Chapter One

Lori

I’m sitting in the middle of Central Park and all I can focus on is how the sun hits the trees just right. Tall skyscrapers line the backdrop, although I cannot see the details. In fact, I can’t see any details—of anything. I’m lucky that I can even see at all. Light, blurred objects, color, movement, sometimes even a hairstyle on someone’s head. That’s about all my vision can handle thanks to Stargardt’s disease.

I developed it when I was twelve years old, and remember the moment to this day. I was sitting at my family’s dinner table, a long handmade oak piece adorned with crystal plateware, when the crystal suddenly blurred and stopped glistening. My brothers’ faces faded into shadows, and the pangs of fear in the pit of my stomach caused me to spill my gazpacho all over my white sundress.

I slip my bag off my shoulder and set it down on the bench behind me, my head tilting up towards the sun. It is moments like this when I wish I had normal vision. I wish I could count the clouds in the sky, memorize every little detail of the buildings in the skyline. I wish I could look at the couples I hear laughing around me. Perhaps then, I wouldn’t feel this intense loneliness, perhaps then, all the years of being hidden away would’ve been worth it, because I could revel in a moment like this with eyes wide open.

Since birth, my life has been threatened and I have been in danger, however the day that I lost my vision, was the day that the Saracino’s would have a secret child. See, my father is a very important man. Graziano Saracino is perhaps one of the most feared and richest men in New York City, perhaps in the nation, the leader, and head boss of the Saracino Mafia. So ever since I lost my vision, I have been tucked away, hidden from the danger that is my family’s reality. My father bought me an apartment on the other side of Manhattan, my brothers and him taking turns watching me. Thus, I have been living a relatively normal life, despite the blindness and all.

I pull my camera from my bag and remove my sunglasses. When being in the sun or harsh light, I must wear sunglasses, sometimes even a hat.

I fiddle with the lens and line up the perfect shot, capturing the perfect view of Central Park in the middle of the day, telling a sweet story of this amazing city.

I know what you’re thinking, a blind girl that takes pictures? And yes, that does sound bizarre, but I don’t just take pictures, I throw myself into them. I’ve made them a career. I’ve turned my shadowed haze into colorful storylines and now, I get to tell those stories for a living. Iris Media is one of the top marketing firms in the city and thankfully after I graduated college, they took one look at my portfolio and hired me on the spot, without being aware of my disease.

Now I really know what you’re thinking, why does the daughter of one of the richest and most powerful men in the city even have a job? Well, my answer is simple—I want to.

I don’t want to live in my family’s dangerous world. Although I love them more than words, and sometimes even more than photography, I refuse to let money be an additional reason for my lifelong isolation. It’s dirty money, blood money, money that has kept me away from the brutality of the Saracino world, money that has allowed me to build a safe space for myself. A space where I can live a quiet life, taking pictures and hosting dinner parties with my friends, maybe even allow me to have a partner and someday, a family. A normal, happy and safe family.

As soon as I take the picture, a series of loud noises fill the air. I jump and clutch my camera, knowing all too well that the sounds were gunshots. Since my hearing is heightened due to relying on it for so long, I can almost tell where they are coming from, and that immediately triggers my flight response. They were close by and so is my father’s office. Something in my gut tells me it’s not good, that it’s either him or one of my four brothers, so I pack my camera, slide on my sunglasses and make a beeline for the subway. Thankfully, I’ve memorized all the times of transit since this city doesn’t cater too well for blind people. I know that the next link to my apartment is in five minutes, so I need to book it.

I run through Central Park, rushing onto the sidewalk and waiting for the crosswalk guard to signal that it’s okay to pass. When I get to the subway stairs, I run until my lungs are squeezing inside of my chest, my thighs practically chaffing from brushing together beneath my skirt. When I count my steps and stop at my designated spot in the terminal, I wait and listen for the train. It comes, like clockwork and I step inside as soon as the door opens, sliding in my headphones as I tell my phone to call my oldest brother, Carmelo. He answers on the first ring, like always.

“Where are you right now?” I gasp, my voice thick with anxiety.

“Woah, kid, calm down. Are you okay?” he asks, the calm and deep baritone of his voice soothing some of my worry.

“Are… are you okay? I was just working in Central Park and heard gunshots. Where’s papa?” I ask, grabbing a pole and hanging tight as the subway takes off.

“Relax, Lori. Dad’s fine. Not every gunshot is due to or intended for the family. You forget this city is filled with thugs and psychopaths,” he chuckles, but I don’t laugh. My hand is sweaty as it grips the pole.

“You forget that the family is also composed of thugs and psychopaths.” I hiss, not in the mood for his humor today.

He sighs. “This is true. Look, Dad and I are fine—”

“What about Armone, Amelio and Claudio?”

“They’re here with me. Seriously, little one, you need to relax. You’re gonna turn gray at the ripe age of twenty-two.” He says and I sigh, thanking God or whoever resides in the sky for keeping my brothers and father safe just one more day.

“Look, we were planning on coming over to the apartment for dinner tonight. Dad is going to Jersey for some… business and the boys and I are craving your Cavatelli.”

If there’s one thing that’s true about living in a house full of boys, it’s that they eat. A lot.

I had to learn how to cook at a young age because of this. My mom died when I was a toddler so if the nanny was off duty, somebody had to learn their way around the kitchen and that was me. Which is fine, I love to cook. With my loss of vision, I had to learn how to chop safely, but it’s still therapeutic for me and one of the few things I’m good at.

“Fine. I’ll see you at the apartment at seven. Love you.” I disconnect the call and play some music, tilting my head back and closing my eyes as the subway continues, mindless chatter all around me.

~

When I get home, I busy myself with cooking and pour a few glasses of Chianti to calm my nerves. The apartment is quiet and lonely, so I draw the curtains and play my favorite classical playlist.

The space is huge, over five thousand square feet complete with granite countertops and vaulted ceilings. It’s a true gem in Upper Manhattan, and I’m sure it cost my father a pretty penny, but thankfully he paid for it outright so that I would never have to struggle even if I wanted to. To be honest, I don’t make that much at the marketing firm, but I do well for myself and am able to survive while still enjoying some fancy wine and organic food. Once my insurance kicks in, I’m going to talk to my father about switching doctors and paying my medical bills on my own as well, which I’m sure he will object to. Quite frankly, I’m tired of the frequent appointments. Of the pointless surgeries. If this disease is as hopeless as my childhood doctor says it is, then I want to make it easier on myself.

I straighten my throw pillows on the leather couches and reach for the fireplace remote, turning it on and sipping from my glass while gazing out the large, floor-to-ceiling windows. I’ve made this place as colorful as possible to help me move around, but the view is my favorite, albeit blurry.

The doorbell rings and I hear the door open immediately after, all four of my brothers’ laughter filling the apartment. I smile. It’s been a long time since all of them came here. Usually, people visit me in shifts now that I’m an adult, except for holidays. In all honesty, the men in my life are much busier doing crime than they are spending quality time with family. It’s something that I’ve had to accept at a young age.

“Lorena Rose!” My second eldest brother, Armone, shouts from the foyer, causing me to roll my eyes in response.

Nobody calls me by my full name but him and he only does it to agitate me.

I stand up and walk into the kitchen, pausing to kiss each of their cheeks. The eldest, Carmelo, is tall like my father. Like the other three, he was blessed with thick, dark and unruly hair and dark eyes to match. They’re pretty much carbon copies of my father, but they all have something unique about them. Carmelo is tall and wise, Armone has a very buoyant sense of humor, whereas the third eldest, Amelio, has the biggest temper, and the youngest brother, Claudio, is charming beyond belief. However, each and every one of them are players. The number of random women I have seen wrapped around their arms have surpassed the hundred mark and for a while, it grossed me out. Now however, it fills me with envy.

Because, while my brothers are attractive playboys, I am the odd, lonely, disabled girl. The girl with the red brown hair and the overly bright hazel eyes. The skinny, petite waif with poor eyesight. It’s safe to say that the only men I’ve ever known are my family members.

“Smells delicious, little one,” Claudio says, patting my shoulder as he pours a glass of wine, my eyes drifting to the long outline of his dark hair.

They all call me little one. It doesn’t piss me off, but rather fills me with warmth. It makes me feel special. Because even in my lonely world—to them, I am special.

“Thank you. I have most of the table set up, but can you pull the pot from the oven and set it on the table? There’s some Pinot Grigio on the table already,” I say, Claudio following my instructions immediately.

He’s the easiest to get along with, always sweet and polite. I feel safe with all my brothers, but he’s always had a way of calming me the best.

“Boys, come on,” I holler, grabbing my glass and walking into the dining room.

We take our spots at the table and say our prayers, wishing for health and safety as always. I hold my brothers’ hands a bit tighter than usual, the nerves from earlier still not completely dissipated.

As we eat, the boys chatter about their newest romances, and the loneliness stretches inside of my heart. After minutes have passed and they realize I haven’t said much, Amelio sits back and speaks to me directly.

“Car told us that you heard some shots and became frantic. Wanna talk about it?” he asks, his silhouette sipping wine as I sigh and swallow my food.

“Not really,” I say, but I should’ve known they wouldn’t listen anyway.

“Tough shit. What’s the matter?” he says, calling my bluff as I play with the food on my plate.

“I just… I haven’t seen papa lately and I guess I’m just anxious,” I say, the room silent as I speak.

“Maybe I just miss home.” I regret the words instantly.

“You know why you can’t go back there, Lori. It’s not safe for you.” Carmelo scolds, sounding just like my father.

“I know. I didn’t say I wanted to go back. Just that I miss it.” I whisper, swirling the wine in my glass as I bite my lip.

“I guess I’m just lonely. I hear you talk about these women, these companions, and I can’t help but wish for something like that for myself. To have someone to come home to—share my life with.” Armone’s hand rests over mine when I fall silent.

“You’re only twenty-two, little one. You have all the time in the world. Trust that you will find someone someday. You’re beautiful, intelligent, and have many talents. Any man would be lucky to call you his,” he says earnestly, my heart sinking at his words.

“I have two talents and a disability. I think I may be off the market for good.” I wallow in my own self-pity now.

“You are special and a prize, Lori. Don’t tell yourself otherwise,” Armone says, patting me comfortingly as I smile at him.

“Enough of this loneliness talk, where’s the cake?” Amelio asks, everyone erupting with laughter as we finish our meal.

“How are you ever going to have a wife if that’s how you speak to a woman?” I tease, reaching to pour myself a glass, but retreating when Carmelo brushes me off and does it for me.

He hates when I try to be self-sufficient in his presence.

“Who said I speak to every woman like that?” Ameilo teases. “And who said I want a wife anyway?” I roll my eyes at him, getting up as Claudio clears the plates from the table.

Carmelo takes the tiramisu from my hands before cutting into it as I walk it into the dining room.

I stare at all four of them, the outline of their laughing figures filling what little vision I have.

“What?” Armone asks.

“Promise me that you’re being safe. I don’t know what I would do without any of you.” I whisper, the men falling silent and all but confirming that something did happen today.

“What happened?” I ask, gazing at them as they sigh.

“There was a robbery. One of the De Vico boys. Our guards caught him a block away from the office with some of our contraband,” Claudio says, the other three hissing and chastising him.

“She’s going to worry, idiot—”

“I’m fine! Jesus, I’m not an invalid. Just because I’m hidden away doesn’t mean I need to be kept out of the loop. The De Vico’s? Again?” I ask, frowning as they confirm.

