Chapter 5
“I need retail therapy,” Jenna snapped, sliding her sunglasses down her nose as she stepped into the backseat. “Because this man is pissing me off today.”
Sarah laughed nervously as the chauffeur shut the door, the quiet thud sealing them inside the Rolls-Royce Phantom. The leather smelled expensive. Everything about the car did.
“I miss him,” Jenna added, already scrolling her phone.
Sarah’s eyes wandered, taking in every polished detail, the starlit ceiling, the smooth ride. “Damn, Jen… nice car.”
Jenna smirked, adjusting her hair in the mirror. “Thanks. Daddy gifted it to me for my birthday. It’s not every day his only daughter turns thirty-five.”
She laughed softly, like it was cute. Like it was nothing.
“I want to stop at Hermès before we head home,” she continued. “Izzy’s taking me out tonight. And I hope he has something good planned, because lately? He’s been getting on my last nerve.”
She scoffed, irritation flashing in her eyes.
“And now I’m hearing he’s still tangled up with Rebecca. Supposedly he’s just dragging it out—trying to ruin her slowly.” Jenna rolled her eyes. “I don’t care. I’m done waiting for him to let her go.”
She leaned back, crossing her legs. “She supposedly broke up with him after catching us leaving the bar last week. But honestly? That bitch has no idea who she’s fucking with.”
Sarah stiffened.
“She either steps aside,” Jenna said calmly, almost bored, “or I’ll make sure she disappears from the picture. Izzy should’ve been mine from the beginning.”
Her jaw tightened.
“And if she’s still standing in my way,” Jenna added casually, “I’ll talk to my dad. He’ll take care of it. He always does.”
Sarah let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “Come on, Jen. Is he worth all this stress? You’re going to get wrinkles.”
Jenna turned slowly.
The smile was gone.
“You don’t understand,” she said coldly. “He’s sexy. He’s smart. He loves me. And he belongs to me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So yes. He’s worth it.”
The rest of the ride passed in silence.
After shopping, they returned to Jenna’s home—a sprawling mini-mansion bathed in gold and white. Porcelain floors gleamed beneath towering statues. Everything was pristine. Untouched. Perfect.
Staff moved quietly, anticipating every need, hovering just enough to remind anyone watching—
This was a house where problems didn’t linger.
They disappeared.
Jenna didn’t knock.
She never did.
The double doors to her father’s study were already open, warm amber light spilling into the hallway. The room smelled like leather, cigars, and something metallic beneath it all—power. Her heels echoed against the marble as she walked in, slow and deliberate, like she owned the air itself.
Her father sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, gold watch catching the light. Papers spread neatly in front of him. Calm. Unbothered. A man who decided the fate of others before breakfast.
He didn’t look up right away.
“Daddy,” Jenna said, dragging the word just enough to sound sweet. Dangerous people always sounded sweet first.
That got his attention.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes lifting to her face. “What is it now, Jenna?”
She moved closer, resting her manicured hands on the edge of his desk, leaning in as if sharing a secret. Her lips curved—not a smile, not quite.
“There’s a woman,” she said. “And she’s becoming a problem.”
Her father studied her in silence. He’d learned long ago that when Jenna came to him like this, it wasn’t drama.
It was a request.
“A tattoo artist,” Jenna continued casually. “Small-town famous. Everyone loves her. Fundraisers. Charity events. Articles written about how kind and strong she is.”
She rolled her eyes, straightening. “Disgusting.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose. “And why is this my concern?”
Jenna’s expression hardened.
“Because Izzy won’t let her go.”
The name landed heavy.
“She thinks she’s important,” Jenna snapped, pacing now. “She thinks because people admire her, because she has a little spotlight, that she’s untouchable. That she can stand in my way.”
She turned back to him sharply. “I want her gone.”
Silence.
Not shock. Not hesitation.
Just silence.
Her father’s fingers tapped once against the desk. “Gone how?”
Jenna didn’t flinch.
“I don’t care,” she said flatly. “Her career. Her shop. Her reputation. Her sense of safety. Pick one. Pick all. I’m tired of seeing her name. I’m tired of hearing people talk about her like she matters more than me.”
She leaned forward again, eyes blazing. “And I don’t care how important or popular she thinks she is. I don’t care who she helps or how many sob stories she’s attached to.”
