Prologue 

Laura 

 There are many things I have wished for in my life.  

I’ve always wanted to win the lottery. I think that at some point in their lives, everybody has. If you were to ask anyone on the street what they would do if they won a million dollars tomorrow, they would have an answer ready to go.  

I’ve always wanted to wake up one morning to find out that I’ve secretly been a princess my whole life with a kingdom to run and a bevy of hot men that want to carry me away from my otherwise mundane life. Who wouldn’t? That sort of money could change anybody’s life overnight, for better or worse. There had been times when I thought that I was willing to do or give anything to have access to that sort of funding.  

I guess I should have been more specific about the terms I was willing to agree to. Something with a little less danger, maybe, less threatening to my general health and mental stability.  

I guess it is exciting, though…having somebody so obsessed with me?  

A tremble tremor runs through my whole body as Pietro’s hand brushes softly down my cheek. It’s not an affectionate gesture, but something warm curls low in my belly. Pietro’s piercing eyes are trained on me – carefully monitoring every minute shift in my expression as he holds my face firmly in his other tattoo-covered hand. He knows how terrified I am….just as he knows how impossibly turned on I am by his authoritative tone.  

His thumb brushes across my bottom lip, feeling the full skin there. I try to pull away and wrench my face backward and away from him. He’s hurting me, and he knows it. He tightens his grip on my face as he pulls me closer. I can’t look away from his emotionless gray eyes. How can he still be ideally in control in a situation like this?  

I need to fight him. I need to hit him, kick him, or attempt to snap my head forward and bite him – that’s what a sane person would do in my situation. He must not think that I am a threat to him.  

I don’t care how badly I want him…. if he thinks that I will roll over and do what he says. I am not some meek girl who will cower and submissively obey him.  

I grind my teeth together and brace my hands against his chest. His eyebrow arches, waiting to see if I’ll manage to summon the strength to fight him. He wants me to fight him. The sick bastard probably gets off on it.  

“You belong to me now, Laura, and there’s nothing you can do to escape,” his voice is pure sex as it washes over me, the deep vibrations making my skin erupt in trails of goosebumps. The sensations culminate as it fans the flames of desire threatening to consume me.  

I scoff and try to appear braver than I feel. I don’t want him to think that I am intimidated by him or how wet his nearness makes me. One of my hands wraps around the wrist he uses to hold me. I know what is likely to come next. I try to keep him from shifting his hand lower as I push him away. How is he so damned strong?  

“So what? You think I’m scared of you?” I say as I force a laugh through my teeth.  

His hand drops from my jaw to clamp firmly around my neck. He moves so fluidly I didn’t have the chance to stop him, and he knows it.  

“But, out of curiosity,” I choke out while attempting to pluck his fingers from around my neck. “What…what would happen if I had managed to get away?” 

I quickly change tactics, grabbing his wrist as I try to pry his fingers off my neck, but it’s no use.  

He chuckles darkly, arrogance and controls practically ooze out of every pore as he yanks me closer to him until his lips are an inch from mine. I can smell the sweet almond scent on his breath from whatever he had been drinking earlier. I can only think about how badly I want to taste him. I want him to pull me closer so that I can wrap my legs around his waist, closing the distance between us. I want to lock our bodies together and ride him until I’m too exhausted to hate him.  

“You know the answer to that, Laura,” he says in his tightly controlled voice – my proximity is starting to get to him.  

His gaze drops to his fingers around my neck and then to the space where the thin strap of my camisole has slid down my shoulder; I probably look like a ravished mess. “If you try to run from me again, I will kill you. Not in a slow, merciful way, honey…I will kill you in every way that you have ever feared…I will draw it out again and again until you beg me to finish you off.” 

I will beg. I can’t stop the dark smile that spreads across my paling lips. I know it’s messed up that I instantly think of him forcing me to beg for something far more pleasurable than death. I know he’s telling the truth. I know he will have no mercy for me if I run away from him…or even attempt to. This is a warning, plain and simple.  

“That’s hardly the threat you think it is,” I gasp and manage to get my knee up between us and push with all of my might while I bring one arm up and over his arm so that he has no choice but to let go of his chokehold on me.  

