been a moment of triumph. Instead, a heavy stone of dread plummeted into my stomach.

Ethan never called me like that.

Not me.

Not his Ava.

I tore down the highway toward the estate, my mind replaying that night a decade ago. I was eighteen, a medical student with more debt than sense. He was twenty-two, bleeding out in an alley. I didn't know he was the heir to a criminal empire. I just knew he had eyes the color of a stormy sea and he didn't want to die.

I saved him. He claimed me. He said I was his lucky charm, his canary in the coal mine.

But canaries are disposable. I just didn't realize it then.

When I pulled up to the wrought-iron gates, the silence was loud enough to scream. The guards didn't nod at me; they stared straight ahead, rigid as statues. Two Capos were smoking by the fountain, their voices dropping to a hush as I passed. They glanced at the front door, then at me, with expressions that hovered somewhere between pity and dismissal.

I walked into the foyer. The air conditioning was set too low, biting at my exposed skin.

Vittorio, Ethan's Consigliere, stood by the library door. He was an old man, steeped in blood and tradition. He caught my eye, his gaze complicated. It wasn't a greeting. It was a warning.

"He's waiting," Vittorio said, his voice rough like gravel.

I pushed open the heavy oak doors.

Ethan stood behind his desk. He looked exhausted, the lines around his eyes etched deeper than they were yesterday. He wore a crisp black suit that cost more than my first car, his presence filling the room with a suffocating dominance. He didn't smile. He didn't round the desk to kiss my forehead.

"Chloe is back," he said.

Three words. That was all it took to stop my heart.

My body went rigid. The memory hit me like a physical blow-Chloe, running out the back door ten years ago while Ethan gasped for air on my floor. She had been his girlfriend then. She had seen the blood, screamed that she couldn't handle "this life," and vanished.

She left him to die. I stayed to keep him alive.

"Back?" I whispered. My voice sounded foreign to my own ears.

"She returned this morning," Ethan said, shuffling papers on his desk, refusing to meet my gaze. "She's... fragile. The years haven't been kind to her."

"She left you, Ethan."

"She was scared, Ava. We were kids." He finally looked up, and the hardness in his eyes made me take a step back. "She's family. And she stays."

He didn't ask. He commanded. He was the Don, and his word was law. But this wasn't business. This was the woman who broke him, the woman I spent ten years helping him forget.

"I need you to prepare something for her," he continued, his tone shifting to business. "She's anxious. Can't sleep. Make that calming tonic you used to make for me when the nightmares were bad."

I felt the blood drain from my face. He wanted me to serve the woman who abandoned him the same remedy I used to heal his trauma?

"You want me to be her nurse?"

"I want you to be useful," he snapped. Then, his expression fractured, softening just enough to look painful. "Please, Ava. Just do this for me. You're the only one I trust with the meds."

Useful.

Not loved.

Useful.

I nodded, because that's what I did. I was the loyal Ava. The good soldier.

I retreated to my lab, my hands trembling as I gathered the herbs. Valerian root. Chamomile. Passionflower. I moved on autopilot, my mind screaming. Why now? Why her?

As I reached for the jar of dried St. John's Wort, I paused. The texture was wrong against my fingertips.

I poured a small amount onto the stainless steel table. It wasn't St. John's Wort. It was a look-alike herb, Hypericum, but a different subspecies. Mildly toxic to most, but dangerous to anyone with a specific liver sensitivity.

And Chloe... I remembered Ethan mentioning years ago that Chloe had a delicate liver.

Someone had swapped the herbs.

A chill ran down my spine. This wasn't an accident. If I brewed this and gave it to her, she would get sick. Not die, but sick enough. And who would be blamed? The jealous ex-girlfriend. The chemist. Me.

I stared at the toxic leaves. I could brew it. I could let her drink it. It would serve her right.

But I wasn't her.

I swept the toxic herbs into the waste bin and replaced them with the correct ones from my private stock. I brewed the tonic, the smell of lavender and honey filling the air, masking the scent of my own fear.

Dinner was a farce.

Chloe sat next to Ethan, wearing a dress that was too white and a smile that was too sweet. She looked at him like he was the sun and she was a flower desperate for light. Ten years hadn't touched her beauty, but it had sharpened her edges.

"Oh, Ethan," she cooed, placing a hand on his forearm. "I feel so safe now. I don't know how I survived without you."

I sat across from them, picking at my steak. It tasted like ash.

"Ava made something for you," Ethan said, gesturing to the bottle I had placed on the table. "For your nerves."

Chloe looked at me, her blue eyes widening with faux innocence. "Oh, Ava. You're still here? That's so sweet. Like a little sister who never quite left home."

Little sister.

"I made it myself," I said, my voice steady. "It will help you sleep."

"I've been feeling so unwell lately," Chloe sighed, leaning into Ethan. "Just... weak. I'll need a lot of care."

Ethan stroked her hair. "Ava will help. She's the best. She'll take care of you."

He looked at me then, his eyes pleading, manipulative. "Won't you, Ava? Take care of her like you took care of me?"

The irony tasted like bile in my throat. He was asking me to nurse the snake that bit him.

"Of course," I said. "Whatever you need."

I excused myself after dinner, claiming I needed to clean the lab. I walked out of the dining room, the sound of their soft laughter following me like a ghost.

Back in the safety of my lab, I locked the door. My hands were shaking again. I pulled out my burner phone, a device Ethan didn't know existed. I dialed a number I hadn't used in two years.

"It's me," I whispered when the line connected. "I need a full workup. Chloe Davis. Where she's been for ten years. Who she's been with. Everything."

"That's dangerous territory, Ava," the voice on the other end crackled. It was Marco, an intelligence broker who owed me a life debt. "The Don won't like it."

"The Don is blind," I said, staring at the empty vial of the toxic herb I had thrown away. "Don't let anyone know. Especially Ethan."

I hung up.

I looked at the clear liquid in the beaker on my desk. Loyalty was a two-way street, and Ethan had just closed his lane.

I picked up the bottle. The glass was cool against my skin. The war had started, and Chloe had fired the first shot without even lifting a finger.

But she forgot one thing.

I was the one who made the poison.