The De Vico family has been an enemy of my family since the dawn of time. The Saracino’s have fought hard to maintain control over the city, but these people are relentless. Heinous, relentless, and fucking brutal.

“Do I need to worry?” I ask, Carmelo getting up to grab the knife from my hand before he cuts into the dessert.

“Never, little one. We’re finally gaining the upper hand in our war. Now is the greatest time to relax and live your life with ease,” he says, kissing my forehead before he hands a slice of cake to all of us.

Regardless of his words, I can still feel the worry seep into my blood and blossom through my veins.

Chapter Two

Lori

My alarm is blaring, and I have a headache from Hell. My brothers stayed late last night and although I missed and enjoyed their company, I am now regretting my decision as I walk to the shower just before six in the morning.

I shower quickly and dress in my favorite red skirt and white silk blouse, sliding into a pair of nude flats before I blow dry my hair, spray my favorite perfume, and walk out the door. The trip to work is never long. Thankfully, Iris Media is only a few blocks away from the apartment and I usually make it there before any of the editors do, allowing me to develop my photos and have them on their desks by the time they walk in the office. I have a nice little setup here, my own small office and developer room right next to the editing team and John, the CEO.

I’ve always been worried working for men that I don’t know, but thankfully, John Iris is one of the nicest men I’ve ever met. He and his team have always been understanding of my condition, and he always makes an effort to compliment my work and provide guidance rather than criticism. I enjoy bringing him new photos — his words are always refreshing.

Like today, when I slapped a stack of photos labeled “Central Park Series” on his desk. I can hear his awe and see his head nod in approval, his hand reaching out to pat mine.

“Kid, I don’t know how you do it, but you amaze me every damn time,” he beams, pride filling my heart as a smile stretches my lips.

“Thank you, I can hang around today and work on the next series if you want—”

“Nonsense.” He waves me off, calling in one of his editors to take my stack of photos.

“You’ve been working yourself to the ground and are way ahead of schedule. The next issue deadline isn’t for another two months. Why don’t you take the afternoon off and relax for once?” He laughs and I sigh, unsure of what to do with my day.

If I’m not working or taking photos, I pretty much have no other purpose, but I decide not to argue against him. I want to always be in his good graces.

I shake his hand and grab my bag from my office, putting on my headphones and starting to walk home. Maybe I’ll try a new recipe today. I have a series of audio cookbooks that I’ve yet to dive into.

Right before I tell my phone to open the file, Claudio calls me. I make sure every person in my life has their own specific ringtone so I can identify the caller. Because Claudio is the one who calls me the most, I always hear Elvis’ “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”

“Hey, Claud. What’s up?” I ask, turning the corner towards my apartment.

“She left me.” His slurred voice says through the phone and my heart breaks for him instantly.

Claudio has been with the same woman, Maddalena, since high school. He just bought her an engagement ring, and I can tell by his broken and mumbled voice that this must have happened earlier, which means he’s been drinking all morning.

Fuck.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m so sorry, I know you must be hurting, but we’ll figure this out, okay? It might help for you to talk about it. I’m off for the rest of the day and I’m about to come home, why don’t you come to the apartment, and we can relax together?” I try not to cry for him as he agrees with garbled words.

My sweet, older brother may work for one of the most dangerous businesses in New York City, but he has a heart of gold and, now, that heart is completely shattered. I’m instantly worried for him.

This week has already been a shit show and it’s only Tuesday.

~

Marco

I’m staring at the ten-year-old death certificate of my father when Sergio, my assistant, calls me.

“I found one of the brothers. I was able to tap into his call. He’s absolutely plastered and on his way to the girl’s house. Tracking his location now,” he says, and I immediately sit up in my leather chair, my glass of whiskey shaking on my oak desk.

Ah, the secret daughter of Graziano Saracino. Has the mystery finally been revealed?

“I want the address as soon as you get it and a van sent over to the office in five minutes.” I order, tossing back the rest of my glass as I straighten my Armani suit jacket.

“Copy,” Sergio says, ending the call as I stare at the certificate once more.

Ten years ago, to this day, Leone De Vico, my father and the head boss of the De Vico mafia, was brutally murdered by our sworn enemy, Graziano Saracino. I was only twenty-seven at the time, just an underboss when the century long business was thrown into my hands. Since then, I’ve been on a wild man hunt with a vengeance that has made me a ruthless bastard. I will not rest until I see every single Saracino dead. Even the secret daughter.

But, if you want a successful operation, you must think critically, methodically. And that’s what I’ve been doing for the past decade: carefully plotting and planning, biding my time and waiting for the moment when I can strike from the shadows with an army greater than ever before. And here’s the moment showing itself, on the ten-year anniversary of my father’s death.

Vengeance.

I could strike the head first, killing Graziano and taking out the heart of the family so everything else can fail instantly, but I want them to suffer. I want them to feel the pain that I have felt for years. And what better way to do that than to start with the two youngest first?

I’m not surprised to hear about the boy. After all my digging throughout the years, I’ve known that Claudio was the weakest, too soft for our world. What surprised me is Sergio’s detection of the daughter. Graziano has hidden her well, for ten years he’s kept her locked away, untraceable. Until today. Until God came out from the sky and granted me a key to my own gates of heaven.

I do not know what the girl looks like, I don’t even know her name, but I do know that she is young, and she is weak, otherwise her father wouldn’t have hidden her so well. She may be the weakest spot of this family. She may be the perfect opportunity for my plans. Meaning, I might not want to kill her right away. Maybe I’ll kill the boy and make her watch as he bleeds out on the floors of her hidden palace. Maybe I’ll put her in the van right next to his lifeless body and then throw her in the cages until I bait the rest with her fragile, pathetic existence.

I pour myself another glass and wait for Sergio to send me the address. When he does, I see that the boy has already made it to the spot.

Perfect.

I throw back the contents of my glass and grab my gun, tuck it into my custom trousers and call for my backup. Once we’re in the van, I give them the location and light a cigarette, watching the city pass me by from the tinted windows.

The drive is long, on the other side of town. You’d think her father would move her to a different state if he really cared, but the man loves control. And since his beloved wife died many years ago, I’m sure he didn’t want the last female of the family too far. Even if it meant still risking her life.

When we pull up to the apartment, I smirk. The girl lives in an expensive skyrise, all the way at the top like a princess locked away in a tower. I grab my binoculars and peer around, stopping when I spot an open set of windows, the boy pacing past them and allowing me to identify him immediately.

Stupid girl, why leave your windows open for the monsters of the city to peer through?

I remain posted, searching for any new sightings of the mystery girl for what feels like an eternity. Until she comes into view, two glasses of water in her small hands. I take one look at her and frown, bewildered that the petite thing is somehow related to the dark Saracino men.

There, right in the open view, stands a small woman with light brown hair, shimmers of red highlights all throughout the long wavy tresses. Her skin is pale, unlike her brothers. And although I don’t have a clear look at her face, I can tell that she is stunning. Small, soft features and decent sized breasts that peek out from the slope of her silk blouse. Her long, shapely legs on full display underneath her short, red skirt.

She’s stunning, I’ll give her that. But she’s also damned, now more than ever.

“What do we do, boss?” One of my men say, bloodthirsty and anxious.

I wave him with a flick of my hand, eyes still glued on the woman in the window.

“We wait,” I say, watching for nearly an hour in the idling van until they disappear from the view.

Minutes go by when suddenly, the large double doors of the apartment building open and out comes the boy and his sister. We all draw our guns, but when I spot the walking stick outstretched in front of her, her eyes covered with a pair of expensive looking sunglasses, I freeze.

She’s blind.

The realization comes quick and hits me like a freight train, everything clicking into place.

Yes, Graziano has hidden her. And she’s not just weak, she’s fucking impaired.

So much for making her watch her brother bleed out.

They hug and right when they let go and the boy turns to walk away, one of my guards cocks their gun and looks over at me.

“Now, boss? He’s getting away—”

“No,” I say darkly, tucking my gun back into my pants as the boy leaves and the blind girl turns to walk back into the apartment building.

“Marco, what the fuck! You had your chance for the first time in ten years and you fucking—”

I rear back and elbow my driver right in the face, the crunching sound of his nose echoing throughout the van. I then grab a tissue from the glove compartment and toss it to him.

“That’ll be the first and last time you address me in that manner,” I growl, turning to look at him.

“Critically. Methodically. Successfully,” I bark at him, the same words I repeat to my men every day.

“I have other plans. I want the girl. And I want her alive,” I grunt, looking back at the apartment before I rest my hand on the door handle.

“And I’m going to get her myself. Get the rope ready. I’ll be back in ten minutes,” I say, stepping out of the vehicle as I strip my jacket and roll up my sleeves, tossing the coat into the passenger seat.

“This is personal,” I state, before I slam the door and walk inside the massive apartment building, ready to meet the hidden princess and steal her away from her little palace.

~

Lori

After walking Claudio out, I walk back inside my building and ride the elevator all the way up to the top floor. I set down my walking stick and toss my sunglasses on the foyer table. I haven’t really needed my stick in a while, but I’ve been anxious this week and don’t want to risk tripping or falling.

I walk into the kitchen and grab myself a glass of water. It took me over an hour to calm Claudio down, his drunken tears still echoing in my mind, my heart breaking for him. If this is what love is like, maybe I don’t want it after all. However, I can’t imagine living a life of complete solitude. And the reason she left him was because of the business, the very same reason why I have chosen to not be a part of it. So maybe… love won’t be painful for me since I’ve chosen to stay away.

My thoughts break when a knock sounds on the door. I smile, wondering what Claudio forgot this time. He may have sobered up slightly, but even so, the man forgets everything. He’d lose his head if it wasn’t attached to his body.

I open the door, freezing when I see the outline of a man that is not my brother, a man that I have never met before.

I look him up and down, trying to make out what little details of his features that I can. From what I can tell, his hair is styled on the top of his head, his face shadowed with a thick, black beard. His body is massive, like incredibly massive. His shoulders stretch the entire width of my door frame, bombarding me with his aggressive size. He smells unlike anything I’ve smelt before. Something foreign and rich, like he had been standing in the woods and soaked up all the sun. And handsome, definitely handsome.

“Can-can I help you with something?” I ask, my voice dry and cracked, coming out as a broken whisper as I stand there, mesmerized.

He chuckles. The sound is devoid of humor, and when I hear it, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my entire spine stiffens. This man should not be here. This man is not good.

“Yes, princess. You can help me with something, indeed,” he grumbles, lunging forward as a scream tears from my throat.

Before I can move, his hand is clamped over my mouth while the other wraps around my throat, cutting off my air supply as I flail helplessly in his arms.

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Chapter One

Anna

As I step out onto the curb, I suck in a deep breath and try my best to enjoy the spring air. It sounds dramatic, but when you step onto the Robinson estate you never know whether you’ll see the light of day again. Fresh-cut grass, the faint aroma of lilacs and hydrangeas, and a trace of exhaust from the interstate. Everywhere you look, there is a reminder of destruction disguised as progress. Even when I’m trying to accept my potential end—my mortality—it doesn’t matter.

I haven’t been to the Robinson estate in six years, but it is always too soon to see the place again. It is a modern, sophisticated-looking lion’s den. Blood-thirsty beasts that have no regard for what the society at large has to say, let alone their rules, prowl within those walls. And through the faults of my loving, but harebrained father… it seems as though I’m tied to them forever.

