Chapter One

 Lia

Bass thudded against the steel door. It was an ominous, rapid-fire heartbeat locked underground that too closely matched the rhythm of my own. I closed my eyes to breathe in the city—the sharp bite of the coming winter, the sultry tang of cigarettes from the smokers that huddled at the next doorway, and the overpowering cologne that came off the massive bouncer guarding the door.

I opened my eyes and mentally vowed you will let me in, Mr. Bouncer.

But, despite my furrowed brow and grim concentration, I couldn’t believe Mr. Bouncer’s dedication or the fact he was using the world’s tiniest flashlight. As I stood there watching, he had the pinprick of light aimed at the ID of an Irish tourist in the group in front of us. The tourist’s accent lilted with a joke, but Mr. Bouncer didn’t so much as smile.

I released the breath I was holding, my eyes almost watering, when the bouncer finally waved the tourist in and moved on to his friend.

Almost there. He’ll let me in. He has to… But maybe Sara should wait out here.

Glancing over at my best friend, I saw that her usual smile had pressed into a thin line, and her eyes had narrowed at the bouncer. Just beyond her, one of the Irish guys in the group in front of us gave Sara a hopeful and dopey look, which she ignored.

She was a drop-dead gorgeous Korean woman with high cheekbones, flawless gold skin, and a perfect sheaf of black, silken hair. She could turn heads when wearing nothing but an oversized hoodie and leggings. However, tonight she’d outdone herself, embodying the wintery night in a silver jumpsuit and a trim leather jacket.

On the other hand, I should’ve tried harder with my outfit. Compared to Sara’s big-budget, Hollywood look, I looked like an unpaid extra from an indie film. I’d worn my favorite—albeit paint-splattered—jeans, a beat-up, and patched-over vintage air force jacket I’d found in a thrift store in Cambridge, and my combat boots. I’d thrown on a little mascara, but my wild honey-blonde hair had been thrown up in a careless bun that threatened to unravel at any moment.

Sara turned and made a face at me. I knew that look and braced myself for a dose of her common sense to kick my butt into gear.

“Not a good idea,” she hissed. I bit the tip of my tongue and shrugged, watching Sara’s gaze turn ferocious. “Lia. Let’s get out of here before you get your ass booked.”

“You didn’t have to come with me,” I said, but my tone was gentle. I appreciated that she had come, after all. Sara always came along, no matter how many times things went sideways or upside-down. She never stopped letting me drag her along on one of my harebrained schemes.

That was probably why she scoffed and tapped a dainty boot at me. “I did have to come,” Sara retorted, then frowned and added, “I don’t think my fake will fly here.”

“Okay.” I leaned into her and whispered, “Why don’t you wait here? I won’t be long.”

“Because look at this place!” Sara hissed back. “It’s bookie central.” She nodded at the group in front of us. “These Irish dudes were obviously conned into coming here. You know, I read an expose in the Globe about tourism scams—”

“Next,” the bouncer boomed.

“Lia.” Sara caught my elbow. “Please don’t… Let’s just go!”

Her unspoken words pulsed in the air between us: there’s still time to walk away.

“I can’t.” I could feel my sadness leak through my smile. “I need money, and this—” I swallowed hard, “this has to work.”

With a sigh, Sara let me go and stepped out of line. She gestured at the wall while I pulled out my fake ID and handed it to the bouncer. He barely glanced at it and waved me right in, to my surprise.

Wondering why that somehow felt even more troubling than if he’d given me a hard time like the tourists, I hurried inside and almost fell into darkness. A second later, the motion-sensor lights kicked on, illuminating each step I took. As I descended, the bass grew louder.

I’d never heard such urgent and hungry music, as though each note was seeking a willing soul to sign itself over. Or maybe it just wanted me.

At the bottom of the steps, a tunnel snaked and curved until I emerged into a large underground bar. Its entirety stretched backward beneath the street, and I realized I must have been hearing the sound system through the concrete.

It had the feel of an old speakeasy, from the curved and bricked-over ceiling to the 1920’s-themed attire of the servers, and the sense of being locked away from the humdrum city above. Smoky glass lamps swung over the alcoves of plush, red seats and glossy wood tables around the room’s edges. The rest of it was filled with the writhing bodies of the drunk, dancing crowd.

As much as I wished the music would snatch me away and let me leave my problems at the door, my reason for coming here was the furthest thing from pleasure. I was here on business; for information. Pushing through the crowd, I traced my gaze along the fully stocked bar, searching for a particular bottle. It was a bit difficult since the glass shelves stretched to the ceiling, but I didn’t think it would be down here, in the crowd.

Hurrying to the far and empty end of the bar, I scanned the wall. My heart leaped when I saw the black bottle I was looking for, with the lightning bolt on its label. Sauntering up to the polished marble counter, the bearded bartender finished polishing a glass, before setting it aside and nodding at me.

He drawled in a thick Boston accent with a slow grin, “What’ll ya have, blondie?”

Setting my jaw to stone, I had to take a moment to keep my adrenaline in check so it didn’t explode in an inadvertent temper… But fuck if I hated when dudes called me blondie. Finally, I got out, “a Taranis, please. On the rocks.”

His smile slipped, and his pale green eyes narrowed. Suddenly, he imitated a perfect Irish accent, “Aye? The Celtic god of storms for the lass?” I nodded, and he swung around, picking up the bottle and pouring three-fingers worth of strong whiskey. “And what does the lass wish to know from a poor wretch like I?”

I curled my fingers around the drink but didn’t sip it. “You’re Dean, right?”

“When it’s convenient,” he said.

Now his voice was plain old middle America. My scalp prickled, and I tried not to swallow my own tongue. Dean’s ability to change his voice like that bordered on supernatural. For a second, I couldn’t even remember why I was here.

He tugged on a thick beard and eyed me. “If you’re not askin’…”

“Where can I find Ryan White?”

Dean leaned on the bar and gazed at me. “If you know to ask for Mr. White’s location,” he said in a low voice I could barely hear, “you know it doesn’t come cheap.”

Swallowing, I fished in my purse and slid a wrinkled fifty-dollar bill across the bar. Dean whisked it into his pocket and flicked his eyes around the room. For a moment, I wondered how he’d ended up as a part-time bartender, full-time informant for this Ryan White.

I also wondered how many others had come in here, desperate and down to their last dollar, asking for the kind of help you could only find in a place like this.

I’d heard all about the underground bar, Dean the job dealer, and the drink through my cousin Ricky. He’d explained that placing an order for a Taranis on the rocks and paying a small fee of fifty bucks could get you Ryan White’s location. And this Mr. White, according to Ricky, could give you a job—“not just under the table but underground.”

This came from Ricky, who I’d barely seen in the last ten years and now had no choice but to trust. He’d shown up out of nowhere three days ago with torn clothes, a black eye, and bad news.

“Your dad really fucked up this time, kid,” Ricky said by way of hello. “But he’s long gone overseas. The Sons know you’re his daughter, and they’re coming for you.”

Blood drained from my face as I swayed in the doorway, sure I was about to wake up. My long-lost cousin Ricky couldn’t be standing on my doorstep next to frosted-over flowerpots explaining how my father had managed to ruin my life.

Again.

Only, this time I might not survive. Dear old Dad had managed to land me thousands in debt to the most dangerous mob in Boston―not even the mob, but their muscle, The Sons of Celt. Brutal and relentless, the byword on the streets was that they always got paid.

If someone tried to skip out—or, as in my bastard father’s case, managed to skip out—the debt went to the closest blood relative. Of course, when Ricky had suggested I come to one of their bars and ask for a job, I’d balked. That had seemed as naïve and suicidal a move as it got, but he’d persuaded me that it would be ballsy.

And then there was the little matter that I had no other options.

“You’re Ricky’s cousin. He told me you would come,” Dean said, and I jolted back to the underground bar, the music settling to a slower beat, no less dangerous. When I nodded, a flicker of sympathy went through Dean’s eyes, and he pulled over a Guest Check Pad, then scribbled something down with the pen he’d fished from behind his ear. “He’s in Eastie, 336 Border Street. Cut across the parking lot and look for the building about to fall into the river. ‘Got a white door.”

I slowly accepted the torn piece of paper with shaking fingers and nodded. “He’ll have a job? Quick money, and lots of it?”

Dean shrugged. “Every night’s different. And by the way, blondie, you can’t miss it—it’s the only doorway with a working light.”

“What?” I asked. But someone called Dean’s name, and he was gone.

Resisting the urge to throw the drink at another douchebag bailing on me instead of answering a simple question, I instead pushed it away and turned around, shoving my hands into my hair without thinking. My bun came apart, and I ripped out the elastic, almost yelping when it snapped against my fingers. Gold hair fell around me in a torrent, and I made a face, wishing I would have gotten a haircut.

Then I paused, going cold all over, and looking back at the glass of whiskey beginning to sweat on the bar. That fifty for a drink and Ryan’s address had been my last savings, plus what Ricky had given me. I had nothing left, not a nickel to my name, and nowhere to go.