I scamper a few paces away from him while rubbing my back and coughing. My lungs feel like fire, and I know that there will be nice aggressive bruises on my pale neck come nightfall.  

I force myself to stand up straight and meet his contemptuous gaze. It should be a crime to be that damned attractive. How can I hate somebody with every single part of my being…and want him so much at the same time?  

“We both know that I would be so much better off dead than in your hands.” 

Pietro straightens and rolls up his sleeves, his rage simmering into something so much colder. Terrifying. “Alright, honey. Have it your way.” 

Chapter One 

Laura 

Buzz, buzz.  

Buzz.! 

I can’t tell if the buzzing sound is inside or outside my head. Somewhere in the edges of my mind, I can tell that my cell phone is buzzing against my nightstand…or the floor. It’s buzzing against something solid, at least. Then again, it could be the vibrator that I was using right before I fell asleep…or was that yesterday? Everything has been blurring together this week. I am not the sort of girl who likes to admit when I might be in a little bit over my head…but this week? I am drowning.  

Every morning I wake up and tell myself, “One more night, then I’ll be free.” Just a little longer, and I will be able to take a very well-deserved break. I have one more tuition payment to make with a quickly approaching deadline. I’ve been working my ass off this week to reach my goal. I feel confident that I will get it so long as the money is the same tonight and tomorrow. It has to be. There is no other option. My arms feel like rocks, but I start to fumble blindly in the darkness of my tiny studio apartment for my cell phone. I hear the thing vibrate once more and then take a tumble sideways off of my nightstand to wedge itself between my small twin tiny and the nightstand.  

“Grand,” I mutter bitterly to myself as I stuff my arm into the space until my fingers slip off the corner of the phone, and the stupid thing goes skittering across the bedroom floor. “Shit shit shit,” I groan and try to push myself upward on the bed. I forgot to take off my work clothes last night before crashing. The insanely high heels that I dance in hit the floor awkwardly. My ankle rolls the moment I misjudge the depth of my step, and down I go – face first, right beside my phone.  

Thoroughly pissed off and sorer than I was, I clutch the phone to my chest and place my thumb on the fingerprint scanner. I hist at the brightness of my screen and recoil from the migraine-inducing light when I see the three missed calls and four text messages.  

‘Where are you?’ 

‘Are you almost here? I can’t wait around all day, you know.’ 

‘Okay…now you’re starting to piss me off, and I’m going to spit in your coffee.’ 

‘Five more minutes of ignoring me, Laura, and I’m calling and reporting you as a missing person….and spitting in your coffee.’ 

“Mmm, coffee,” I sigh, and the timestamps on the messages finally register. “Shit…I’m late…I’m so late.” adrenaline bursts through my chest, and I’m forced awake and into motion far too suddenly. It feels like I’ve been electrocuted.  

I move in an erratic pattern around my dorm room. I do not fully realize what I’m doing until my brain wakes up enough to register that I need to scrub all of this glitter off my face and get dressed into something that doesn’t have my small left breast out on full display.  

I start yanking the strappy top off, sliding out of the high-waisted thong-style underwear. I practically fall into the closet, but that turns out to be a good thing as it manages to snap the strap on my heel, helping me get out of them. I pull on clean boyshort underwear and some jogger-style sweatpants, slip into my sperrys and yank a t-shirt down over my torso at random. I grab my cross-body bag and fling it over my head as I dash into the bathroom to scrub wildly at my face.  

‘I’m coming, already on the way. You wouldn’t believe the traffic. Don’t worry, babes, not a statistic yet!’ I text my best friend Maxine quickly and brush my teeth before I dash out of my small apartment.  

When I get to the coffee shop that I was supposed to arrive at over thirty minutes ago, Maxine is nowhere to be found. My shoulders slump in disappointment.  

Maxine is too important to me to risk disappointing her. She shouldn’t have to wait on me. Besides, she just got back from her honeymoon, so it’s not like she doesn’t have a million and seven things that she needs to be doing right now. It was only because she’s a literal angel of a human that she was willing to wait around for me in the first place. I was looking forward to her telling me about all of the adventures she and Dalton had gotten into on their lavish island excursion. That is assuming they managed to make it out of the bedroom long enough to make it to the beaches.  