As I walk to the front door, I do everything in my power to calm myself down. The last thing you want to show in front of a mob boss is fear. They can smell it like sharks can smell blood in the water; and Andrey Robinson is absolutely no exception. If he senses fear, he will twist, mangle, and manipulate it just for the hell of it—not to mention his own personal gain.

Deep breaths. I need to take deep breaths and focus on maintaining my composure. I’ll give him nothing to go on, not even an inkling of emotion. No anger, no sadness, and never fear.

I don’t even have to knock on the door; it opens right when I approach. A false sense of security dares to fall over me at the sight of an older woman in a maid’s uniform, with a matching gray tunic and pants. The only splash of color is the pale pink turtleneck she’s wearing underneath. She’s meant to make the unexpecting feel safe, as though visitors aren’t walking into a potential death trap.

“Good afternoon, Miss White,” she greets so cheerfully that my heart longs to warm at the sound. “Come on in.”

She guides me inside and shuts the door behind me. I try my best not to stare, but my mind longs to torment itself, wondering whether or not she is involved with the family. A level of comfort shows in her body language, so I’m guessing she’s worked here for quite some time. Meaning she’s had to have seen quite a bit, right? Hell, why do I care?

Because I’m trying to think of anything that isn’t centered around guessing why the hell I have been called here.

She leads me to the base of the stairs and gestures for me to walk ahead of her. I suppose she doesn’t trust me to trail behind, knowing I could sneak away and end up somewhere they don’t want me to. Without comment, I lead the way. I hate the way my steps sound on the metal, a hollow pang that reminds me too much of the horror movies I watched in my youth. I’m only twenty-two, I should still be ‘in my youth’. Who stays young in a life like this? The person I once was— the bubbly, excitable girl— had died. Getting kidnapped, being treated like nothing more than a pawn in a game I didn’t know I was playing… Well, it changed things.

My father getting arrested cemented those changes for me. I needed to grow up fast, so I did.

We walk down a long, stark white hallway, and I pause right before the only open door. I give her one last look, as though my fate would reveal itself in the fine lines on her face. If she knows whether this meeting will bring me to my end, she isn’t showing an ounce of it. Would that make her cruel, or merciful? Knowing I’ve been staring too long, I nod once and start up the stairs.

I step into view of the open door, and I can hardly think around the sound of my heart beating erratically in my ears. Looking within, I see a tall, older man with salt and pepper hair. He’s leaning against the front of an extravagant, massive, wooden desk. The piece of antique furniture feels out of place with the starkly modern and industrial-styled estate. The wood is warm, handcrafted with care, and inviting—nothing like Andrey Robinson.

Andrey manages to smoke a cigar in an intimidating manner. His eyes constricted before he even met mine. He blows smoke in my direction and flicks the ashes around with reckless abandon. He doesn’t care about anything in the room or the mess he’ll make. Everything in there is pocket change, and like everything else in his life, he has someone to clean up those messes.

“Well, are you going to stand there all day?” he calls. His voice is deep and gruff by nature, and his tone is pointed, maybe even a little irritated.

I step inside the room, and he gestures for me to take a seat in front of him. He tells me to close the door as I come in. I don’t want to. My instincts are screaming at me to stand by the door ready to flee in case something happens. However, I follow his instructions obediently. It’s better to play along; challenging the boss over even the smallest of things could potentially make life hell for me.

Andrey unbuttons his suit jacket as he positions himself to halfway sit atop the desk. I try to act unaware of the way he is eyeing me. I feel put on display for his enjoyment alone, like a private gallery for him to ogle at. Something shifts inside of me at the realization. An irritation comes on so strong that it alters my fear ever so slightly. It’s that grotesque stare of his that reminds me he isn’t some otherworldly figurehead my childhood built him up to be. No, he’s just a man. One that has a history of making me want to crawl out of my skin—which says more about him than me, since the last time I laid eyes on him, I was fifteen.

Still, even with my little flurry of courage, I’m scared. Andrey is not just a cruel man, he has the power and resources to do anything he wants. He can take my life without so much as a second thought, and no one would ever bother to avenge me, not with the state my family is in right now.

“My, my,” he grins. “I have to say, the years have been so, so kind to you… You’re absolutely radiant. With this beautiful blonde hair, eyes as blue and deep as the ocean, and skin as fair as the moon itself… you’ve always been like out of a fairytale, but now—well, you are more like a fantasy.” As though it can’t get any worse, he chuckles a hollow bout of laughter, and adds, “Oh… What was that nickname I used to call you? Annabiotics, wasn’t it? Because your smile can cure any ailment?”

“Yes, you are a true creative genius for that one,” I grumble and soothe my skirt, batting away invisible dust. “Now can you get to the point of why I was called here?” I want to be assertive, to take a semblance of control over the situation. However, my voice fails me. Even to my own ears, I sound strained and meek.

Andrey’s eyes shine with intrigue, apparently viewing my words as a challenge as opposed to anything else. Thankfully. “What’s the matter, sweet Anna, have I happened to catch you in a mood?”

His incessant need to call me some sort of pet name is nauseating. I retort quickly, not to get caught up in my thoughts, “I think anyone in my position would be ‘in a mood’ if they were called to the house of a Don without explanation.”

Immediately, I internally curse myself. While I want to assert myself to attempt to demand some respect, my voice came out snippy. The last thing I want to do is throw attitude his way. He’s not a man to sass.

My nerves are raw. Talking with him feels like navigating a mental minefield. You never know what step could be fatal. Do I assert myself to not be his plaything, or do I fold into his whims and risk angering him?

The hand that isn’t cradling a cigar clasps over his chest and his brow droops. “I have to say, I am hurt —no, wounded— that you are behaving in such a way. Acting as though I am nothing more than some pest on the street. And to use Italian terminology in this beautiful Irish home!” he expresses himself in a tone that suggests it is the worst heartbreak of his life. He follows the sentiment with a tutting sound as he shakes his head side to side. “I have to say, sweet Anna, after all that trouble I went through to get Sean to attack your abductors… I was expecting a little more warmth from you.”

His choice of using the word warmth makes me itch with discomfort. I can’t help but imagine that he is trying to convey physical touch, as though I would owe him anything for a favor I didn’t ask for. Besides, nothing about him saving me back then had anything to do with me yet everything to do with motives for which I was a pawn instead.

I hate it, but even the mention of the abduction brings flashes of it back to me.

Hands all over my body as I go from the hands of one set of abductors, to what feels like another. Squealing tires as a car attacks the Levines— my original abductors— we had been heading back to their place. Vanessa, my friend, had a terrified expression on her face as I was snatched away. I’d never met any of the men before, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out who they were. Knowing I was in the hands of my father’s associates should have made me feel better, but it didn’t. Even if you didn’t ask for it, a favor from the mob always came at a cost.

And the moment I realized the men weren’t Robinsons, but Mullens… Andrey had to have had something to do with it. The last man I wanted to owe anything to. The man who had wanted me in heinous ways since I was far too young.

As my breath threatens to hitch, I let out a long sigh to cover it up and keep my composure. Fear. Don’t let him notice your fear.

“Yes, I meant to send you a thank you card for almost getting my friend killed,” I fire back at him with the sweet hum of sarcasm to my voice. The Mullens practically killed everyone in the car with me that night. “I’m not so naïve, Andrey… That had nothing at all to do with me. It had everything to do with your desire to kill Ethan Levine, in hopes of getting the Levine clan to fall so the Robinsons could take over the market.”

The mock hurt drains from his face, and it is replaced with an ear-to-ear grin. He claps slowly and chuckles, “Bravo, Anna. Who knew it was possible to have beauty and brains? It’s a rare combination indeed. Even rarer these days given how distracted the world has become. Though, I suppose that works to our benefit, doesn’t it? A distracted world pays no mind to what is going on beneath its skin.”

“I wouldn’t group us all together,” I mutter, despite my best efforts to sound brave. I don’t want to be associated with his organization or anything remotely related to it; however, I am because I am my father’s daughter. He is the only reason I’m sitting here instead of running for the hills. Andrey’s eyes are narrowing again, and I’m struggling to keep my cool. Frustration and terror may be fighting within me, but discomfort is the most dominant emotion I am feeling. It’s so powerful that I begin to wonder if my soul will eject itself from my body just to get away from here.

Andrey takes notice of my fidgeting, and I try hard to stop. My only hope is that he registers it as restless annoyance instead of fear. He relaxes and takes another obscenely long drag on his cigar, not bothering to pretend he isn’t staring at my bare legs. Had I been aware when I dressed myself that day that I would end up here, I would have worn a parka, long pants, or even a snowsuit if I needed to. Anything to protect myself from his hellish gaze.

“So, do you really not know why you’re here today, Anna?” he asks once he finally lets the smoke pour out of his mouth – looking more like a dragon to me than a man at this moment.

“If you mean if I know why you called me here, then I’ve already told you I don’t. I know why I agreed to it, though,” I state as clearly and smoothly as possible.

“Go on,” he smirks, again placing the cigar between his lips.

The muscles in my throat tighten as though my body itself is trying to keep me from saying it. There is no going back once I tell him, and I know I’ll be placing myself right in the palm of his hand when I do. However, if I am going to be forced to do anything— which is the only reason I think I’ve been called here— then I’m going to get something out of it. Even if it means playing Andrey’s game by allowing myself to be manipulated by him.

“I want my father out of jail.”

I don’t need to explain the situation because I know he’s aware of it. Andrey is well-versed in the activities of the Robinson mafia and their associates. My father, Louis Holmes, had been arrested in a police sting. Given that he was the only one implicated in the crimes, it stinks of bullshit. Anything connected to him should implicate numerous members of the Holmes and Robinson families. My father’s family, while not part of the Robinson mafia, certainly operates like it. They run protection rackets and cook the Robinsons’ books to ensure that their payroll and expenses do not raise any flags with the IRS.

Five years for tax fraud, five years for evidence tampering, and an additional two years for a laundry list of misdemeanors I can barely keep track of. Twelve years. A man like him probably has done a few things worth a life sentence alone, so maybe twelve years is lucky… But I can’t just stand by and let it happen. He’s my father, and really, he’s my only family. And I know a man like Andrey is the only way I can free him.

Andrey flicks more ashes away and settles in, looking too smug and comfortable to bring me any ease. “What a coincidence, sweet Anna. I have brought you here to make you a deal.” He pauses to take another drag. I have to make a mental and physical effort not to squirm. The wait is killing me. I think he knows it, and he’s savoring it. “An exchange of your soul for your father’s freedom.”

Chapter Two

Liam

I wonder if it makes me subhuman to be able to feel so calm.

It’s a blissful sort of nothingness, the sort of Zen I imagine other people might feel when folding laundry or washing dishes—a routine task that isn’t enjoyable nor horrible per se, but one that is done so often that the mind can wander or think about nothing at all. That’s the only way I can describe my state of being as I pull on a pair of black leather gloves and stand in the factory hallway. The sort of machinery that used to be in use here was deafening, so the builder made the walls as close to soundproof as they could. Whatever is going on in the room I’m about to enter comes through as nothing more than muffled mumbling.

Drinking in the quiet darkness, I take a deep breath and do my best not to smirk as I turn to the door. Getting my hands dirty is the routine Zen that comes with the job— however, this is my American debut. My first brush with business stateside. In their city. So, I suppose that if I’m feeling anything at all, it’s a tingle of excitement.