Besides Sara, no one left who gave a damn if I couldn’t afford to pursue my only dream, if I ended up on the streets, or if I died. If this didn’t work out, if Mr. White couldn’t give me a job, I’d be more than screwed. I wouldn’t be able to pay my bills, I wouldn’t be able to get into art school as I’d scrimped and saved for the last year, and I wouldn’t be able to pay back the Sons of Celt for my dad’s idiocy. They’d at least accepted the twenty-five thousand I’d had saved and what Mom had left me.

For a second, my eyes closed, and the bar swirled away into black nothing.

Twenty-five thousand dollars: gone.

A sob threatened to rise and choke me, but I swallowed hard and opened my eyes. Whatever. If anyone was used to the left hooks that life threw, it was me.

Turning, I shoved my hands in my pockets and stalked away from the bar. With my chin lifted and rage curdling in my veins, I dared anyone to try me… only to falter when I stumbled into the dark gaze of a tall stranger. He sauntered towards me, wearing a bespoke suit that screamed blood money, a fancy silver watch, nice shoes, and hair styled straight out of GQ.

At that moment, Ellie Goulding’s silky voice purred through the speakers.

Oh, my my my, what you do to me,

Like lightning when I’m swimming in the sea….

He should have looked approachable and well-to-do. A businessman out on the town. Instead, he radiated dangerous and lethal energy: a coiled storm caught in a big, muscular body, more than capable of carrying the weight of power and strength that sat atop his broad shoulders.

I couldn’t leave if I wanted to,

Cause something keeps pulling me back to you…

I didn’t even realize I’d stopped until someone bumped into me, and I began moving again, trying to look away but being totally unable to. I couldn’t, not when I had the sense that he’d been watching me this whole time.

A smirk kicked up into his cheek, causing the hard lines of his face to be thrown into sharper relief. I’d never seen a man with such an intense pull or that kind of face. He had to be Italian, from the dark olive cast to his skin and the heaviness of those sexy eyebrows.

My mouth went dry, and my bravado vanished as something hotter, and wilder took its place. It was as though my body had been filled with electric lights that were setting vital components on fire, but I didn’t care.

Somehow, I wanted to burn.

There’s an energy when you hold me,

When you touch me, it’s so powerful…

 Around us, the music swung to extreme highs and lows, the singer’s voice clawing at my heartstrings as she cried for relief and release, for the electricity of the storm to take her away. I’d heard “Powerful” a thousand times before, but I’d never understood it until now.

As I got closer to this stranger, our eyes still locked. I wondered how it didn’t seem peculiar, how it made sense. What wouldn’t make sense would be if either of us had looked away. My hands began to shake, my heart was roaring in my chest, and I swore I felt the stars quiver above the city.

I wanted to say something to him—

Hello? No, that seemed too juvenile, too childish. He had to be at least five or so years older than me, maybe more. What interest would he have in a nineteen-year-old artist up to her eyeballs in debt?

Still, his eyes never left mine, and he dipped his head as we passed, offering me a quick and sly smile. With my heart about to beat out of my chest, I gave him what had to be the dumbest and shyest smile in return. Then, once I got a little further, I slipped to the side and stopped, turning to watch him walk away, hoping he’d looked back.

And he did, this time winking before he vanished into the crowd.

Fingers tingling, my core too hot and pulsing frantically, I all but ran up to the street, desperate for the cold air. All I could think of for a brief second were his dark eyes and dangerous smile, his big hands and his perfect, full lips hushing all my troubles away.

I turned and glanced back down the hallway at the stairs, feeling a bit like Alice and her rabbit hole—maybe just like a rabbit.

Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if I chased down that big, bad wolf.

Forget him, said a voice in my head, and I resolutely started up the stairs.

But I couldn’t, even though deep down I knew that sexy stranger probably wouldn’t give me a second thought even as I heard the song chasing after me, a siren’s promise borrowed for the devil himself.

My mind running wild,

With thoughts of your smile,

Oh, you gotta give me some.

Or you could give it all,

But it’s never enough, no…

Chapter Two

Ty

The blonde didn’t make sense, not in this bar.

None of it fit―not her odd, weighted glance, not her shy smile, not her thrift shop clothes of a college kid, and sure as hell not her bartering God knows what from Dylan “The Dean” Owens.

Maybe it was because I could spot a fighter a mile away, someone who never gave up and would fight for life to the very last. She seemed like someone who needed an outlet for all that passion and rage―preferably between the sheets.

It was too easy to imagine winding that long gold hair around my fist, pulling her head back to make her look me in the eye, and seeing that play of stubbornness lose out to desire. I wanted to hear what noise she’d make when I kissed her and how loudly she’d scream when I made her come over and over again.

If there was another thing I could spot, it was a woman who wanted me.

I grinned. Maybe swinging by tonight would take care of more than one of my problems. Mafioso or not, I was a man who appreciated the efficiency of a night that ended with pleasuring a blonde in bed. I got a little hard just thinking about it, and it was surprising. The last time that had happened, I’d been a teenager—and a civilian.

I have to know her name.

 When I came up to Dean’s bar, the little bastard’s skin dropped to an even paler shade than the weird green of his eyes, despite all his accent bullshit trickery. He offered me a nervous smile, “’Lo, Mr. Michaelson.”

“Who’s the blonde, Dean?” I asked as I slid into a seat at the bar and waved at him to pour me my usual. “Damsel in distress?”

Dean lifted one shoulder and busied himself pouring my drink. I had to give him credit. Terrified as Dean was—as anyone with a half-brain was when they knew my face and name—he had some balls keeping shit from me.

My hand drifted to my waist, and I swept my thumb along the edge of my Glock. It was tempting to make him spill his sorry guts, one way or another, but that would be a waste of time. Plus, the Son of Celt who owned this bar was semi-decent, and I didn’t want to foot his cleaning bill.

Blood was a real bitch to get out of vintage stone floors like these.

More than that, though, the Glock reminded me of why I was here. Fuck, as much I wanted to let off some goddamn steam, I couldn’t get distracted by that girl, no matter how curious I might be to know her story and how she ended up here.

Of all the hellholes in Massachusetts…

“Mickey Weiss,” I said, but Dean had his poker face back on as he turned around with my drink. “Detective with the BPD, nineteen years on the force…” I paused. “Too bad he won’t make it to twenty.”

Dean gave me a tight smile. “Too bad.”

“You know him,” I stated, “and I know you’ve given him information—at the behest of your family, of course.” I tapped my fingers on the side of my nose. “Still, being an informant must be a real bitch. Always telling people what they want to hear so they don’t suspect their days are numbered.”

Dean gave me a tight and cold smile. “Pays the bills. And yeah, I know Mickey. He’s not bad for a cop.”

“It’s him, right?” I picked up my drink, and my fingers tightened around it, bracing myself in case I was wrong because that meant it was one of the other names, which were all female. “Not June Duarte? Or Carmen Delacruz?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. It’s a guy cop,” Dean said and gave me that narrow look that I hated. I had to keep myself from reaching for my hardware.

Besides, it wasn’t like I kept it a secret how I operated my business: no killing women, not a damn stripper or sex worker, and especially not a cop.

“This Weiss character’s got balls of brass, I’ll give him that,” I said. “Must want a real big toy from Santa to go after every crime family on the east coast. Big shiny hero’s badge, trophy, the works―all for what? A bullet in his brain by New Year’s?”

“Revenge,” Dean said. “Henny killed his partner or something.”

“Of fucking course.” I gritted my teeth. Caleb Hendrix, the constant, sociopathic thorn in my side, was the reckless, rival boss of the one family that could take down my own—if they weren’t so busy making messes and not cleaning them up. They made business harder for everyone. Jerkoffs. “So, Weiss, what’s he got? Names?”

Dean let out a rough laugh and shook his head. “That’s only the tip of the damn iceberg.”

My jaw tightened even more. I’d only become aware of this mess yesterday. At first, me and my right-hand capo my cousin Daniel, were convinced we had a rat. We’d had too many close-calls, and then the Feds had caught two of our best men.

Only Daniel followed up on a rumor, and when it turned out half-true, I knew only one person would have the whole story.

And now here I was, in this goddamn Sons of Celt speakeasy, paying Dean for information about a cop on a suicidal power trip who wanted to play the white knight and bring down all of Mafia-dom.

“I know,” I said in a low voice to Dean. “I heard about the Calotti Boys bust. Everyone’s talkin’ about how the cops got lucky for once.”

Dean snorted and shook his head. “You could say that.”

I glanced around and leaned in closer, gripping the bar’s edge. “So, I’ve got a guy saying it was a cop in shining white armor and another on a guy who’s got dirt on all the families from Manhattan to Miami—is it true?”

Now, Dean glanced around and nodded.

He was lucky I didn’t grab the back of his head and smash it into the bar top. “Care to fucking elaborate, Dean?” I hissed.