“About time you showed up.” Maxine’s voice comes from a table across the way.  

` I spin almost too quickly to see her. No wonder I didn’t recognize her. Usually a pale beauty, Maxine is tanned to golden perfection as she has lived on the beach for the last two weeks. She probably has. I make a happy squeal and run over to her. I know she’s not much of a hugger, but I can’t help it. I practically throw myself into her lap and wrap my arms around her.  

She’s the only person who has been able to put up with me constantly over the last three years. Now that we’re in our fourth and final year – I have no idea what I’m going to do once I graduate and don’t have a reason to bother her every day. Things have been so awkward since she left. Her new husband, Dalton, was one of my managers at the Leonessa club, and I like to credit myself in some small part for having set the pair of them up together. If I hadn’t gotten so sick that fateful night that MaxiMaxine offered to fill in for me, I would never have come across Dalton! I’m a firm believer in fate. Clearly, Maxine was precisely where she needed to be at the pretended to be there.  

“You look ah-may-zing!” I curl her hair around my fingers and don’t bother to remove myself from her lap as I grin at her. Something in my chest pulls as the burden of missing her lessons. Growing up, I never had any close female friends. Mostly because my mother never wanted to have anybody around that could be competition for her someday.  

Friendship with Maxie means the whole world to me.  

“Tell me everything! How was the honeymoon! How are things going with Dalton? Holy crap…look at your ring,” I push her torso from mine as I yank her hand into better view, turning it this way. I saw her engagement band before she left, but this is a whole other another you like it? I just got it back from the cleaners. All of the ocean water wasn’t awesome for it.” Maxine shrugs humbly. “I swear it still seems like it grows every that I look at it.” 

“At least you know that should things with you and Dalton go south, you can pawn it and run away to your private island somewhere and live comfortably for the rest of your life!” I grin and tap her softly on the nose. I slide sideways onto the chair beside her and sit with one foot up on the chair. I lean forward so that I can rest my head on my knee. “Did you spit in the coffee? I don’t think that I care; we’ve shared stranger things before, babe,” I shrug as I tease her.  

“Actually, I haven’t ordered yet. I figured you would be late, but I didn’t want to wake up your new roommate by just showing up with coffee in your room or anything.” 

 “Oh, no, roommate, feel free to stop by any time. I won’t ever say no to coffee,” I wave my hand dismissively. I hate that I have a reputation for being late. I used to blame it on being a night owl or stripping. Even if Maxie has always been sweet about it, it’s something I’ve been working on fixing about myself.  

I laugh a little too loudly and have to catch myself. If I don’t dial it back a little bit, she will know that I’m faking it. Maxine has the senses of a bloodhound when it comes to those sorts of things, and she doesn’t like to see I’m suffering. She’s a great person. She won’t let me struggle…but I can’t let her help me either. I’m not her problem anymore.  

“What do you mean no roommate?”  

She lifts a perfectly manicured eyebrow at me, and I can’t stop staring at how good she looks. Her tan, the glowing skin, her professional blowout…she went full Pretty Woman on me, and I can’t be anything but happy for her….and a little jealous, like 95% happy and 5 % jealous…most of the time.  

“Just haven’t found a girl that has stuck!”  

“I know how expensive it is to have a room all to yourself. I know how difficult those campus placements can be. Do they just have everybody already assigned…or?”  

Maxine presses good-naturedly and starts to wave for a barista to come over. Panic starts to set in. I don’t want to be that friend, but there is no way in hell that I can afford to buy coffee and breakfast right now. After work closes for the night, Buffet leftovers are just about the only food t can manage. Since Maxine left, things have been more challenging than I want her to know. 

“Well yeah, but I want somebody as awesome as you to replace you or no dice. They have sent over a few different girls, but they don’t ever seem to last long,” I laugh and shrug again. “Guess I’m just not as easy to love as I like to think!” 

“Laura!” Maxine cuts through my playful tone with one of seriousness. “You can’t just push them all away! What about the boyfriend? Is he still coming around? I know that it’s unorthodox, but maybe they would let you go the co-op way for the last semester or so?” 