Swinging the door open, the harsh, crooning voice hit me first, followed by the sight of Colin Doyle strapped to a chair under the only flickering light in the room. A bit stereotypical, but it’s just as I pictured it. Colin seems to be barely clinging to life; his angry, hoarse cries are perhaps acting as the only tether to this life and the next. Anger is a hell of a drug, isn’t it? It can destroy a life, or motivate a person to live. And in this case—it’s both.

“He insists he knows nothing,” Michael, my underboss, calls from the shadows as I start pacing toward Colin. No doubt the other couple of men I’ve enlisted to assist are lingering in the room with him. I’m a sucker for theatrics, I suppose. It gives me a rush to imagine myself as him. He must be terrified, not knowing where the men who had just beaten him to a pulp were. They could emerge from anywhere to finish the job. Only, the unsettling darkness gives you an uneasy feeling that you can’t shake; that the men there do not possess the mercy to let you go with any dignity or peace.

He would be right if he did think that.

“No matter,” I call to Michael. “I’m sure I can convince him to talk.” I am standing just feet from him now. Colin lifts his bloody head and peers up to me with the one eye that isn’t completely swollen shut. “Seen better days, haven’t you?” I ask him with a trace of mockery in my voice.

“Who the fuck are you?” Colin tries to hiss, blood splattering from his mouth as the word fuck is spoken. He is one of the men originally from Ireland, so his pleadings in this accent sound almost comical.

He’s lucky I am just out of range of his spewing. I’m pretty sure it would have sent me over the edge; and what I would have unleashed would have left him looking to his previous tormentors, my men, as potential saviors. Unbuttoning my collar, I answer softly, “Dear friend, I am your reckoning.” The bound man dared to let out a single howl of laughter. “I also happen to be Sean Mullen’s fucking nephew.”

His brows try to knit together from confusion, but he winces and stops; his face too swollen, bruised, and cut to be too emotive. “The fuck are you saying? Sean didn’t have any nephews.”

“Because you knew my uncle so well, right? That’s where this confidence is coming from?” I ask him with a hint of a smile. He was my uncle’s underboss—his friend and most trusted, loyal follower. “You know what they say, Colin. Most crimes of passion are done by those closest to you.”

His face fought through the pain to gape at me. “Are you accusing me of bumping off Sean? Are you taking the piss, boyo?”

“That’s exactly what I’m accusing you of,” I respond by lowering my head and looking him in the eyes. “Only, it wasn’t a crime of passion. What do you think the pigs would call it, Dan?” I call into the darkness. My voice is dripping with sarcasm, and I want to remind Colin that there are people surrounding him. I want to see the panic flare in his eyes, again and again, as he becomes more and more aware that this is the end of the road for him. I’ll savor every little twitch of his split lips and tear that pours out of his blackened eyes. That anxiety in a man’s eyes as you deliver the karma that is meant for them— it’s better than cigarettes after sex, or a stiff drink after a long day.

“Premeditated murder, Boss,” Michael responds from a different spot than he was before.

“Right, right. Premeditated murder,” I smile. “That’s what you’re being accused of,” I tell Colin before poking him playfully in his very obviously broken nose.

Colin swears from the pain and does his best to throw himself away from my touch. Once he recovers, he meekly shakes his head. “Clearly, you aren’t from around here. No one would dare accuse me of such a thing. Sean was like a brother to me!”

“Like a brother he says!” I call to the others. There’s an eruption of mild laughter as I close the distance between Colin and I again. “Now, Colin, I am normally not the most gracious of men, but I am reasonable. And I will give you an opportunity to correct yourself, alright? If you’re honest with me now, you’ll be spared from a world of trouble and pain. There will still be prices to pay, but you will find such fees to be much, much more lenient than the alternative. Got it?”

“You’re being too nice, Boss,” Michael says in humor.

“I know, I know. And there’s plenty to go around. So, what do you say, Colin? Do you want to be honest with me and make all our lives simpler?”

Colin’s chest is heaving. He’s nervous, but he’s trying to pass it off as anger. I can tell because his nostrils are flared but not matching his breathing. The excitement of it all seems to be weakening him, his eyes beginning to struggle to focus on me. “I don’t know where you get off accusing me of such a thing—”

“I’ll tell you, don’t worry,” I state, patting his shoulder. “I think you killed my uncle to take over the Mullen family. You thought it was the perfect plan, didn’t you? There’s so much fighting with the other gangs and you and Sean were always like brothers, right? And seeing as how there weren’t any direct descendants left… that you knew of,” I can’t hide my smirk, and couldn’t even if I tried. “It would have never been brought back to you.”

His head is starting to wobble, but the adrenaline keeps him with me. “I… worked with Sean… my entire life. Since we were boys, even…”

I tut and stand straight. “That’s what makes it all the more heinous, doesn’t it?”

“I didn’t kill Sean Mullen!” Colin cries as sternly as he can. “On my honor, I swear it.”

“Too bad that honor means nothing,” I sigh. From my pocket, I retrieve a digital recorder. It feels like a relic from the past, but the mobs still use them because they are disposable, cheap, and not kept on any sort of database or cloud software.

Tapping play, there’s a metallic clicking before voices appear. “It’s simple,” a voice says on the tape. “So many people want the man dead. Think of all the motives. Money, power, revenge… You name it and it’s a reason for someone to want him dead. All we have to do is find someone with enough tangible evidence to pin it on.”

“If there is anyone they’re going to look at first, it’s gonna be you,” Colin’s distinctly accented voice replies.

“That’s why we need a fall guy,” the man urges. “Someone in the Mullen gang. That way there is infighting, and a takeover is simple. We use the evidence to frame the person. Taking him down will glorify you. They will easily look to you as a leader.”

“Fair enough,” Colin sighs. “How should we do it? That’ll play into who we should set up. Sean’s a big guy—”

I click the tape off, needing to play only until Sean’s name was said. There isn’t anything I needed to say, I simply watch for his reaction. Colin has surrendered his one chance at mercy, and I have hard evidence that he was plotting with an unknown party to murder my uncle. He knows what is coming.

“Alright, fine!” Colin hollers, then pauses to take a few heaving breaths. “I was plotting it, alright?” Another few pants. “But that doesn’t mean I went through with it. I’m telling you here and now that I didn’t do it.”

“You’re still going to sing that song after what I just played?” I ask him with a little chuckle. “I have to say, your stubbornness rivals my uncle’s. But I have to ask, do you think I’m stupid? Do you think selling me that story will convince me? Or are you the stupid one, who thinks that I will listen to the cries of a man plotting my uncle’s death? Do you think I’ll be moved? Do you think I’ll show mercy after you’ve already kissed that chance goodbye?”

“I swear to ya,” Colin croaks, tears bubbling from his eyes. “I didn’t do it. Someone got to him first.” When I tut at him and reach for my waistband, his face turns to the ceiling. “Forgive me for my sins, Holy Father—”

“The only ones here are my men and me,” I interrupt his prayer. “If God does exist, he abandoned you long, long ago.” My hand pauses. “I will ask you only once. Who did you plot his murder with?”

“Holy Spirit, please guide me to the gates of Heaven. I am but a mortal, rife with sins worse than my brothers. But I am requesting mercy—” he goes on praying.

“Last chance,” I warn.

“For the Lord died for all our sins, including my own. I am your humble servant, Dear—”

I roll my eyes. “You’re boring me.”

Withdrawing my gun, I swiftly aim the barrel at the center of his forehead and pull the trigger. The silencer is enough not to make the gunshot crackle like a firework, but it’s enough of a noise to cause it to echo through the massive room. Colin’s head jerks backward one last time, and blood pours from the fresh hole in his face. Letting out a sigh, I tuck my gun away again and adjust my jacket.

Michael steps into the light, his eyes analyzing the body. “What a mess of a man,” he snorts. “Think he thought prayer would actually save him?”

“Possibly. He was an idiot,” I mutter.

He looks over at me with curious eyes. “Why didn’t you give him a while longer to admit who his accomplice was?”

“I told you. He was boring me,” I huff. “If these two were stupid enough to plan their scheme on a landline, without considering my uncle would keep his men’s phones tapped, then they are likely sloppy enough to leave some other sort of evidence about.” I sniff and look at the body one last time. He looks so weak and pathetic, just as he had in life. “Besides, they narrowed down our list of suspects in that recording. There are few men that would be an obvious suspect.”

If there is anyone they are going to look at first, it’s gonna be you. The words buzz about my head like hornets, stinging my mind. Someone was bold enough to orchestrate a hit on my uncle with his best friend—someone we would easily point the finger at.

“Fair enough,” Michael chuckles. His lips curling into a grin make the lines on his face more severe, his hazel eyes a little brighter. There was a time that Michael and I could have passed as twins—both dirty blonde, brown-green hazel eyes, and tall. However, there’s five years between us and age is starting to catch up with him. I’m no spring chicken myself, but he’s more cemented in time. Thirty-six looks good on him.

When I look down at myself finally, a deep sneer appears on my face. I curse under my breath and pivot to leave the room. A great annoyance has blossomed to life in my chest, cursing Colin right to Hell for his indiscretion.

“Everything alright, Boss?” Michael asks.

“He got blood on my fucking shirt,” I spit. “Burn his body, sink it in the river. Do whatever you have to do so I don’t have to lay eyes on him again.”

The heavy metal door slams shut behind me.

How this friend?

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Prologue

Helena

It’s only fitting that it should end like this.

The waves slam violently against the cliffside below me. The white foam rises and falls on the craggy rocks. The sea salt in the air is so thick that it irritates my skin, and the tears streaming down my cheeks do little to percolate through the grime. Adrenaline is pumping blood through my veins so strongly that I can hear it drumming an erratic beat in my ears.

For a moment it’s just me, the sea, and my terrified heart.

People like me don’t deserve a second chance at life.

I shouldn’t have survived the first time. That much is clear to me now. I have been fooling myself into thinking that I could ever have been able to start over again. I have spent the last handful of months living on borrowed time. There’s an all-consuming terror that crawls down my throat and grips my spine like a vice, but there’s also a sense of calm. It’s harder to find… but I’m holding on to it.

I must step forward. I have to force myself to take that final, long step into the water below, and everything will be over. All of the anguish and deception. No more duplicity, no more lies. No more living a double life, keeping track of who knows what. I don’t have to watch my tongue and carry the weight of so many secrets all at once.

I just have to take one last step, and finish what Nikolai started.

“Don’t—” a deep male voice comes from behind me. A familiar voice. But the pain and longing that fuels the word is something new, something desperate. Neither one of us can afford desperation now.

My eyes close and my fists ball at my sides. If I turn around and face him, my cowardice may triumph. I can feel Daniel’s beautiful and cryptic eyes on my back. It would be so easy to run to him and let him wrap his arms around me until I am completely convinced that things will get better—that we can solve this mess together.

“Don’t come any closer, Daniel.” The winds are so loud and ferocious that I doubt for a moment that he even heard me.

“Come away from the cliff’s edge, Helena. Right now.” Daniel’s voice is firm and unyielding.

“I can’t keep living like this!” I shout to the ocean.

The flowing skirt of my dress whips around my legs and does nothing to stop the cold air from biting into my skin. I glance over my shoulder at Daniel’s impossibly handsome face. His dark brow furrows in worry for me. He is keeping just enough distance between us to avoid startling me into jumping.

“I would rather die than do this for even one more day, Daniel!” My shoulders soften as I wrap my arms around myself. “I’m so tired of this… I’m tired of hurting everybody that I care about. I’m tired of constantly living a lie! This is the only solution. Can’t you see that?” I plead with him to understand. I’m at the end of my tether. Of all the people left in my wretched life, he is the most important. He must understand.