“Shit, kid,” Dean whispered. “We’re talking a bust like the kind that took down Teflon Don, and the Five Families, and Donnie Brasco. It’s going to level the criminal empires of the east into fine powder.” Dean’s hand shook, and he poured himself a shot, throwing it back. “I’m thinking of skipping town.”

“Cazzo.” I slammed my palm on the bar top, and people around me jumped while Dean took a step back. “Is Weiss our Brasco? Or is it someone else?”

“Listen, I got no clue how this jackass got his hands on any of this information,” Dean said and poured me another glassful with a shaking hand. “He’s no Donnie Brasco, but I think Weiss is working alone. I mean, he has to be—it’s the only way he could’ve managed to keep it under wraps so long.”

“Patient, too, it sounds like,” I said. “I’d almost admire the guy if I didn’t want to throttle him with my bare hands.”

Dean scratched at his beard. “He’s got a lot of people after him right now. And before you ask, I don’t know where Weiss is. I do know that, for now, no one’s got a hit on him. Families want to find him and figure out what he knows.”

I laughed. “Dean, don’t be cute. If you don’t know where he is, then you know the name of someone who does.”

A small smile formed on his face, and Dean’s eyes flicked toward the door. “Maybe.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I reached in my jacket and pulled out a stack of cash as thick as my forearm. “Tell me.”

“Well,” Dean said and picked up the stack with a big grin, his green gaze becoming covetous. “For this kind of intel, I think—”

I pulled out my gun and placed it on the bar. Dean’s eyes went wide, and he stumbled backward, knocking into the bottles. One slipped and smashed at his feet, but he didn’t so much as flinch, his eyes locked on the gun.

“I don’t have all night.” I clicked off the safety and grinned at Dean. “And neither do you.”

***

Lia

 For a terrifying ten minutes, I couldn’t find Sara.

The cold of the Boston night bit into me relentlessly, and I shivered, wondering if she had finally had enough. The contrast between the heat from that stranger’s gaze and the cold outside was almost too much to handle. I considered going back downstairs into the bar when I heard a familiar shout, and my body sagged with relief.

Through the blur of faces, Sara appeared and grasped my hands. Gesturing with her head, she pulled me along and asked over her shoulder, “how’d it go?”

“I got it,” I said as I got my bearings back and looked around. “Woah, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Sara said, following my gaze. “But I think we need to get out of here.”

Several black SUVs had pulled up in front of the club with a bunch of seriously big and scary dudes milled around them. Even though it was ten freakin’ degrees out, almost none of them had coats on. Instead, they were wearing nice suits and heavy chains, and, from a glance, I could see tattoos on their hands and necks.

I wondered if my stranger had come with them.

Sara stiffened next to me, and I jolted since unbothered should’ve been Sara’s middle name. I glanced over, then followed her gaze, wondering what she had locked eyes onto.

“Oh,” I murmured.

A tall man with golden-olive skin lounged against one of the cars, utterly uninterested in what was going on around him. White-blond hair fell into his eyes as he leaned over, and his chiseled features flared into sight as he lit a cigarette.

For a moment, I couldn’t put my finger on why the smoker stood out, even when I accounted for the fact that he was the only one not in a suit. Instead, he wore ripped jeans, beat-up Timberland boots, and a bomber jacket with a shearling collar. It wasn’t until he tipped back his head and blew out a plume of smoke that it hit me.

Even though this man was sensuous and gorgeous—any girl would know it with a glance—the man gave off such an icy indifference, it almost hurt to look at him.

No matter what, the smoker would be damned before he gave you the time of day… or so I thought until he looked over, and the cigarette drooped against his lower lip as he caught sight of Sara. But besides a minute tic and the slight tilt of his head, nothing in his facial expression changed.

Damn. Smoker had the best poker face I’d ever laid eyes on.

A shiver ran through Sara, and she grabbed my elbow, hauling me away.

I couldn’t help it; I leaned in and teased, “Sure you don’t want to get that hottie’s number? Seems like your type.”

“No,” Sara said and cleared her throat. “I don’t date smokers.”

A laugh burst out of me. “Oh, Sara. I bet you could get him to quit.”

“I also don’t date guys I can’t get a read on.” Sara began walking faster. She glanced back, and I did too. The smoker still had his eyes locked on Sara, then flicked them briefly over to me, and I almost fell over in shock.

I’d only ever seen that kind of sharp prescience in one other person’s eyes: Sara’s.

“Maybe you should,” I said, unnerved to the point that I almost forgot about my sexy stranger. Almost.

Sara rolled her eyes. “Just get in the damn taxi.”

A sweet and melodic Spanish love song crooned through the taxi’s speakers. We sat in the cab for over twenty minutes, and I swore each song had gotten smuttier than the last. It didn’t help my mental state as I watched the city drift past, lost in the memory of that stranger.

Again and again, I replayed what had happened.

I’d never been so caught up in an encounter, and I had never been so taken by a man before. Never had this heavy awareness of heat and want curling in my chest, causing me to press my thighs together as flashes of daydreams teased licks of fire up my spine.

I imagined how he’d smile down at me, maybe slide his thumb along my jaw before tipping my face up for a kiss. Flexing my fingers, I wondered what it would feel like to have his big hands holding my face or, better yet, on my waist as he dragged me into his embrace. What would it feel like to be held against him?

Why didn’t I say something to him? I almost groaned out loud. We could have danced. I could have found out his name, maybe gotten his number.

God, how could someone be so freakishly hot?

“Lia.” Fingers snapped in front of my nose. “You’re doing it again.”

“Huh?” I blinked over at Sara.

“Spacing out on me,” she said. “Did you hear a word I just said?”

“No.” I straightened from where I’d slumped by the window, shaking myself. “Sorry.”

“Did something else happen in that bar?” Sara’s gaze filled with a familiar and shrewd look while I tried not to smile.

Dammit, why did Sara have to be so excellent at reading people? Sometimes, I swore she was psychic. Then again, she had the unfair advantage of having known me since we were two years old.

What could I say, though? There were no words to explain away this insane, sudden attraction or how I felt like I was going out of my mind wondering about that guy. He’d seemed like the best of bad ideas.

If you dared to spend a night with him, it’d be one that you’d never forget. With only a glance, I’d felt different, and the world seemed to end at an edge that I’d never noticed before—one that I wanted to go right up to and jump over.

“Fine, whatever, don’t tell me.” Sara rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I was asking you—those cars and all those guys…” She bit her lip, and I sat up straighter, wondering if she was thinking about the smoker. “What do you think that was all about?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” I said carelessly. “I’m sure it was fine.”

“Were they Sons?” she whispered. “Do you think they were looking for you?”

“No,” I fibbed. “No, of course not. That doesn’t make any sense.”

Cold fear curled in my gut, and I hurriedly thought back, trying to remember anyone else except the guy who’d been checking out Sara. She could kid herself all she wanted, but he’d been into her.

“No,” I finally said. “All those guys in suits by the SUVs looked Italian. Even that guy with the really blond hair—he’s gotta be Northern Italian.”

“How would you know?” Sara asked. I gave her an incredulous look. Pink rose in her cheeks, and she ducked her head. “Oh, right, because you’re Northern Italian. Sorry.”

“Wow, that pretty boy really did a number on you, huh?” I poked the side of Sara’s head. “Stop worrying.”

“We’re, uh, here,” the cab driver announced and turned to look back at us. “Not sure I should leave you, little ladies, alone, though.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said and scrambled out as Sara paid. “Thanks,” I told her as she joined me on the sidewalk.

“Lia, I wish you’d let me pay for more than a cab fare. You know that I make plenty of money with my side gigs.” She stepped in front of me and grabbed my forearms. “Let me—”

“You’ve already done way too much,” I said, “even for a best friend.”

“That’s not how it works,” Sara said, and her eyes searched my face. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” I said, and we continued walking. Then I put my arm around her shoulders as we turned the corner and came upon the shadowed parking lot where a distant and hulking building blocked out Boston harbor.

“Jesus,” Sara said weakly.

My eyes found the single lightbulb illuminating a white door, and I swallowed hard as I tightened my grip on Sara’s arm. Our eyes met, and she shook her head.

I tried to smile as I asked for the second time that night, “Why don’t you wait out here?”

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Chapter One

Camila

It’s funny how the weather can affect your mood. On bright, sunny days I have always found that my confidence is better. I walk with a little bit of a bounce in my step. I generally feel very pleased with myself, like the world is my oyster.

I am unstoppable. I am woman, hear me roar.

But today? The sun wouldn’t touch me today, not with a ten-foot pole.

Today is the sort of day that begs for an indoor rereading of my favorite chick-lit novels, for spending time on my computer playing video games. Today needs fluffy, comfortable socks and mountains of gummy worms or coffee, depending on how I feel.