Her voice dropped, sharp and spoiled and cruel.
“I want her handled.”
Her father finally stood, towering over the desk. He stepped closer, close enough that most people would’ve shrunk back.
Jenna didn’t.
“You’re asking for attention,” he said quietly. “This woman’s visibility could bring complications.”
Jenna scoffed. “Then make it quiet.”
She crossed her arms, chin lifting. “You always taught me that problems don’t get sympathy. They get erased.”
A beat.
Another.
Then he reached out, brushing an invisible speck of dust from her shoulder. A fatherly gesture. A warning disguised as affection.
“If I do this,” he said, voice low, “there’s no undoing it.”
Jenna smiled.
“Good.”
She turned toward the door, heels clicking, already satisfied. “I just want my life back. Izzy back. Everything in its place.”
She paused at the doorway, glancing over her shoulder.
“Oh—and Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Make sure she knows,” Jenna said softly, “that she should’ve stepped aside when she had the chance.”
Then she walked out.
And behind her, the door closed with a sound that felt very much like a sentence being passed.
Jenna Lionetti was born into a world where loyalty mattered more than love and power mattered more than mercy.
She never knew a version of life without money, without fear, without men who lowered their voices when her father entered a room.
From the moment she could walk, she belonged to the Lionetti name—and the weight of it wrapped around her like silk and steel.
She was an only child. Not by accident, but by design.
Her parents ruled together. Manetto Lionetti and Julia DeLuca—high school sweethearts turned partners in an empire built on money laundering, drugs, and trafficking that stretched farther than most people dared to imagine.
Julia was not a silent wife tucked away behind diamonds and charity luncheons.
She was sharp, calculating, and respected.
Feared, even. If Manetto was the muscle, Julia was the mind. And Jenna watched everything.
Her childhood was indulgent on the surface—private schools, chauffeurs, closets filled with designer clothes she outgrew before she could wear them twice.
But underneath the luxury was constant vigilance.
Armed men. Secured gates. Conversations that stopped when she entered the room.
She learned early that safety was never guaranteed, only enforced.
The night her mother died split her life clean in two.
Jenna was eight years old when the hit came. An attempted assassination meant for her father, sloppy and desperate. The kind that happens when someone wants a crown they haven’t earned. Julia had stepped in front of Manetto without hesitation. One bullet. One moment. Gone.
They told Jenna her mother was brave. A hero. A queen who died protecting her king.
What they didn’t say—what no one ever said out loud—was that the world had taught Jenna a lesson that night: love is a liability.
After Julia’s death, Manetto became ruthless in ways even his enemies noticed. But with Jenna, he softened. Overcorrected. She became untouchable. His priority. His weakness—and everyone knew it.
Every woman he tried to bring into their lives failed. Some were intimidated. Others resented the way Jenna always came first. None of them lasted. Jenna didn’t mind. She didn’t want a replacement mother. She wanted control.
Grief didn’t make her fragile. It made her focused.
By her early teens, Jenna understood exactly what her parents had built together—and what had been taken from her.
She started asking questions no child should know to ask.
She listened from stairwells. From doorways.
From the backseat of armored cars. She learned how money moved, how silence was bought, how problems disappeared.
She partied hard. Drank early. Lived loudly. If she wanted something, she took it. Shopping bored her once she realized money meant nothing when everyone around you already had it. Danger, though—that still thrilled her.
She wasn’t shielded from weapons. Guns were as familiar to her as handbags. There were moments—quiet ones—when situations arose that required handling. Jenna didn’t flinch. She never had. Fear was for people who didn’t know how the world really worked.
By her twenties, Jenna was no longer just aware of her father’s dealings. She was involved. Not officially. Not on paper. But she sat in rooms where decisions were made. She offered opinions that were listened to. She watched men twice her age hesitate before answering her questions.
She learned how to ruin people without leaving fingerprints. How to apply pressure without raising her voice. How to make someone feel like disappearance was inevitable.
Jenna didn’t crave chaos. She craved order.
And love—real love, the kind that threatened her control—was the one thing she could never allow.
Because the night her mother died taught her the most important rule of all:
If something matters too much…
It can be taken from you.
So, Jenna learned to take first.
Later that night, the city glowed for her.