“No, it’s not. I have already handled everything, Helena, I have a plan. You trust me, don’t you?” Daniel shakes his head as he speaks. I know that he’s not going to stop. He’s going to keep trying until he gets his way. I hate that this hurts him. I hope he knows that I never meant to hurt him.

“I won’t let you pay for my mistakes. I can’t keep pushing you into a corner. We both know it will end with you being forced to put me down, Daniel. It can’t be you.” Tears slide down my face anew as his eyes widen in understanding. “Did you think that I didn’t know what they would make you do?”

I wish there was another way for me to express my feelings to him. I should have told him sooner, under better circumstances, but this is my last chance. Nikolai’s men will never cease hunting me. Not until he has my head. The Russian Mafia wants me to pay for the crimes I committed. I can’t even say I’m not deserving of death. At the very least, I’m prepared this time. This time it will be my choice, and it will not be by Nikolai’s hands.

I still don’t know how he found out what I did to his father, but it doesn’t matter. I took his life regardless. My mind flashes back to the night that Nikolai, my first fiancé, attempted to end my life.

It’s November. I hear Nikolai’s car screech into the driveway despite the snow on the ground. Alone in his family home outside of Moscow, there isn’t much I can do. I hope that if I gather my personal effects quick enough, I will be able to steal one of his cars and get the hell out of his mansion before he finds me.

My need for revenge trapped me once. I won’t let that happen again.

Nikolai catches me packing. He comes tearing into the room like some sort of demon. He is the sort of man that commands notice and attention. His large, intimidating presence fills a room without him ever having to say a word. The very thing that had captivated me at the start of our relationship is now a source of terror. I’ve never been on the receiving end of his wrath before—accusations spewed from his lips like knives that strike me and burrow deep into my skin. I don’t have a chance to fight back; it wouldn’t have done any good anyway.

I feel the freezing iron railing of the balcony dig into the backs of my hips. I feel the snow collecting in my hair. I’ll never forget the look of pure contempt on my fiancé’s face as he chases me toward our balcony. His sneer of derision will live emblazoned on the backs of my eyelids as a constant reminder of how everything has gone to hell.

My whole body scrapes against the metal railing as I topple backward over it. The bottom of my stomach feels as though it has fallen out of me—like I was briefly weightless. My life doesn’t flash before my eyes. I don’t have some profound realization about all of the things that I will never get to do. Everybody who talks about having a near-death experience always says that those things are supposed to happen. For me, there was only fear.

Nikolai watches me fall. I lock eyes with him as he smugly watches me plummet two stories down to the frozen grounds of the garden.

The crack of my skull against the pavement doesn’t hurt, but it does feel cold. Even now, I can still clearly remember the jarring sensation of my spine impacting the ground as Nikolai watched the life fade from me.

Then there was nothing.

At least I know the balcony fall will be nothing compared to this. Hopefully, the rocks toward the edge of the cliff will make my death swift.

“I want you to know that in spite of it all, Daniel, I never pretended with you. I never lied about what we had. It was real. At least, it was real for me.”

I don’t want him to regret our past or second-guess my feelings for him now. I had always thought I would only ever want Nikolai. Even after all the lies. Even after he tried to murder me—I didn’t think I deserved anything more.

Daniel proved to me that just wasn’t true.

“I love you more than I ever even thought was possible,” I whisper softly.

My lungs fill to the brim and it burns. I jump before Daniel can say another word.

This doesn’t feel so bad.

As I fall, the wind becomes colder, threatening to tear my skin from my bones. I close my eyes against the backdrop of Daniel’s agonizing and desperate screams.

This must be what freedom feels like.

Chapter One

Helena

“This is your life now, Helena.”

I shouldn’t refer to myself as Helena. It’s not going to be my name anymore. As soon as I can convince myself to step out of this rust bucket of a car, I’m going to become Sofia Petrov. Helena Russev no longer exists. I can’t even say with any honesty that I’m going to miss her. She was a backstabbing bitch who didn’t care who she hurt or what she had to do to get what she wanted.

Someday, I fear I’m going to merge completely with the characters I create for myself. After that, I suppose I won’t remember my true self at all. Hell, maybe that’s already happened. My whole life, I’ve had to change myself to be the woman I was expected to be.

The version of me that was once Helena would be ashamed to meet Sofia. She wouldn’t give her a second glance if they passed each other in the street. Helena was on the verge of marrying Nikolai, a Russian mafia boss. She was constantly miserable and bored. She lived in the lap of luxury, but it was only going to get her so far. She was so easily distracted that nothing felt real after a while.

I can’t pretend like I don’t miss the private jets, Louboutin’s, and couture gowns made specifically for me by the best designers in the world. I just have to get over it, somehow. Looking at me now, you would never know what sort of life I lived only a year ago.

Because now I’m parked out front of Creekview Middle School.

The building has seen better days. I imagine that schools receive little funding in a place like this. Some of the red brick has faded, and there are unmanned metal detector stations outside the front doors. At the very least, my beat-up car fits in. Every other car in the nearly empty lot appears to be in need of a tune-up and a new coat of paint. Students crowd around the building’s perimeter, standing in small groups on the dead grass, waiting for the morning bell to ring and let them in.

I can’t remember if I was ever like them. What must it be like to feel so carefree? To spend as much time as you like doing whatever you wanted? Doing homework half-assed and making plans for whatever party or hang-out was planned for the weekend. I suppose it would be like a small kind of bliss.

And it’s exactly the sort of slow life that I’m after now.

I pull down the visor and flip open the small mirror to examine my reflection.

I refuse to cry again.

If I don’t get a grip on myself quickly, my under eyes will be permanently swollen. I don’t have time to waste by missing a range rover. I can’t afford to be late on my first day. I have to make an effort to make a good first impression.

Sighing, I press the pad of my ring finger into the puffy skin of my undereye. At least, my new, shorter hair complements my angular face nicely. I’m still getting used to the honey blonde. I never expected to have to give up my signature black waves, but this is supposed to be a fresh start. New clothes, new hair, new surroundings… new me.

Whether you like it or not, this is your life.

If I keep saying it over and over to myself, it will start to feel real sooner or later.

I’ve kept my makeup neutral, nothing that will make me stick out. For a touch of drama, I’ve allowed myself a pencil skirt that clings to my curves. I got the skirt and a few other pieces for my new business-casual wardrobe from the department store in town—pieces like the flowy, powder-blue shirt that I’ve neatly tucked into the stretchy fabric of my skirt.

The town itself is only slightly more modern than this school, for the most part. The houses are all quaint with white picket fences. I haven’t felt brave enough to scope out the nightlife scene here yet or any of the restaurants. All in good time.

There’s no point in rushing.

I touch up my lip gloss again before I shut the visor and rake my fingers through my hair to push some volume back into it. When my fingers brush over the jagged collection of scars hidden by my hairline, I pause. They serve as a constant reminder of what happened to me and why I’m still here… like a phantom pain that won’t go away no matter how hard I try. The doctors tried to tell me how much work it would take to repair my skull after I awoke from my coma… However, I did not want to hear it. I still don’t. I want to put it all behind me.

I yank my hands from my hair. With a deep breath to steady myself, I shove the door of my car open with a rusty squeak.

The bright sunlight warms my skin as I pull my cello case from the car. Then, I grab my large work bag and pull it over my shoulder.

“Here goes… well, everything,” I whisper to myself as I head for the metal detectors. Just as I suspected, they aren’t even turned on. I have to hope the cops in this town are slightly better equipped to handle things should something go wrong. I walk up the three steps that lead into the building and cast one last glance over my shoulder.

He can’t find me here. I’m as safe as I possibly can be. My grip on my cello case tightens as I walk back into the main building, pushing the door open in front of me with my hip.

To my surprise, the principal is standing at the door in an ill-fitting suit. He greets me, a smile hidden beneath his full black mustache.

“Ms. Petrov!” The principal says with a happy chime. The dove gray color of his suit flatters his dark, golden skin well. His brown hair has been shaved close to his scalp, but he missed a spot just beneath his chin when he must have shaved this morning. These are things I would never dare remark upon out loud but that I can’t help but notice. It’s my nature to be observant. It goes hand in hand with the constant paranoia. “How lovely to meet you. It’s great to have you on board!”

“Hello,” I say softly, trying to hide as much of my Russian accent as possible—yet another remnant of my life that needs to fade as quickly as possible so that I can become Sofia Petrov. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“I was hoping you would make it here nice and early so that I could introduce myself. I’m Principal Alexander Martinez. We spoke on the phone before. The students should be starting to file in shortly, and I wanted to make sure that I personally gave you a tour of the place.” He extends his hand to take my cello case, and I gladly hand it over. He makes a broad motion for me to follow him but I’m still not sure where I’m going. I try to keep up with him at a reasonable pace. At least the inside of the school is much nicer than the outside.

“So, I can’t say just how pleased we are to have a real musician joining us here! I tried to look up some of your symphony performances online, but I had some trouble locating you. I’m not great at all that tech stuff, though I’m sure you can point me in the right direction,” Principal Martinez rambles on. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort of fellow. If he wasn’t so sweet, I wouldn’t feel so bad lying to him.

“Oh, I’m grateful for the opportunity. Really, it’s an honor to be here and share my love of music with the kids,” I answer plainly. No extra details, just like I’m supposed to.

“Is that a hint of an accent I’m picking up on?” Martinez asks with a smile.

“You have a good ear, sir. It is my grandfather’s accent. He comes from Russia, and he had a hand in raising me. I suppose it stuck more than I am aware of.” I try to make it sound like it’s a painful subject. Even just alluding to the fact I have Russian ties is more than I am comfortable with. Again, with the paranoia. Better safe than sorry.

“Ah, can’t say that Russia is high on my bucket list! I haven’t traveled much though, so what do I know?” The principal says with a gentle scoff as we turn into the music room. “Here we are! The music room.” Principal Martinez places my cello case on the ground with a soft thunk against the old, flat carpet. A cloud of dust wafts up, but he pretends not to notice. “I know it’s not like the fancy places I’m sure you’re accustomed to working in, but we like to keep things… modest, here.”

He looks around the room, both hands on his hips. It’s designed in the shape of a half-circle, with four sets of risers spaced about two feet apart. Heavy brown drapes are pushed open against the back wall, concealing large, bulky windows. The carpet was probably once a nice shade of red that went well with the off-white walls, but it’s now faded, and the paint appears yellow and sad. I’m sure I’ll be allowed to spruce up the place and make it feel more like my own.

Black music stands are folded together and pushed up against the far wall beside what I’m guessing is my desk. Said desk is a small, orange, wooden mess with no more than three drawers on one side, and nothing but spindly legs on the other. There is a closet door off to the side where I’m supposed to keep my personal belongings. I place my work bag on the floor beside the desk and turn in a small circle to properly take in the room. It might not be much now, but it has potential.

I clasp my hands in front of my body and tuck my elbows into my sides, imagining what a fresh coat of paint might do. I feel hopeful, as if the place is full of possibilities… until I remember I’m broke.