Am I doing that? No, of course not. Instead, I’m sitting in a pencil skirt that’s too tight to ever sit comfortably in an office with—an office that was professionally decorated on my behalf, but that doesn’t have a single thing inside of its four walls that looks like I would have chosen it. It’s formal sterile, save for a large potted indoor tree and its soft floral scent. The bookshelves lining the far wall are nothing but research tomes and case studies, much like the ones stretched out across my desk, so thick I can’t even see the jam-packed calendar underneath of it. One corner of the massive surface serves as a coffee cup graveyard for all of the caffeine that I’ve burned through already.  The cap of my red pen is prized between my teeth, as I bounce the pen over my fingers, reading and rereading the same three lines as the rain beats steadily against the window behind me.

I don’t even know how long I’ve been hunched over my desk—a long time if the soreness in my back is any indicator.

“This is getting me nowhere,” I groan to myself and drop the pen and its lid from my hand at the same time. I pinch the bridge of my nose and massage the inner corners of my eyes to will myself back to a more concentrated state of mind. It’s proving difficult to do. I almost regret sending my secretary home for the evening, however long ago it was… Somebody to fetch me more coffee would be really nice right about now.

I untuck my lavender blouse from my pencil skirt and inhale deeply. I’m getting a cramp in my legs from sitting so strangely. If the other partners in my firm didn’t also keep such random hours, I might be tempted to ditch the skirt entirely just so that I can move freely while I work.

It’s not like they can see into my office… I could get away with it. Probably.

Thankfully my train of thought is disrupted by a knocking on my door that nearly scares me right out of my skin.

“Knock, knock!” A familiar voice says in an overly chipper tone. A bright, warm light mixes into the dim lighting of my office as my best friend eases open the door to my office without waiting for me to invite her inside. “Are you alive in here?”

The scent of fresh coffee and cinnamon wafts in with her entrance, swirling about the room until the bright, happy notes of her perfume mix with the breakfast that she’s brought me. Just like that, I feel refreshed.

“It looks like a vampire den in here, you know?” Amanda teases with good-natured humor as she kicks the door shut behind her. “Earth to Camila?”

I realize that I’ve been staring covetously at the cardboard coffee holder in her hand with something akin to lust in my eyes. I snap out of it as she waves her hand in front of my face and a smile follows. “Sorry, I forget that you’re an angel.” I extend my hands out toward her greedily. “What have I done to deserve such wonderful gifts?” I pause, “What are you even doing awake at this hour?”

Amanda grins, “It’s four in the morning, babe. It’s the normal time that all of us legal-minded types have to be awake if we want to get anywhere.” Now she pauses and sighs. Her eyes rake down my frame, the untucked shirt, the way my hair is slowly falling from the updo I put it in yesterday, and she shakes her head. “You’ve been here all night again, haven’t you?”

I smile bashfully and flutter my lashes at her. “Would you believe me if I said that I was just that dedicated to my work?” I cup the latte she brought me in both of my hands, absorbing every bit of comforting warmth from it that I can. The steam washes over my face as she sets the rest of her items on my already crowded desk. She steps out of her black patent pumps and starts to rummage inside her large designer purse for her small makeup bag.

“I would believe you if you said that you were working this late so that your bear of a father didn’t beat your ass. That I would believe.”

I wave off her comment. “What? Him? Never.” I’m teasing, but we both know damn well that my father would do a lot more than that if I couldn’t solve this problem for him. “I’m more worried about my eyes rebelling and walking out of my head from the strain that I’ve been putting on them.” I take a small scalding sip of the latte and gesture to all the documents covering my space. “I have been over them dozens of times, and I cannot find a single thing that’s going to keep Raul off the chopping block this time.”

Amanda looks uncomfortable, she always does whenever the subject of my father’s empire comes up. I can’t even blame her—it’s not for the faint-hearted. I just don’t have the luxury of ignoring any of it because it would be easier. Given her history with my family, it’s probably cruel that I mention it to her at all. Technically, it’s a conflict of interest to discuss anything with her. I bite down on my bottom lip, feeling guilty even as she walks around the desk to refresh my makeup. I don’t deserve her, I really don’t.

“Sorry,” I mutter lamely.

“For what?” she forces a smile, but I know she’s bothered. “It’s not your fault that you’re terrible at makeup. This is the real reason that you keep me around, don’t even try to deny it.” She loosens the clips from my updo, letting thick brown waves of my chestnut hair tumble around my shoulders. “You look so much better with your hair down, babe. I don’t know why you keep fighting me on it.”

I swat her hands away and clip it right back up. “Because it gets into my face if I have it down… And I have far more important things to worry about, than whether or not the pencil pushers in my office find me attractive.”

“You’re looking at it all the wrong way, babe. Your looks are a thing of power! When you realize the potential in that, you will be unstoppable. Having an ass like yours, with those legs and your exotic features?” She shook her head and swept a brush over my cheekbones. “It wouldn’t matter if you knew this case inside and out.” Her smile softens as she uses her ring finger to blend out the color. “It was part of what made your brother so irresistible to everybody too, you know. At least he owned the perfect face that the two of you shared.”

I pull her hands away from my face and hold them tightly. “True… But you were the one that he chose.”

Emotion swells in her throat, wrapping her voice in sadness. “Yeah well,” she starts. I can tell that she’s about to cry again. Pain and heartbreak like the ones we share don’t ever fade, not really. While we stand on opposite ends of the spectrum, the love that we share for my late twin is equally fierce.  I brush my thumbs over the backs of her hands and she sniffles, looking up to dispel the tears.

“Look at me, blubbering again. I didn’t come here for this. I came here to ply you with sugary goodness and coffee, so you’re forced to listen to me bitch and complain about my new job.”

“I would do that anyway,” I say as I greedily wrap my fingers around the pastry bag and pull it toward myself, rifling through the contents. “But this certainly doesn’t hurt.” I pull out a chocolate croissant, but I don’t give the bag back either.

“My boss is a twat. Worse than your father, worse than anybody that I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting.  If he hovers over me while I’m working one more time, I’m going to get sued. I’m going to hit him, and then I’m going to get sued and you will have to promise to defend me in court.”

“Assuming that I finish with the litigation of this trial, you have a deal,” I laugh.

“See, if your brother were still alive, he would do it for me. Pull that sexy, scary thing that he always did and make the bastard disappear off the face of the earth—solving my problem and probably getting me a nice little promotion in the meantime. There would literally be no downside. “

“That’s rich coming from a girl who doesn’t want to help me out with the same business you want to benefit from.” My shoulders sag.

I want to ask her to come back for the millionth time. I want to tell her that she needs to be here, fighting these cases beside me. Between the two of us, my father and all of his men were practically untouchable—but I need her. I get why she left. I really do. She couldn’t be here, looking at me every day. I know seeing me hurts her since Alessandro died because we looked almost identical. She couldn’t work for my father the way that she had worked for Alessandro. It was for the best anyway; my father wouldn’t tolerate her backtalk the way that Alessandro did.

All the more reason to get this gun trading deal swept as far under the proverbial rug as I can—and fast. The trial is only days away, and if I can’t find the loophole that I’ve already promised to find, my father will turn all his boundless wrath in my direction.

Yet another thing that had changed since Alessandro’s murder—there is nobody to stand between myself and my father.

Where I have always been the meek one, the quiet one who would rather spend her time in her room minding her own business or reading, Alessandro was a force to be reckoned with. He was the sun and the stars. He was the entire solar system, and everybody was in his gravitational pull. There was nothing that he couldn’t do. Nothing. Like Amanda, I had always seen my twin as this untouchable being, impervious to damage. He was larger than everything, and he knew how to handle everything.

Since his death, the hole in the Martinez mafia has become a giant vacuum threatening to suck all of us in.

“Here’s what you need to do,” Amanda starts, grabbing her own coffee as she’s sat on the corner of my desk, crossing her legs. I know that she’s reading the research papers that I have spread out. And I know that if I make sure to turn them toward her, she’s going to offer me her advice. I desperately need her advice, and quickly, before my father comes into the office and asks for a status report. “You need to get a whole lot of tattoos to cover your perfect skin, and then I need you to get about a foot taller and come to my office and sucker punch my pervert of a boss right in the mouth.”

“You know, with a track record like yours, you could work anywhere, Amanda. You don’t have to stay there if you really hate it this much. A couple of phone calls and you could work at any firm in the city.”

“Not without having to run into your father and begging him for a reference. He’s never going to forgive me for what happened at Alessandro’s funeral.”

I press my lips together to keep from smiling. It isn’t funny, not really. “I don’t think that anyone has ever spoken to my father the way that you did that afternoon.”

“I just said what everybody was thinking,” Amanda says sheepishly. “I shouldn’t have lost it like that. I shouldn’t have yelled at him. I think I remember literally flicking my tears at him.”

I cover the lower half of my mouth with my hand to keep my composure. It hadn’t been funny at the time but looking back at it now… It gets funnier each time I replay the memory in my mind. “Right before he had you physically thrown out of the funeral, you mean.”

