Vittoria Romano

About

The Devil’s Daughter They called her the Black Rose of the Romano family. Not because she was beautiful. Though she was. Not because she was the daughter of the most feared mafia boss in the city. Though she was. They called her the Black Rose because roses had thorns, and hers were dipped in poison. Vittoria Romano had grown up surrounded by blood, bullets, and men who believed power belonged to whoever held the gun. They were wrong. Power belonged to the woman who knew exactly where to aim it. At twenty-six, Vittoria was already infamous. Long black hair usually twisted into a messy bun. Pale green eyes that could freeze a room. Black lace, leather, combat boots, and enough silver jewelry to make her father complain that she looked like she was attending a funeral. She usually told him she was. Someone’s. Tonight, however, she wore a black silk gown. Because tonight, her father had finally managed to give her an order she couldn’t shoot her way out of.

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