The bell rings and Principal Martinez jolts and glances at his watch. “Shoot! Fifteen minutes until the buses start to arrive. I meant to show you around the rest of the school, but it will have to wait.” He speaks quickly as he walks back toward the door to the classroom. “Ms. Olivia is across the hall. She’s not too much older than yourself. I think the pair of you will get along famously! She’ll be happy to help you with anything you might need or answer any other questions you might have.” Principal Martinez pauses at the door and reconsiders his exit. He jogs quickly across the room and grabs my hands and shakes them vigorously. “I’m just so happy to finally have the chance to extend our Arts program! Thank you, again. Adios!”

He rushes off in short, shuffled steps back out the door and disappears out of view.

Suddenly, I feel small.

Not just because of the size of the room. I feel insignificant in comparison to the person I used to be. At the very least, I have something to do to keep myself busy. And this isn’t my first time impersonating someone else. I take a seat at my desk. On top of it is a blue folder with the school’s logo embossed in gold. I open it to reveal the onboarding paperwork and my schedule. My own time at school feels so very far away. In just a few moments, I will have to set my new personality in stone and start introducing myself. Already, my nerves and anxiety are starting to give way to excitement. Everybody is so nice… maybe I can be nice here, too.

On that positive note, I push back from my desk and move for my cello. I have always had an affinity for music, ever since I was young. No matter what was happening in my life, music was my way to escape from it all. One of the only things that helped me get out of my recent depression was the cello. It produces such dark, chilling sounds, and it soothes me more than any other instrument I’ve tried.

I open one of the few folded chairs from beside the music stands. I’ll need to get a good sense of the acoustics to determine whether I need to quickly rearrange things for my students. I can’t say I’d ever given much thought to becoming a teacher before now.

I came into my love of music at such a young age; it feels like a natural extension of my soul. My mother taught me how to play. I suppose, in some way, it makes me feel connected to her. That being said, I don’t think she would approve of my choices, as she never thought I was good enough. She said I had the “wrong fingers” for it. Perhaps it’s nothing more than spite that fuels my desire to play.

I’ve never wanted to be a mother, even though I always thought it would happen. I still don’t know whether or not I would be any good at it—hopefully better than the one that I had, at least. It’s a low bar. I just want to be happy again, and music makes me happy. If I can show just one kid the joy of music too… Well, that just might be enough.

My skirt is stretchy, but not as much as I would like. When the cheap nylon doesn’t move the way I want it to, it’s even more irritating. I have to hike it up past my knees to properly fit my cello between my legs as I begin to tune the instrument. To my delight and despite its simplicity, the sound reverberates beautifully through the space. As I position my fingers over the strings, I rotate away from the door. My callouses will take some time to return. And I can hardly wait.

I can do this. Yeah, this might just work.

Chapter Two

Daniel

“I don’t want to go to a new school!” Henry’s voice rings out from the seat behind mine with a low-pitched whine. Anyone would think I was sending him to jail, even though a move is never easy for a child. My nephew sits with his arms tightly crossed over his sweater vest. This morning had been yet another battle. I had tried to persuade him that overdressing would put him at a disadvantage. The kids in this neighborhood will not be the same as the ones he’s used to from wealthy private schools. The designer labels may make him a target. He doesn’t want to alienate himself before he even gets a chance to speak. I wanted him to blend in and take his time. Naturally, he refused.

Henry had been quick to counter my comment with a retort I knew all too well: ‘There’s power in being the best-dressed in the room.’ I can’t argue with him, and he knows it. Hell, I’m the one that taught him that. I know it will only be a week max until he begs me to go buy the same clothes as whatever his friends are wearing.

I had hoped the change might humble him slightly as he’s never attended public school before.

It’s a very far cry from the expensive, exclusive private schools that he’s always known until now. Our family’s wealth has afforded him entrance to many doors that are locked for most. He’s gotten used to it. Removing him from everything he’s grown accustomed to was a necessary evil, so I’m willing to give him some leeway on the things that don’t matter. Like sweater vests.

“I know, Henry. You’ve told me that every day for the last three days,” I answer evenly. I know patience is a difficult virtue, and Henry is currently getting a crash course in it. I’ll maintain my composure until his whining becomes disrespectful. For the past twenty-four hours, he has been toeing the line between bad attitude and adolescent rebellion.

“I don’t understand why I have to come here! I want to go back to New York!” He stares out the window petulantly as he speaks. He observes the winding, narrow country streets as the trees around him begin to thin. It’s no longer the back roads, but rather the more developed areas. I use the term developed loosely. I guide the car around the back of the school. “It’s so green here… there’s nothing to do.”

I smirk and resist the urge to laugh. Having grown up in the city, I’m sure it must be strange for him. He’s accustomed to concrete jungles and skyscrapers. I refuse to acknowledge that I may have spoiled him. I’ve always wanted the best for him. I might have left him in New York if I’d known how long I’d be out in the sticks. But that was not an option.

Henry shifts in his seat and starts to fiddle with the cuff of his sleeve until it sits exactly the way that he wants.

“You’ll adjust,” I answer evenly. “It is perfectly normal to feel anxious about change, Henry, but you will adapt quickly so long as you keep an open mind.”

I do feel guilty that my business affects him. But given my current mission, I didn’t have an abundance of choices. There were so few options, and the only one that made sense was to uproot him from the Upper East and transplant him here. When he’s old enough to join the family business, he won’t have to be kept in the dark about things like this. I know he’ll approach everything with duty and honor, no matter how difficult our lives can be.

Hopefully, he won’t be forced to care for me the way I am for my ailing father. It hadn’t been easy getting him out of town, but it had certainly helped further my cover story.

“As soon as our business here is concluded, I’ll take you back to your beloved penthouse in New York and you’ll be allowed to finish out the remainder of the school year there.” I glance at him once more in the rear-view mirror as we pull into the back parking lot. Yellow buses with cracked and peeling letters are unloading children ahead of us. He should be able to assimilate without drawing overt attention to himself. If his clothes don’t make him a conversation piece, that is.

I can still see so much of my sister in him: the same wide hazel eyes and her full, thick brown hair. Sometimes, I think he looks like me, too: the strong jawline, the high cheekbones, his ability to keep careful control of himself. He’s unlike any ten-year-old I’ve ever met. No doubt his maturity came from watching me. I watch the emotion fade from his face in the rear-view mirror as he puts on his emotionless mask. He’s growing up too fast.

Soon, the car is parked, and we exit. Until he knows how things work with the kids here, he can’t allow himself a moment of weakness. And at that moment I know that someday, he will be far more powerful than me or my father.

“I’ll walk you in.” It’s not so much an offer as an order.

His resolve flickers for a moment as he glances back at me. “What? No! Nobody else’s parents are going in with them.”

“Yeah, but as you are a new transfer, I need to make sure that the principal has all of your correct documents, my contact information, blah blah blah…” I wave my hand dismissively at him and stroll toward the school. Henry jogs after me, trying to keep up with my long strides.

Everything that I said to him is true, but I do have an ulterior motive as well.

We’ve come to this crater in the ground of a town to find Helena Russev. We’ve come to exact our vengeance. If I don’t get Helena, I may never be able to redeem my family. I want to resurrect our legacy and get us out of the black ledgers in which we’ve been rotting. We’ll come back into the light. I won’t stop until the name Colombo is restored to its former glory, until it regains the respect it once commanded, its reputation… a reputation that my father worked tirelessly to destroy.

For her crimes, Helena’s death will be slow and painful. She should have known better than to try and run in the first place. There’s nowhere on this earth she could hide from me, nor any hole deep enough for her to wait out the brutal Nikolai. His ruthlessness and determination will make him a powerful ally to me. Truthfully, it’s almost too simple.

Kill Helena, and I will secure an alliance between our two families.

I hold the door open for Henry and pull my sunglasses from my face to allow my eyes to adjust to the fluorescent lighting of the hallway. Helena’s probably employed as a janitor or working as a secretary. She will have wanted something where she could keep her head down, where she could keep the attention from herself. It might take a bit of time to locate her. The tricky part will be getting her alone in a way that will not draw excess attention to myself.

I accompany Henry to his homeroom after we pick up his information at the registration office. He stands just outside the door and can hardly take his gaze away from the schedule in his hands. That is a good sign in my opinion. Perhaps he’s beginning to allow himself to be excited about his new situation, even if it’s intimidating. I’m not sure he understands where we’re going until we stop walking. He appears to have discovered what he was looking for.

“Thanks. For coming in… when I said not to,” he mumbles sarcastically. Henry keeps his eyes downcast. Since his mother passed, he’s been a bit closed off.

“Of course, I’m always going to be here for you.” I wrap my arm around his shoulders and tousle his hair affectionately to reassure him. Before I start to walk away, he pinches my jacket and stops me from leaving his side. All it takes is a moment of hesitation to show me just how nervous he really is.

“Suppose they don’t like me…” Henry confesses in a small voice.

“Then they’re fools. And you know we don’t abide fools.” I wink at him ominously. He doesn’t know the depth of truth to that comment. “Don’t worry too much. I’ll be here to pick you up when class lets out. Maybe, if you try to have a particularly good day, we can go out for your favorite meal. I saw a place on Main Street that looks good enough.”

Henry hugs me so tightly and quickly that I nearly miss it. He doesn’t say anything before darting into the classroom, leaving me alone in the corridor. It’s never easy to see him go. I’m overcome with sadness as I realize the one that should be here is my sister. Instead of me, she should be the one to accompany him to class. I can almost feel her presence with me right now. She would be overjoyed and proud of her son. Hopefully, she will feel the same way about my raising him in her absence.

I’m hoping he can at least make some new friends. He’s a good kid, he will quickly find a place for himself here. I know it. I only stay long enough for Henry to find a seat.

The hallways slowly empty as the rest of the students filter into their various classrooms, carrying their zealous early morning chatter with them.

I set a slow, almost leisurely pace through the halls on my way back out of the school. Most likely, I don’t have too long to look for the woman I’ve been sent to find before the staff starts asking questions. My steps echo off of the lockers until they set a beat against the background of a haunting cello tune coming from the hallway to my left.

There is no logical reason for my feet to rechart their course toward the music. I suppose I just never considered that somebody from this place could produce something so achingly beautiful as this melody. It’s familiar to me, calling to me from the recesses of my mind as I struggle to recall the name of the piece.

The somber notes carry through the halls in stark contrast to the vibrant conversations that filled them only moments ago. I follow as a man possessed. I almost forget completely about my mission as I walk toward the music. My only purpose now is to find the source of this cello and the person playing it.

I come to a stop in front of a pair of double doors, one of which is still bolted shut. The other is held open by a discarded table leg. I pause in the doorway. I’m not sure why I don’t go inside. I prefer to linger.

A woman sits in a metal chair in the center of the room. She’s posed about halfway away from me. Two teenage girls sit on the carpeted metal stand risers, whispering softly to one another. Their gaze shifts to me, curious about my intrusion but not alarmed enough to disrupt the performance.

The teacher plays with her eyes closed, and I only catch glimpses of her angular features and sharp jawline as she shifts with the notes she plays so beautifully. Her blonde hair is cropped close to the natural line of her jaw. Even from a distance, I can tell she’s a stunningly beautiful woman.

If I close my eyes, I might be able to imagine myself in a private box seat at any symphony concert I’ve ever attended. She’s far more talented than I’d expect a teacher in this place to be.

I attend every live classical performance available to me, not that it’s a fact I would ever readily advertise. It’s both a weakness of mine and my greatest joy, as I never had the talent to play a single note myself.

If she’s aware that she’s no longer alone, she doesn’t show it. It’s a really remarkable way to introduce a new group of students to a class. The few that have already arrived are enraptured by her as her bow slides so easily over the strings. Her passion must come from a place of great sadness to be able to play Chopin so well.