“I was upset!” Amanda says firmly. “If it weren’t for him, Alessandro would still be with us!” She crosses her legs once, and then once more. It doesn’t look like she is able to get comfortable. Even with all the time that’s passed, I can tell the memory is still fresh in her mind. “I shouldn’t have called him a bastard. Maybe.” She refuses to look at me. “Just, maybe.”

“Maybe if you just-” I swallow hard. Silence falls between us, and in the distance the elevator dings. I glance at my watch. How has an hour passed? It doesn’t feel real. I curse under my breath and start to gather all the documents into a neat pile.

Amanda huffs. “I’m not going to apologize to him. Over my dead body. Which I’m actually sure he would like very much. The chances of me apologizing to your father are about as high as you growing a pair and standing up to him yourself for dumping everything on your shoulders.”

I shake my head. “He didn’t dump anything on me. It’s my family. I’m happy to help.”

“You were never meant for the spotlight, babe.”

My brow pinches. I want to ask her what she means, but the door to my office swings open loudly and I startle, fumbling the files in my hand. My father presses a formidable aura everywhere that he goes. His domineering presence fills any room he enters.

Amanda swallows, then she squeaks something I can’t understand and hops quickly off my desk. “Mr. Martinez,” she says softly and nods in his direction.

My father isn’t happy to see her. “I see security still hasn’t exterminated our rat problem. Camila, darling, remind me to have words with the boys downstairs.”

“She was here to see me. She wasn’t causing any harm,” I say softly. I want to be braver, to speak up on my best friend’s behalf. “It isn’t security’s fault. They didn’t do anything wrong either.”

My father gives me a severe look and I swear the air in the room thins out. I start to feel lightheaded as he levels me in silent consequence and with the promise of future punishment if I don’t shut up.

“No matter. I’ll have the entire department replaced by morning,” he repeats again, firmly. His mind is clearly made up.

I can feel Amanda’s accusation burning in my chest. I’m too timid to even disagree with him to defend my best friend. I gather the files up into my arms and nod softly.

“Yes, Papa.” It feels juvenile to call him that, but he insists. I tried addressing him by his name once, and it is not a mistake that I’m ever going to make again.

“I’ll see you later, Camila,” Amanda mutters, but I know she’s hurt that I didn’t defend her more. I’m mad at myself about it too, but I do nothing else.

“After security is dealt with, Camila, perhaps we should have a serious discussion about the sort of company that you keep.” His nostrils flare as Amanda grabs her shoes and coffee and sidles past him without making eye contact.  “Now that the trash has been taken out… Sit down, darling.”

“I have a few more things to prepare before our meeting this morning, Papa. Not that I’m not happy to see you-”

“That was not a request, Mija.”

Dutifully, I sit down. I can feel the weight of his stare pressing down on me as I struggle to sit as straight as possible.

“The dealings that I am about to discuss with you must not leave this room, Mija, and they are going to take precedence over every other item on your caseload. So, pay close attention…”

Chapter Two

Camila

This is the part I hate.

I haven’t done anything wrong and yet I feel guilty, almost bordering on paranoia. My father has always had this special power over me, where I feel as though I should just start spewing apologies at random until, somehow, I manage to apologize for whatever crime he thinks I’ve committed. Especially when I haven’t even committed one! I always feel like, if I just take responsibility for something, I can grovel for forgiveness and move on from the situation. This is something Alessandro used to love to take advantage of.

I clear my throat and interlace my fingers on the desk in front of me. I want to look professional; I want to look like the adult that I am—the savvy businesswoman and cutthroat lawyer that I know I’m capable of being. But every time that I’m around my father, that woman ceases to exist. Instead, I’m always reduced to a small child pleading to have something, to get something, to not be in trouble. Always the girl apologizing for her brother’s wicked ways… But Alessandro isn’t here anymore, I have to remind myself.

“Papa, perhaps you will be more comfortable if you leave your wet coat in the hallway.”

Something in my father’s eyes hardens at my suggestion. “If I wanted to leave my coat in the hallway, Mija, then I would have done so. Yet, I have not.”

My father’s condescension rolls over me like slime, leaving heavy residue all over my skin. I refuse to slouch under its weight. “I only meant that, with all of the rain coming down outside, you should be careful not to catch a cold.”

“It is not your place to worry about my health, Mija. I am more than capable of handling a little bit of water. Do you really think I’m weak?”

I can see the trap in his words. It is laid out in front of me, bare and glaring and I have no choice but to walk into it.  “I just do not want you to become ill, Papa.”

He cracks the knuckles on his left hand one at a time. “I don’t have time to deal with your wants, Mija. I have been in this office for only a few moments and already you are wasting my time. If this is how you conduct all of your conversations, perhaps I ought to reconsider how much freedom you have with my clients.” His voice remains flat, and accusation laces every accented syllable that he speaks.

Water from his coat sleeve is already starting to sink into the leather of the armchair. Leather isn’t supposed to get wet like this, or it will mess up the finish. I can’t tell him that. I can’t tell him anything. In his mind, women should not speak until they are spoken to. It doesn’t matter that I am a grown woman, it doesn’t matter that I can support myself and am only working for this firm because of my loyalty to my family—to him!

“Of course, Papa. I’m sorry.” The words are like acid on my tongue.

“You are sorry. Sorry that you have the nerve to speak to me like this. Do I not own this building? Do I not own everything in it? Every floor, every lightbulb, and every person in it. That includes you, Mija, and you should know your place well enough than to goad me about a little water.” He gives me a thorough once over. “How can you even speak to me about rain and coats when you are hardly presentable yourself? You left the house looking like that?”

I can’t tell him that I haven’t slept. I can’t tell him that I’ve been here all night attempting to find a way to cover up for his guns deal that went sour.  Five of his men are facing serious charges for having been caught. Even if it was their own carelessness that got them caught in the first place, it is my job to make sure that they never see the inside of a prison cell. The list of enemies that the Martinez Mafia has is lengthy, and among the names on that list are quite a few members of the present courthouse staff. Three judges are actively fighting for their chance to send any of our men to jail on any maximum sentence they can swing.

I bite down on my tongue. It’s not me that he’s angry with. I tell myself softly. He isn’t angry with you, Camila. He’s just angry at life, and you are within his firing line. It doesn’t make the words hurt any less.

“This is my firm, and I will do as I please,” he continues, pressing a finger into the armchair as he waits expectantly.

“Yes, Papa. I know! I’m sorry.”

Anger pulsates in his jaw, and he’s going to take things one of two ways. Either his temper is going to get the better of him, his rage is going to boil over and this will turn into a full-blown lecture… Or he’s going to sit back and his whole demeanor is going to frost over.

I shouldn’t fault him for the way that he handles things, but it gets harder and harder to not take his anger personally. He has so much on his plate, he handles so much—the task of running the Martinez Mafia is greater than I can fully comprehend. With that in mind, I stay quiet, and I wait.

Mercifully, his shoulders soften, and I can breathe again.

“Clearly, my nerves are fueling my temper, Mija. You will understand, I’m sure.”

It’s far from an apology, but it is the closest thing to one that I will ever get from my father.

“I come with bad news, Camila… Very bad tidings indeed.”

If he didn’t have my attention before, he does now. I push every other thought from my mind as my mouth dries up. I’m frozen in place, dread unfurling in my stomach because I know that he would not be here so early if it wasn’t important. It’s in these rare moments that I can really see him for the man he is inside. He’s more than just the Mafia boss, he’s a man capable of genuine emotion and affection for his children. Tension sets into his squared jawline, and he lifts a hand to pull at his neatly maintained, thick beard. He traces the grain of hair from under his chin, and back up again. Gray specks pepper the thick black hair of his beard and hair.

Alessandro would have looked just like him when he reached middle age.

It feels crazy to say that my father looks uncomfortable. He hardly moves but I can see the subtle change in his expression—the little rotation of his wrist and a change in his posture. He seems to focus on a spot on the wall behind my head, only for a lingering moment so as to compose himself. Whatever he’s about to tell me, it isn’t good.

“Nathaniel Angelo is alive.”

Molten lead burns hot in my belly. My hands flatten out over my desk as the oxygen leaves the room. I feel like a fish out of water, gasping for something, anything.

That man is a monster. I put him behind bars where he was supposed to rot for the rest of his days. He is the only man I’ve felt ever deserved to die, the man who had tormented me since childhood, who had made my life hell, who had stolen the one thing from me that I can’t ever get back. He broke me, fractured something so deep inside of me that I was happy when the news of his death reached my ears.

“He is alive and free. Mija, we have been betrayed.”

This is the worst thing he could have said.

I never would have been able to guess those words would leave his mouth in a thousand years. In a sudden burst of rage, hot angry tears slide down my cheeks as my fingers curl to make a fist. “That’s not possible,” I grind out between my teeth without thinking how the words might be taken.

“It is entirely possible. The snake that we were working with has betrayed us. He must have removed him from the hole he was buried in, all the while telling us that he had died in that cell we fought so hard to put him in.” Papa’s rage was an icy, lethal thing. “He lied to us… He lied to me.”

I put him away myself, and I handled the threats to his family in a way that Alessandro would have been proud of. I handled the whole Angelo family. I left them scrambling to find a head for the family, while I buried Nathaniel in so many charges that he had to serve life sentences. He never would have been a free man. Of course, the prison that I sent the rotten bastard to die in was filled with our men too. Still, even making every one of his final days feel like hell on earth wasn’t enough. It would never be enough to pay for the things that he did to me, for what he stole from me.

The room is too hot. My face feels like it’s on fire. I am burning from the inside out as too many emotions to name roil around inside of me. The pain and hurt only further fuel the rage until it threatens to consume me. I don’t know what to say. My father never makes mistakes. This all feels like the world’s cruelest joke.

I put him away. My father gave the kill order. He was buried in some rat-infested dung heap in France. His bones were rotting in a hole where not even carrion birds would be nourished from him. He paid for his crime… And yet now he hadn’t. He was out? Alive and well? He was walking around this earth, still breathing?

Bile rises in my stomach as the impromptu breakfast threatens to leave me, and I have to choke it back down.

I want to be pragmatic, but all of my higher brain function is threatening to revolt. I want to throw everything off my desk. I want to burn something down. I want to scream, and cry, and curl up into a frustrated version of myself… But I can’t.

“S-so… What does that mean?”

Papa sighs softly. “It means that you have to get out of the city. It means that you have to pack your things and get out of town for a while. At least, until I am certain the coast is clear. I have already made travel arrangements for you to be moved to one of my safe houses. I’m not going to tell you which one, so don’t even bother asking.”

It doesn’t feel right. I know that if he has already decided that this is how things are going to go, there is really no point in arguing with him. But running away with my tail tucked between my legs doesn’t feel right. Of course, Nathaniel would be coming after me. After all, I played a huge part in making his life as miserable as I was able to make it. I don’t know how long he’s been out and I almost don’t want to ask.

“The jet will be leaving this afternoon with you on it. I expect you to have all your affairs in order by then. You are going to pass your caseload off onto your associates as soon as I leave this office. I will be leaving to finish arranging everything, then we will meet for lunch in the cafe by the lobby where you will get your papers. After that, you will leave early for the day, pack your things, and get to the runway. You will do this because I have commanded you to do so, Mija, am I understood?”

Arguing would be stupid at this point. “Yes, Papa. I will do it.”

He’s giving me hours—just a few precious hours to get everything in order so that I can leave my whole life behind for an indeterminate amount of time. I might not ever be able to come back here and pick up my position again. I don’t want to, anyway. I want to know more.

“Has anyone made any threats on our lives?”

The muscles in my father’s jaw tick in irritation. “That is not for you to worry about. Do not get any stupid ideas about looking into this case, and do not start to poke around. You will simply put your life in the care of my many, many security officers and you will go to the safehouse. Understand that if you do not go willingly, Mija, I will have you taken anyway.” His eyes narrow. “I will not lose another child to that monster. I will not allow him to take you… Mija, you’re all I have left.”

My rebellion dies in my throat.

Just like that, I’m defeated.

“I will do it, Papa. I promise I’ll be careful.”

“That’s my darling daughter.” He reaches forward and grabs both of my hands in his larger scarred ones, and he pulls me closer. He stands and leans over the desk to press a kiss into my knuckles. “Then I shall see you for lunch.” I force a small smile, and I nod.

“Yes, Papa. I’ll take care of everything up here, just like you asked. You can count on me.”

He smiles. It’s such a foreign gesture for him to make that I almost don’t trust it on instinct. Can he really be scared of Nathaniel? Can he really be worried that something might happen to me?

I want to tell him not to send me away, that the safest place that I can possibly be is here with him. Nobody is stronger, nobody can take better care of me. For a moment I consider telling him that I will move back home until all of this is done, that I want to see justice for Alessandro too… But instead, I say nothing.

My father stands and leaves without another word. He leaves the door to my office open in his wake. The other associates aren’t going to be happy to have to take on my workload, but each pair of eyes unloading from the elevator turn to give my father a once-over. They all know that he is not to be trifled with. Silence falls over the floor until the elevator doors close and carry my father away.

Slowly, those same curious sets of eyes start to drift toward my open office door. They must now have some idea of what’s coming. They don’t say anything, but I feel it.

How am I supposed to pack up my life in only a few hours? I don’t even know what to pack, what the weather will be like where I’m going. But what I do know is that I have a few hours before lunch… And that means I have a few hours to find out everything I can about the sudden reemergence of Nathaniel Angelo.

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Chapter One

Maria

“Sometimes, I feel like if you treated me with a little more love, I’d be out of your hair, Maria.”

I looked down at the old man on the bed. He smiled innocently at me with his front teeth missing. “Sometimes, I feel if you stopped looking forward to the sponge baths you get here, you’d actually fully recover and off this machine.”

His smile went even wider. “I get bathed every day by beautiful women! Why would I want to leave? This is paradise!”

I ignored the man and finished checking on the dialysis machine next to him. He had been at Stan Merriweather Hospital for the last seven months and seemed to be getting worse by the day. I was amazed that he could keep a cheerful spirit, one that could even bring a smile to my gloomy heart. I finished with him and left the room, looking down at my watch. It was a few minutes until I completed my shift.

“Maria!” A voice at the end of the corridor called out to me. It was the head nurse, Vanessa Valeska. A woman whose sole purpose was to work me to the bone. I considered ignoring the woman and just walking away—my shift was over; I could just go home. Whatever it is I was needed, for now, I would have to deal with it the next day. “Maria Doyle, down the hall. I’m speaking to you!”

I whipped my red hair around to face her with a glum smile. “Sorry, I was distracted.”

“Well, snap out of it. A few patients along wing E have not gotten any attention. I have to head up to give a report to management, and the other nurses are busy in the south wing. If you have a minute, help me check on them and sort their reports, okay?”

I looked at my watch again and began to speak, “My shift ends—”

“I know, but are you really going to risk the lives of people because your shift is over?” I lowered my head. “I thought so.”

I picked up my pad and went through the rooms, checking on the patients. I had no choice but to do so, regardless of how much it annoyed me. If I refused to check on them, Valeska would ensure that my schedule the next day was packed with activities that served as some sort of sick punishment.

By the time I had finished, it was a full half-hour after the time I was supposed to head home. I had missed the bus which would have carried me to my stop, and now I would have to take a taxi. I hung up my lab coat and picked up my jacket, heading out into the streets outside. The frigid evening air struck me, reminding me why exactly I had worn the jacket to work. The flash of lightning above told of the impending rain.

Vanessa drove out of the parking lot in her car and looked over at me standing on the side of the building, waiting for a taxi. Without a word, the woman drove off.

“Bitch,” I said out loud. As much as I knew it wasn’t going to happen, a small part of me wished that Vanessa would grow a heart and offer me a ride, or maybe just offer me some kind words. But the woman was nothing of the sort and did everything she could to make sure people who ranked under her were reminded of their lower status in the hospital.

I considered the train station for a moment, as it would drop me off only a few blocks from my place, but from the hospital to the nearest station was too far for me to walk, and I was feeling exhausted. A taxi to my house would just cost too much, and I did not have much money. I sighed as I considered just walking home. I did not have work the next day, but it would probably take me until well past eleven to get home.

I would be able to see the city at night, take a stroll to clear my head, but the thought of stalkers and raping serial killers made me think otherwise. I walked towards the central street where I would have higher chances of finding a taxi. I pulled out my phone and considered calling my neighbor, Owen, to come to pick me up. He had a car, but he also had a girlfriend, and I was certain that they had had the talk more than a few times. I had even overheard her telling Owen that he was doing way too much for me. I had used his help more than enough times, so I decided I would have to make it home all by myself. I put the phone back in my purse as lightning illuminated the sky above me for a second.

The clouds gave out, and it began raining heavily. I swore, wondering if the world could not be any more against me. I was working a minimum wage job, trying to pay off my college debt and credit card debt, caring for my sick mother, struggling to make ends meet, and the weather decided to just take me out of it. I looked around for an open shop or an alcove where I could run into and hide, but all the stores around were closed and had boarded up their entrances to ward off robbers.

I spotted a taxi heading by and raised a hand to hail the vehicle to stop, but it drove by quickly, splashing water from the puddle which had formed in front of me, all over my already wet body. A cold shiver ran through me. The taxi had someone in it, and I could swear that Vanessa had probably sent it that way, just to spite me. I ran my fingers through my hair, tying it into a knot behind my head, trying to get it out of the way.