I’m almost ashamed that it took me so long to recognize the piece as Etude Op. 25 No. 7. The music flows through her, magnifies in intensity, and I’m as enthralled as her students.

I want… to know her. I want to know what sort of pain a person from this town could endure to make her play so authentically.

As the final notes begin to play, my hand slides into my pocket and I lean against the closed door. I flip over the small object I’ve brought with me in my hand and back again. It’s a tracker for Helena when I find her. Something that will allow me to monitor her movements and find the ideal moment to exact Nikolai’s revenge on her.

Imagine my surprise when she fumbles the final note and sharply turns to look at me with the most piercing gray eyes I’ve ever seen in my life. And they belong to the woman whose image I’ve been carrying around for weeks while putting this whole plan together.

Helena Russev.

I’ve found you.

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Chapter One

Vanessa

After classes, I went to work at The Rose. With its all-glass exterior, red carpet that led out of doors into the sideway, and massive chandeliers, it was the most beautiful restaurant in the entire city. Even though it was a little too extravagant for me, it felt cool when people asked me where my part-time job was.

“Hey, Vanessa, aren’t you coming in?” I heard a loud noise coming from the side door and saw Anna, my best friend and the source of all my problems, poking her head out of the restaurant. I hadn’t realized I’d been staring at it for so long.

As I entered, I noticed her walking toward the restroom. She raised her eyebrows at me to indicate that she was waiting for me.

I could see where this was going, and I wasn’t about to be interrogated about my date like a criminal in an NCIS episode.

Don’t get me wrong: she was my closest friend, and I enjoyed working with her, but the guy I went out with was far from the one. I felt like I’d rather stuff my head inside my chips than listen to him talk about his car-miniature collection again.

“Spill it already. I’ve been waiting for you for half an hour,” Anna said impatiently, while I pretended I didn’t understand what she meant.

“You won’t like what I’m about to say, and I’m not sure why you keep setting me up on dates.”

I felt a slap on my head. “Hey, stop that,” I whined and then proceeded to explain my big date failure to her with a deadly look.

Anna thought that my being twenty-one and still clueless as to what my type of man is was deeply concerning, so she didn’t believe me when I described how creepy the man was. She always assumed I was the odd and picky one. But let me tell you something: every single guy on the Tinder profile she created for me was definitely not a match.

As I made my way back to the restaurant tables to stop Anna’s “men lessons,” I noticed that it was a packed house this evening. Everyone was moving quickly, knowing exactly what to do and where to go.

“You ladies are late yet again. Vanessa, you honor us with your twenty-minute tardiness!” said Francesca, the assistant manager, in a sarcastic tone when she noticed Anna following behind me.

She was in charge of the restaurant staff and had her gaze fixed on Anna, who was far from an angel. My best friend was a troublemaker, and I was frequently the one who paid the price because I was with her. So, in this case, Francesca thought or hoped that Anna’s name was Vanessa.

However, she and I had nothing in common. Anna White was blonde, tall, and self-assured, so she stood out more than I would have. On the other hand, I was shorter, curvier, and the typical brunette who wouldn’t catch your attention on the street.

“We’ll be changed in a few minutes, Miss Francesca,” Anna raised her voice, drawing everyone’s attention to us.

“Well, get on with it, Vanessa,” Miss Francesca replied in a calm but firm tone. I was certain Anna intended to provoke her further, but I pushed her to the changing room.

“It’s almost as if you enjoy getting on her nerves,” I told her as I took off my large bomber jacket.

“She always calls me ‘Vanessa.’ I mean, I get that it’s more memorable than my name. Still, I can’t give my best to a woman who doesn’t remember who the hell I am.” Anna began undressing. “And I know she’s doing it on purpose,” she grumbled as she tossed her black jacket onto her bag.

“Oh come on, why would she do that? She generally seems like an okay person,” I told her truthfully.

“Francesca knows everyone who works here, and yet she still refers to me as ‘Vanessa.’ She has a grudge against me, I’m telling you, but everyone loves her so much that they don’t notice. Even you can’t see it.” Anna slipped into her pants.

I examined myself in the locker room’s mirror. It felt strange wearing such tight pants. I was a jeans girl, but The Rose had a uniform, and I was more compliant than Anna.

Anna teased behind me, “You should grow taller.”

“You should try to be less obnoxious. The rest of the staff does not arrive late like us, Anna,” I said to her in a motherly tone. “We’re not the only part-timers, but every time we come in, I get called out. You and her need to work out your differences, and let’s just try to enjoy our mundane job as much as possible.”

Anna remained quiet and nodded. She turned away from me, her face sad, to lace up her leather shoe.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized even though I couldn’t tell if Anna was acting hurt or not.

But then her expression changed abruptly, as if she had remembered something important. “My father’s coming tomorrow. I’m skipping, and I’m dragging you along with me,” she stated.

So her grumpy demeanor finally made sense. I’d known Anna for a long time and knew that her family was a sensitive subject for her.

The Whites were an Irish Mafia family. Her father got us the job at The Rose, but it wasn’t enough to repair their broken relationship. She didn’t want to be a part of their shady business, and whenever I happened to cross paths with them, it was like walking on thin ice.

In some ways, seeing her family and learning information from Anna had shaped my perception of the Mafia. Despite the fact that the city was peaceful, the Mafias terrified me. They were a gang of sick men who did whatever they pleased and killed whomever they wanted.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” I went to explain to Anna, but she was already ready to speak, a hurtful expression on her face.

“Seriously? I say I’m not coming to work, but you insist on staying, and for what? To spend time with my obnoxious father and answer questions about me? You know he’ll come looking for you if he finds out I’m not here,” she said.

“My uncle’s birthday is tomorrow,” I told her sternly, having mentioned it at least a dozen times in the previous two weeks.

“Oh my goodness!” She slapped her temple, pretending to be disappointed. She tried to save it by saying, “I thought it was next week.”

“Miss, don’t you play the naivety card on me. You forgot, didn’t you?” I told her, knowing she already had.

“No, no, I didn’t! I know how important your uncle is to you, and how could I forget?” Her straight face didn’t waver, and she would have been convincing if I hadn’t known her so well.

“You forgot,” I said as I yanked my shoulders free of her grip and walked out of the room.

“Vanessa,” Anna apologized as she followed me. “I’ll be there at the birthday party.” I didn’t look back at her, nor did I respond “I’ll help out. Vanessa, please.”

Vanessa, please. Could you blame me for giving her a hard time and having fun whilst doing so? Seeing her assume her puppy expression was priceless.

When we approached Francesca, she ignored us, overlooking the tables and guests.

“We’re here, Miss Francesca,” Anna said in her most annoying tone, the kind of tone that could incite trouble.

Francesca returned her attention to both of us, a wicked smile on her face.

“Vanessa.” She shifted her gaze from me to Anna. “Anna,” she sighed deeply.

Anna made her famous “I told you so” face at me. I could tell what she was thinking because I was thinking the same thing. Francesca definitely had some sort of beef with Anna. She did know her name and had been petty ever since we arrived. My best guess was that it had something to do with how we got our jobs at the restaurant.

Francesca was a woman who firmly believed in the American dream: equal opportunities for all. So I could see why she disliked us, but Anna liked to play with fire.

“Vanessa, you’ll get table number fourteen while—” Francesca began assigning us our tasks for the evening.

“Which Vanessa, me or her?” Anna cut her off, earning me an eye roll as well.

“While you, Anna,” Francesca motioned towards Anna as if she hadn’t said anything, “will be tending to the clients in Room Thirteen. Best of luck.” She said it almost with pity before dismissing both of us.

We returned to the kitchen, and Anna left me to speak with Jefferson, the customer service manager. I assumed she was curious about who was in Room Thirteen. I would have been intrigued as well, given Francesca’s delivery of the instruction as if it were a punishment.

While I waited for people at table fourteen, Anna returned to me, pale.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, concerned that I had missed something crucial.

“I can’t go up to Room Thirteen,” she declared emphatically. I swear I’d never seen anything scare her more than this room.

We were all aware of The Rose’s private rooms. It was more expensive than regular tables and was frequently requested by politicians and other wealthy business people who required privacy and luxury when conducting business. It didn’t make sense to me why Anna would be afraid of some suits.

“Now, I think you are being ridiculous,” I said to her.

“I’m not,” Anna grumbled. “Jeff stated that the men in Room Thirteen are dangerous. He claimed they entered through the back door and that one of them was a cop or something. I’m not going up there.” Anna approached the kitchen wall, arms folded across her breasts. “I’m not going, uh-uh.”

It took me about a minute to realize Anna wasn’t putting up an act. She was terrified and serious about it. She was constantly afraid of cops and worried that she would be arrested, questioned, or tortured one day because of her father’s known connection to the Irish Mafia.

“You must put on your big girl pants and go up there. You don’t want any more problems with Francesca, do you?” I reminded her and looked her firmly in the eyes.

“I’m afraid I can’t, Vanessa.”

I walked past my terrified friend to inspect the tables. Mine remained empty. The Rose was always completely booked every night, so I knew it would be filled in the next ten minutes.

“You already know Jeff is—” I was about to use the word delusional, but I knew he wasn’t. He was a married man who appeared to be far too intelligent for his job. There was no reason for him to lie to Anna about the men in Room Thirteen, but I knew it was up to me to get us both out of new trouble with Francesca.

“We’ll swap,” I told her. Her face instantly brightened, and she hugged me with her mischievous smile once more.

“I’ll serve your table like no one has ever served in the history of restaurant service,” she said before kissing my cheek.

“Room Thirteen!” I heard from the kitchen and knew I was up.

“Be careful,” Anna cautioned before I departed to retrieve the order for Room Thirteen. While the guests were contemplating their meal choices, a bottle of scotch was requested.

I went to the kitchen and came back with only a bucket of ice, a bottle of the good stuff, and three glasses. Three dangerous men, as Anna had predicted, were waiting to be served in this room. And, to be honest, I was more intrigued than scared.

Sure, I’d seen a few dangerous-looking men at The Rose, but there’d never been any trouble. Regardless of what Anna or Jefferson thought, I didn’t think it would start that night.

I carried the bucket and glasses up the stairs to the corridor. I was about to enter the next floor when I heard the “table fourteen” call behind me—such odd timing.

As I continued down the red-carpeted corridor, counting the numbers on the doors until I reached thirteen, there was no sound to be heard from any of the rooms. There was nothing out of the ordinary outside the door. Despite the fact that the hallway was quiet, my heart began to pound in my chest as I reached for the doorknob.

Why are you scared? I was wondering where my confidence had gone. Anna. My cool had been thrown off by her ridiculous, dramatic story.

Nobody would dare to touch you, I told myself before I opened the door slightly and heard two suspicious statements coming from the manly voices.

“What’s the man’s name again?” an older man with a grumpy tone inquired.

“Oh, the one we’re paying you for?” a man with a younger voice said just before the room fell silent.

Should I go in or run? I pondered, but I was aware that I had been noticed.

“Please, come inside. We know you’re here,” the young one ordered.

I wasn’t quick enough, and I knew the decision was no longer in my hands. I needed to get into this room.

Chapter Two

Ethan

An Hour Earlier

 I had no fear of the cops. I didn’t fear anyone after years of seeing blood, death, and life’s many pleasures that drown sorrow and regret because there were rules that governed my little world: money, respect, and, most importantly, devotion to family. I’d been told several times that my devotion to the people I cared about was sometimes bloody, but I was proud of it nonetheless.