I heard the sound of a vehicle approaching, and I turned to see that it was not another taxi like I had expected. However, I did not notice that the vehicle had swerved up on the sidewalk that I was standing on. I turned just in time to see the headlights as the car slammed into me, knocking me onto the windshield of the vehicle before I bounced off and landed in a heap on the sidewalk. I groaned in pain as I felt my body going numb from the crash. I couldn’t feel my hand, and when I put some weight on it, I was hit with sharp pain.

The car drove off the sidewalk and got back on the road hastily. I managed to look up at the vehicle, watching as its driver gunned the car down the road, heading off. Just before the pain and exhaustion caused me to go unconscious, I managed to catch the number plate, saying it over and over in my head as the taillights receded. My photographic memory was one of the few things I was proud of, and it was time to put it to good use. I had to remember the plate’s number when I woke up… I just had to.

“Control one…control one…control…”

***

Angelo

Two cars arrived at the warehouse, with two others already parked and waiting. Many people liked to think that most of their dealings went on in abandoned or old warehouses, but there were only so many a city could have. I made it a rule to use warehouses that were still operational, just closed for the time I wanted to use them. I got out of the car and looked around, with lightning flashing overhead. I knew what I had come to do, and I was certain it was going to be a huge waste of time, but I was there because it is what my father would have wanted.

I adjusted the collar of my Armani suit as the lights of the Cadillac blinked twice behind me, locking shut. The son of Michael Preston, the former head of the south side mafia. But with only a few weeks since the man’s passing, I was forced to take up the mantle of my father and fill shoes that I had been groomed to fit since I was born. I had come to meet with Pete Vasquez, a longtime rival of my father, and a man who would do anything to take over the territories which I had gotten.

Vasquez was the head of the east side mafia, a ruthless gang that cared less about those under its jurisdiction and more about the territory that it controlled. Since the word got out that Michael was dead, Vasquez had moved quickly, sending his men to try to take out the competition. But I knew that he would be coming, and he had already made moves to secure their investments. Obviously, Vasquez had denied any involvement in the attacks and claimed to be a part of the larger mafia family that ran the city. But everyone knew what he wanted.

“Look, I don’t want you to be here either, but this is tradition and it’s what your dad would want. It’s what he would do, so let’s just get in there and talk things over, how about it?”

I looked over at Benny- the man was my best friend since high school, and I was more than grateful for this. Both our parents had been close, with his father being the personal physician of Michael. Benny was around for a lot of things, and in the end, he had become one of the first people that I had gotten on my crew. As time passed, Benny turned out to be my right-hand man, knowing it all and helping out with everything.

“How many men do we have here?”

“The gang’s here; we have two backups waiting just a few blocks out,” Benny replied.

“Good. Vasquez is a fucking asshole, and if he tries to pull a stunt, it might just be the last thing he does,” I replied. I looked over at the car where five men waited. They were all handpicked by me, the men I trusted the most. Each of them was willing to give up their lives for me and were adequate fighters.

Two stayed outside, and the other three followed me and Benny into the warehouse. It was some sort of mill that cut out sheets of metal. There were large blades and lots of sheet metal stacked around, along with rods, pipes, and other pieces of metal laid all around, and a laser cutter sat in the far back. The owner of the mill had fallen under my jurisdiction and had allowed me to use the place for the meeting. It was his own way of paying protection for the month, and I was fine with that.

Once a year, the two sides of the family would meet to discuss their new jurisdictions and routes, along with other business dealings that would allow the smooth operation of both sides of the family. The meeting for the year had already occurred, but since the death of my father, I knew that I had to take my own turn at it and explain how things would be under my leadership, showing that I was not afraid of Vasquez or any of his attacks. I would defend my regions with all my power and make sure I lost nothing.

“You’re late!” Vasquez yelled across the warehouse. His voice boomed across the large empty space.

“I came at the right time,” I replied with an even louder voice, walking up to Vasquez.

The man was a lot like me. We both had the same build – six feet tall, a strong jawline, and jet-black hair. But Vasquez was almost twenty years older than I was and had his hair slightly greying on the sides. He had kept it trimmed and fashionable, in a manner which I liked. It was probably the only thing about the man I could agree with. I shook his hand before we took a few steps back.

“Shame we did not get a chance to meet at the manor. I would have loved to have some of your fathers’ legendary wine. Is it true that they are from a vineyard he owns?”

“As much as I would like to answer that, we are not here to discuss the truth behind myths, Vasquez,” I said to him with a blank face.

“Oh yes, we are here to discuss your new temporary… What should I call it? Reign?”

“Excuse me?” I called out, frowning at the man.

“Well, I heard about the incidents at your clubs and liquor stores. Damn shame about all of those who were hurt.” Vasquez said with a laugh. “But honestly, boy, if this is how you are going to run your father’s empire, you might run it to the ground.”

“You better watch your words, Vasquez,” I replied, my face contorted with rage. Benny walked up beside me, knowing how aggressive I could get.

“You know when you were born, your father became a lot more aggressive. All the competition, he snuffed them out like a flame between his thumb and index. We began calling him the sculptor. Michelangelo. Because he made sure that everything he wanted, he got, exactly the way he wanted it. Instead of whining about it when it got hit by punks, who obviously had no stakes in the grand scheme of things.”

I pulled out my gun and pointed it at Vasquez, causing the east side men to pull out their guns as well. “Don’t fucking talk about my old man!”

“Well, who else am I supposed to compare a failure like you to?” Vasquez laughed and put his head against my gun, “Go ahead, pull the trigger, and show everyone what I know. You aren’t fit to run anything. You are just a spoiled brat, handed the keys to a car and your feet can’t even touch the pedals.”

I pulled the gun away and tucked it into my waistband as Benny touched my shoulder. “We are done here.”

“Was nice seeing you! Hope we get to do great things together!” Vasquez yelled to me as I walked out. Benny got into the driver’s seat as I got in behind him. Lightning flashed as the rain continued to pelt down on the car.

“You need to calm down, Angelo,” Benny began.

“Calm down? That fucker was making fun of me! He was making fun of my father, and I’m supposed to just relax? I understand how the families work, but we know he has some ulterior motive. We can’t just have that. We can’t!” I yelled, the memory of all the times in the past when Vasquez would try his best to undercut a deal from my father or order a hit on someone who was looking to do business with us. Vasquez was always looking to gain the advantage, and he did not care if he had to play dirty.

The sound of gunshots drew our attention towards the building we had just left. We turned just in time to see the other men get shot down in their vehicle. Before I could react, Benny hit the gas, sending us firing into the street, away from the gunfire. Vasquez sent his men to attack, and we had to get away before they got to us. Backup had not arrived, and we were outgunned.

Benny took a hard turn and climbed up on the sidewalk of the next street, fighting to maintain control of the vehicle in the rain. I heard something bump into the car. He held the brakes as we saw the side of a face and red hair bounce off the front windshield. He froze, realizing that he had just run into someone. Benny looked into the rearview mirror and saw that no other vehicles were on the street, and no one had seen them.

“Wait!” I yelled as Benny continued to drive.

“What?” Benny asked. “We stay, they’ll catch up. We have to go, now!”

Chapter Two

Maria

I moved skillfully through the kitchen, setting the bacon on the plate. Normally, it would have taken me two moves to get it from the pan to a plate, but with my right arm in a sling, I was forced to work with a single hand. However, I was still able to work quickly and managed to get the meal dished out in one piece. I moved it all to a tray and carried the tray on one hand, then I walked over to the adjoining bedroom in my house.

“You know, even though I never broke my arm, I had to serve meals with one hand sometimes, just to show that I could do it. But looking at you now, with just some bacon…”

“Oh, come on, Mom,” I cut in as she put the food down on the cabinet that served as a table for my mother.

“I’m just saying that I could do better,” the older woman replied from the bed. She attempted to sit up, and I reached for her with my good arm, but she slapped the hand away. “I have cancer. I’m not brain dead. Besides, what are you going to do, one-armed wonder?”

I shook my head and laughed; my mother was known for constantly teasing and berating people. It was something that she did for fun, but a lot of people did not understand and just called her the “grumpy grandma”. In truth, Candice Doyle was the most cheerful person I knew. After her husband had died, Candice worked through it, putting up a strong image of herself. We did not have much money, but we were able to live a fairly happy life, one in which she worked hard to ensure that I finished my education.

Even after cancer had hit, Candice still managed to keep her cheerful attitude.  Her spirits were never dulled by anything, even the bills which we could no longer keep up with. Against her wishes, Candice still went out every day, looking for ways to make money, until cancer forced her to stay in bed. With her debt and my minimum wage job, I could not keep up with the medical expenses, and Candice knew this too, telling me on one occasion to stop getting the drugs to treat her. She had basically asked me to let her die, and she had done it with a smile on her face.

I would never understand the positive nature of my mother, where it came from, and how the woman could keep it in the face of impossible odds. I had lost my own positivity a long time ago as reality had smacked me in the face. The little which I had managed to save up looking to take care of Candice, had instead gone into treating my arm after the car accident. And now we were back to square one… But I was not going down without a fight.

“Oh yeah, an officer came by earlier. Said something about you calling him,” Candice began.

“Earlier?” I asked I had not left the house and we were having breakfast. “Earlier today?”

“No, I don’t… No, not today. Yesterday, I think. That was when you went to the grocery store, yes?”

I sighed. “Yeah. Thanks, Ma.”

I left the bedroom and went out to the balcony where I would take the call, away from the ears of my mother. As I stepped out, I spotted Carlos, the man from across the street who always took his time to say a kind word to everyone. I waved at him first, and he waved back.

“¿Cómo está tu madre?” Carlos yelled. “Your mother, how is she?”

“Madre está bien! Mom ‘s good… You?”

“The Superbowl is on!” Carlos yelled back, lifting his beer bottle before turning back to his radio.

I turned back to my phone and scrolled through the contacts to find the number that the police officer had given me. There was some fog on the screen of the flip phone, as water from the rain on the night I was hit had gotten into it. But thank God it was not badly damaged. I found the number and called.

I had woken up in a hospital the next day, picked up by a taxi driver who had come around the corner a second after the car that had hit me had disappeared. The driver picked me up and rushed me back to Merriweather, the same hospital I worked at. Once I was able to speak again, an officer was called in for me to talk to, and I had narrated the ordeal to him, with the main thing I recalled being the number plate of the car. It had CTRL1 written on it, and I took my time to make sure I remembered it since it was the only way to find who had done this.

“Hello? Officer Kensington?”

“Miss Doyle, hello. I came by yesterday and tried calling, but I couldn’t reach you.”

“Sorry, my mother just told me. How is it going?”

“Well, since you could not get the make of the car, we did run the plates through our system, and there were no matches. We checked with some of the top custom plate manufacturers, and there were no reports of plates like that either. I think our best bet is that the vehicle is not from the US; that’s why it’s not on our record. But I got word out for people to look out for the plates. If any officer spots it, we will find the person who hit you. Might just take some time.”

“I’m guessing you can’t tell me how long it would take?” I said, feeling the disappointment already.

“We wish we could work miracles like that. There is no telling. If I’m honest with you, I believe whoever has the vehicle is either gone, out of the state, or has already changed the plates to avoid detection. If they have enough money for a custom, they can get another one in an instant.”

“Thank you, officer,” I replied. “Call me if you get anything! You can always reach me here.”

“Of course,” Kensington replied. “Have a good day.”

I fell against the wall, letting out a breath of exhaustion. I had put a lot of hope on the fact that the police would find the bastard that had hit me. I was looking to press charges and get a settlement from the person. It was an expensive car, so obviously, the person would have some money. That money would help out around the house, get more meds for my mother, and cut down on some of our debt.

But now, the individual had most likely vanished into thin air. Now I was left with a fractured arm and a lot of bills that would be so exhausting for me to pay off. Living in debt was not something that I could do for much longer. I needed a break, a way to make more than the pennies I had. I wondered why they did not do the whole CCTV thing to find the vehicle. They would only have taken the case seriously if I had died. Without a murder on their hands, it seemed like they were just going to relax. I could not have that. I grabbed a note and walked over to my mother, taking away the dishes as she had finished eating. “Do you need anything, Ma?”

“You got that fountain of youth water? If not, leave me alone.” She said, trying to sound mean, though the smile on her face didn’t add to her role.

“Sure, I’ll be back in a bit,” I replied after rolling my eyes. “Take your medication!”

“Get me some cigarettes!” My mother yelled at me as she walked out.

“I will not be responsible for your death, Ma, love you!” Laughing, I left the house.

I walked down the stairs and began making my way down the street. I was given time off from work so I could heal, but I wasn’t taking it. I had only taken the day off so I could spend time with my mother. But once I was certain that there were no other injuries except for my arm, I would be back to work, despite the fact that Vanessa did not want me there. I did not want to be working with a broken arm, but I also needed money to buy food and support my mother.

Strolling to the end of the block, I went into an apartment building that was pretty similar to my own. I smiled at a buff guy at the entrance before I walked in, hoping that he was not going to be a problem. I made my way up the stairs and to the door, I was looking for. Someone was screaming inside the room, shouting at them to get cover. I sighed, realizing that the person who I had come to see was playing video games again. I banged against the door even louder, drawing his attention.

“Maria!”

“Hey, Johnny,” I replied, putting my good arm between myself and his hug, “Sorry, my arm.”

“Oh, damn shame! What happened?” Johnny replied. “Come in, come in!”

“Thanks.” I took a seat in the only chair that did not have clothes strewn over it. The house looked like a mess, with clothes everywhere and trash from takeout food piling beside the door. Johnny lived like a rat, but he was a very useful rat, one of the only ones in my entire block. We had both been friends since I moved in—he had helped my mother and I that day, and after a coffee, we had been close ever since.

“So, what happened? I don’t have any coffee, but I have a protein shake. You want that?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” I replied as he reached for a cup and began pouring. Then he stopped.

“Yeah, I think you’d rather not. I can’t tell if it was the caffeine or the lean I put in this, but it definitely would give you a kick you can’t handle.”

“Water is fine then,” I replied, nodding to one of the bottles of water which sat to the side of his gaming chair. He picked out one and passed it to me.

“So, the arm?”

“I got hit by a car,” I replied with a sour look.

“Damn shame… Broken?”

“Fractured. It hurt like a bitch for an entire week.”

Johnny perked up. “I got something for the pain.”

“If you are about to offer me your opioids, I’ll have to decline. I have my own pain meds.”

“Which you won’t supply me with. I mean I’m a dealer, and you are in contact with this stuff every day. Help me out, man!” Johnny replied with a big grin.

“You know my answer to that,” I replied.

“Whatever. So, what do you need help with?” Johnny asked, ruffling up his hair before looking at his hands.

“I got the plates on the car that hit me. I spoke to the police, but they don’t seem too keen on putting in the effort to find the guy who did this to me.”

“Alright, I got some guys who can help check that out. We can get your results in two, maybe three days, but it’ll cost you. I’m going to need a favor from you at some point, and I don’t want you backing out when I come to you.”

My shoulders dropped, “Come on, Johnny, you know how I feel about doing illegal stuff.”

“But you are fine with letting me do it for you, huh? Double standards all over the place with you folks.”

“Fine, I’ll owe you. But try as much as you can to make sure I don’t have to do something which would get me in trouble because I cannot have that… At all!”

“Whatever. Gimme’ the digits.”

“Control One,” I replied.

“What?”

“Like on the computer. C-T-R-L-1.”

“No, I heard you the first time. Are you sure that is the car that hit you?” Johnny asked, with his face locked in shock.

“Well, yes. Because I had my entire face up against the plates, so yeah. I made sure to memorize it before I passed out.”

“Yo, sorry, darling. I can’t help you out here.”

I frowned. “You haven’t even tried. Just get it to your people. I’m sure they can find the person. You said they do stuff like this; it was an expensive car too.”

“A Cadillac, yeah. But trust me on this one, Maria, you don’t want to deal with any of this.”

“So, you know who it is?”

“Yeah, I do. Listen, I can’t help you. Even if I wanted to, I would be in too much trouble.”

“No one is going to know that it was you, and all I want is some money from him. I’m broke, Johnny, and you know the situation with my mom. I have to get treatment for her, and now I have extra medical expenses over my head with this accident. I can’t deal with all of this. I need the money. I could just talk to him, not even go to court, just see if he is willing to go for a settlement, anything that could just help me out,” I pleaded.

Johnny stood up. “Maria, this guy is a monster. You do not want to get on his bad side, you got me? If you go to him telling him that you don’t want to have to take him to court, threatening him, not only would you lose, he would make you disappear. You do not want his money or anything to do with him. I understand how things are, I get it. But as a friend who knows this part of the world better than you, take me up on this one: drop it.”

“But Johnny, I…”

“Drop it, Maria. For your mom’s sake, too.”

I got to my feet, sealing the bottle of water, “You know I am doing everything I can to make sure that I have a home, and I thought you’d understand as a friend, I thought you’d want to help me! You come to me with cuts, and I stitch you up. Now that I’m the one who is at your front door, bleeding, you won’t even hand me a band-aid,” I said, feeling my disappointment growing. I was determined to find whoever this guy was, but no one seemed willing to help. “It’s fine, I see how it is now. Thanks for telling me the make of the car. I got something else I can give the cops.”

I walked out of the building, fuming. Who was in the car that had made Johnny so scared? Whoever it was, they were powerful enough that a street drug dealer did not even want to utter their name. I considered calling the officer and giving him the description of the black Cadillac, but that would not do much. So, I decided to consider Johnny’s warnings, regardless of how angry they made me. He lived a dangerous life, and if he warned me of something that scared him, I certainly had to heed his warning.  It did not mean that I would let it go. I was going to find out who the man that had scared Johnny so badly was. I’d find the bastard who had hit me with his car and hadn’t bothered to see if I was still alive.

If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here