It was finally time to start putting things back in order. My older brother Paul’s unfortunate death served as a catalyst for my ascension, which meant access to and control over the family’s vast fortune. But none of that wealth was important to me. All I sought was vengeance.

My plan had been opposed by the few people who had learned of it. They haven’t supported me since I began my crusade of revenge, a quest that started with Paul’s funeral and progressed from there.

My uncle Luke described it as both a sad and happy day because so many people had come to pay their respects to my brother. Despite the fact that, as the new head of the family, I was required to attend the funeral, I was too angry to arrive early that day. I simply failed to be strong enough to be there when my presence was needed.

Being who I am, I have seen a lot of dead people in my time. Hell, I’ve even shot a lot of them myself, but seeing Paul’s lifeless body was a sight I could not bear, especially not after having seen our father’s dead body a few months before. All this death close to me…it got the better of me.

But despite my momentary weakness, the reason for my lateness was attributed to the fact I had tracked down the hitman who had murdered my father. I’d planned to pay a visit to the man’s house, and so I did. Nobody knew, not even my capo, Tristan. My being alone with the man who had stolen the life out of my father was almost poetic, just me and my pistol. Exacting revenge on my own was the only way I wanted to avenge my family, to be standing there watching the bastard take his final breaths on his way to meet his maker in the pits of hell.

I remember standing in front of Saint John’s Cathedral, staring across the street at the house of my father’s murderer. Alberto was a feared assassin among the Mafia families and a hired gun. He had no family and was known for never disclosing the identities of his clients, even when threatened with death.

It was an admirable trait—not ratting your clients out—but, at that moment, the last thing I cared about was the qualities of his personality. The quality I was truly interested in was the fact he murdered my own, and that needed to be dealt with.

When I knocked on Alberto’s door on Sunday morning, he was sound asleep. “Is anyone there?” he inquired warily, his voice infuriatingly calm for someone whose livelihood depended on how much death he scattered on his wake.

“From the cathedral across the street, sir,” I lied, completely unconcerned about my safety. All I wanted to do was shoot him in the head, and I was quite motivated.

“Go away,” he hollered with annoyance.

“Just a minute of your time, sir,” I begged. “I guarantee you won’t have to deal with me again after this.”

Before the door clicked open, there was silence.

“Preacher,” Alberto called as he emerged from behind the open door, a pistol in his hand. He took the first shot but missed. I fired twice, once in the chest and once between his eyes.

It was on that day that I vowed vengeance on anyone and everything who had ever wronged my family. In just a few weeks, we’d become a hot topic among the other Mafia families. The Mullens and Robinsons, in particular, did not take kindly to my ever-growing bloodthirst, but I never knocked on a door that had not previously been at mine.

My uncle’s expression of relief when I told him I was leaving Chicago was palpable. He wasn’t opposed to my quest for vengeance, but he felt it had to be done quietly—something he and Paul agreed on. I used to be like them, I used to be patient and imperturbable, but this part of me died when I lost the people who meant the most to me and grew into this vindictive shell of a person. Only violence could save me now, and I was in a position to use as much of it as I needed to protect my family from old and new enemies.

“If a message must be sent, everyone should get it, so that there are always some reasonable folk who will explain it to those who may be too dim to get it,” I told my uncle Luke just before leaving Chicago with two vehicles.

“He’s a corrupt cop, easy to deal with, but we’ll have to spoil him a little,” Tristan, my capo, said when we arrived in town. He was the only person in whom I had faith.

Our meeting was with Carlos Maine, a fifty-year-old police officer. He worked in homicide, and I was told he was in charge of investigating murders in Buffalo, New York.

When the police in Chicago recognized a death as the result of a Mafia feud, they knew what to do. We have guys; we are deeply connected. In other cities, on the other hand, I had to make my presence and intentions known. It irked me, but due to the lack of enough connections and understandings, I understood the importance of acting more responsibly and staying as close to the law as possible. We were able to divert attention away from the family in this manner.

“So, what’s the best place to eat in this city?” I asked Tristan.

“There’s this restaurant, The Rose. And I promise you, it’s better than the ones we’ve got in Chicago.”

***

A few minutes later, I was inside a small room with a round table, four chairs, and a large sofa. Given its size and lack of exits, I thought it was overly opulent. There was only one door and no windows.

Given my newfound position as the head of the family, everyone was a potential threat because I now wore a crown on my head. As a result, I treated everyone as a such for I had no trust to spare. I sat on the sofa with a sense of uneasiness situated behind the table where Tristan sat across from Carlos, the corrupt cop.

“I was surprised when I received word that we might be getting visitors from Chicago. Few of your kind make it here. There isn’t much going on in Buffalo,” the officer began.

This was a dance I saw my late father and brother perform with the police. The cop would pretend he wasn’t corrupt, and I was supposed to seduce and persuade him into accepting my bribe.

“You said ‘our kind.’ What are you suggesting? What do you believe we are?” Tristan inquired.

When I saw the officer turn frantically from Tristan to me, I hid the smile that threatened my face. His gaze lingered on me, apologetic and terrified. Officer Carlos Maine struck me as a clever man. Despite sharing a table with Tristan, he knew I was the boss.

“I meant no offense or disrespect,” the officer stated, but neither Tristan nor I responded. His hands fidgeted on the table before he hid them under the table.

“Killing a police officer in this town is a terrible idea. It’s a lot of noise, which I’m sure you don’t want,” he attempted to reason with us.

I leaned forward in my seat to address him. “You never answered the question. It is none of your business whether we value a cop’s life or not. Who do you think we are?”

I didn’t trust many people outside of my family, especially crooked cops. They were imposters, as opposed to the Mafia, who knew who they were. Some people referred to us as gentlemen because of our sincerity.

The officer’s gaze shifted from me to Tristan before returning to me. There was no mercy in Tristan’s eyes and even less in mine, but he knew I had the final say.

“Businessmen?” he replied. I tried not to reveal anything, but I was afraid that a smile would break out on my face anyway.

“You two are businessmen,” he finally decided. “If I ever find myself in a situation where I have to answer questions about you two, that’s what I’m going to say.”

I slowly nodded. “You’re a quick learner, indeed. We are businessmen. And as far as everyone’s concerned, this meeting never happened. Is that clear?”

“Yes, yes, very,” he said emphatically.

I didn’t trust the cop, but I knew he was scared enough to agree on cooperating with us.

“I’m thirsty,” I said to Tristan, who stood up and walked to a corner of the room where a phone sat atop a small drawer.

“Hello, this is Room Thirteen. Could you send us one of your best bottles? Scotch? Alright, then,” Tristan placed his order over the phone.

“It’s never a good idea to conduct business with dry tongues,” I advised the tense man before he peed on his pants. Officer Carlos smiled timidly, and it appeared that most of his responses that evening would be just that: smiles.

Our transaction started before the bottle stood up.

“We’re looking for a particular gentleman. I want you to assist me in locating him and then keep things quiet following my encounter with him,” I informed the officer.

“May I ask as to what you intend to do to this man when you two do meet?” Officer Carlos questioned.

“He betrayed my family. So I plan to kill him,” I casually informed him.

I waited for the officer’s response. He didn’t seem as bothered as I expected him to be.

“Do you have a photo?” the officer asked. I nodded to Tristan, who took a picture from his breast pocket and handed it to the officer.

“You realize I can’t leave that with you, right?”

“Yes, yes,” the officer stammered, his grey beady eyes memorizing the photograph. “I’ve never met this man before, but if he’s in town, I’ll find him.”

“When should I expect an update?” I inquired.

“Within two days?” he asked, gauging my face which I was sure looked quite displeased, “Tomorrow. I can get it for you tomorrow,” he eventually said.

“Good,” I said. I didn’t intend to be away from Chicago for long. I’d only come to see Fred Westbrook because he was one of many people who had wronged my family—my uncle, to be exact. My dislike for the town grew stronger with each passing second, and the only thing that kept me seated and breathing its thin air was the spectacular mental image of Fred Westbrook’s beaten face.

“I trust you’ll keep your end of the bargain,” I said just as Tristan placed a large sum of money on the table between him and the officer. Carlo’s eyes shone brightly, giving me hope that the execution would go smoothly.

“Aside from assisting us in locating the man in the photo…” Tristan took the picture and slipped it back into his breast pocket as I continued speaking. “I want this done discreetly. You’ll conduct a minor investigation before the case is dropped due to a lack of evidence. Do you understand what I’m saying?” I asked firmly, never breaking eye contact.

“Yes, yes, loud and clear,” he said back. His gaze shifted from me to the wad of cash on the table.

Tristan took his hand off the bundle and let the police officer touch it with a single nod. To me, this amount of money was insignificant, but to a police officer, it looked like a retirement plan.

“I can cater to all of your requests, but…” he prefaced his next words with a meek expression. “There may be some complications if this man has a family. They will undoubtedly cause a ruckus,” he informed us.

“He has no family. He has always lived alone,” Tristan chimed in.

Before he stabbed my uncle in the back and injured his spine, old Fred Westbrook was a foot soldier of the family.

“All right then,” Officer Carlos said with a smile. “Can I count?”

I motioned with my hand for him to proceed. “You’ll get the other half at the end of the week after everything is cleared out and you deliver your end of the bargain,” I emphasized the final words. I wanted an excuse to shoot the cop in the head, but if he did what I asked, everything would be fine.

“I’ll get it done. You can rest assured,” he promised while counting the money.

When he was finished, he returned to me and asked half-heartedly, “What is his name?” clearly distracted by the money in his greedy hands.

“Westbrook,” I replied, still skeptical of his competence.

When I heard the door slide open just a little, my hand stopped on my thigh, just short of my calf, where my pistol was. Someone was outside the room, and they may have heard a few things.

Tristan was already up and ready to close the door when the police officer froze in his seat.

“Please, come inside. We know you’re here,” I said to the person standing behind the door.

We three waited for the stranger to make a decision.

I contemplated several different scenarios in my head as to how this could unfold, depending on who that was and what they’d overhead. But I chose to wait with the minimal ounce of patience still inside me.

When the door slid open further and a woman entered the room, my breath caught in my throat. I’m not sure why, but I watched her walk into the room unable to take my eyes off of her. She approached us with her head down, setting the ice bucket, the bottle, and our glasses on the table.

I was frustrated that I couldn’t get a good look at her features, but she still looked stunning with a body that her tight pants and shirt did little to conceal. And the fact that it had been several weeks since my last time with someone made it a tad…uncomfortable. Planning revenge had been quite time-consuming, and seeing this lovely brunette right now reminded me how much I missed it. I was certain she would be exceptionally sweet. Normally, I just wanted to have fun and didn’t care who the woman was, but now I felt compelled to taste her and only her.

“May I get you anything?” she inquired as casually as her eyes could allow. Her weight shifted uneasily from one leg to the other, despite the polite smile typical of someone in her profession. Finally, taking a good look at her face, I noticed that she had the most expressive and beautiful eyes, as well as perfectly round, full lips. I could already see them wrapped around my dick while she shyly begged for more.

“You should definitely try one of their meals. They’re the best in town, right?” Officer Carlos said, pulling me out of my thoughts and attempting to reduce the tension in the room.

But I couldn’t hear him; his voice was muted by the woman standing before me. My gaze was drawn to her deep green eyes. I needed to claim her, make her mine. And what she was unaware of yet was that I always got my way.

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