“We broke up. I don’t wanna talk about it,” I look down at the table in front of me. The sting of everything is still fresh in my mind. I shift uncomfortably in my seat and hope that she is willing to take that as enough explanation. She had gotten along well enough with him at the time, so she might not drop the subject quickly. This isn’t how this reunion is supposed to be going. It’s supposed to be light-hearted and fun. We’re not even supposed to be talking about me at all.  

Maxine wants to ask what happened, but the barista interrupts.  

“Hey, ladies! What can I get for you?” 

“Another latte for me, please, caramel?” Maxine orders and then turns to me expectantly.  

“Water for me!” I know Maxine will question my order, but the water is free. “A slice of the blueberry loaf if you have it?” I know that they don’t. The barista shakes her head. “Damn, okay…hmm, the pretzel bagel?” I know that they don’t have that either, and she’s sad for me to the beautiful barista’s credit  nothing, st the water – thank you so much!” 

The barista walks away, and Maxine locks her best protective, worried ‘mom’ gaze onto me. “No coffee? Who are you, and what have you done with Laura?” 

“I’m a touch hungover this morning; the water is perfect. No worries,” I lie.  

“Why did you and boy- Markus break up?” 

“It’s not that serious. I guess he just wanted to find somebody that he t have to take care of or something. Found him cheating on me with one of his fellow med students, and that was that! No big deal, I’m used to it. He wasn’t that great in bed anyway,” I am doing everything in my power to make it sound like it doesn’t matter . to me 

“It’s for the best. Now I have no excuses but to focus on the study and the work thing and then with a little bit of luck I will be able to focus on the graduation and then…whatever else comes next.”  

I had thought that I was in love with him. Markus might not have been the most thrilling man. We certainly did not have much in common outside of the bedroom. But, he had been so in love with me (or so he said) that I thought when he made me lofty promises of our future together, he might sincerely mean them. I think, in part, I wanted a ticket out of this life. Something like what Maxine got. I should have known better.  

The barista comes back with Maxine’s coffee and my water and leaves. My mouth starts to water at the sight of her coffee. I had to skip out on the meal package because it was too much money. The powdered coffee cut the hunger for a while, but they started charging for that too. Bastards.  

“…Laura, coffee is on me. I am the one that invited you out here, after all. Please, order anything that you want. My treat.”  

Maxine is genuinely the sweetest person I have ever met in my horrible life… and I would never take advantage of her.  

“It feels like yesterday we were sitting on your bed counting our quarters for laundry, and now look at you. That stunning little sundress is designer something or another, isn’t it? Aren’t you glad that you went to the Leonessa now?” I wink and breeze right past her offer to buy me things. Thankfully, she drops it too.  

“No more talking about sad things!” I lift my glass of water to toast her coffee. We’re here to talk about her, and I want the distraction for a bit longer. I certainly need it. “To your honeymoon! Tell me everything.” 

Chapter Two 

Laura 

It would be a lie to say that coming to work after Maxine had such fantastic luck didn’t suck a little bit more than it used to. I have to remember the reasons that I started. I love dancing. I love being a stripper, and I sure as hell love working for the Leonessa club. Without the place, I certainly wouldn’t have the ability to pay for college. I would have had to drop out a long time ago, and I absolutely would be living on the streets under some bridge somewhere. Sometimes, I have to remind myself that going through all of this and enduring these struggles is for the greater good.  

During my entire childhood, my mother always told me that I would never amount to anything. She told me time and time again that I was going to be a stripper and live the rest of my days in and out of deadbeat boyfriends’ houses. To her, there was no higher place that I could achieve than the Kitty Kat club and all of the redneck scum that frequented it.  

That was her life.  

I made a vow at a very young age that I would never grow up to be my mother. I never wanted any of those things. I certainly didn’t want to be content living in a single-wide trailer in some RV park with a revolving door of boyfriends and baby daddies that I practically have to prostitute myself out to.  

On the days when I’m feeling down on myself, it’s easy to think that I have escaped one small-town life to trade it for an equally lousy version of that life here in the big city. Of course, that’s not true. I’m making a bigger, better future for myself. Some days it’s just harder to summon my inner girl boss than others.  

I’m super happy for Maxie and her new husband. Some people have all of the luck, and I am not one of them. My mother always said that if I didn’t learn how to control my loud mouth, then I was never going to go anywhere in life…and I am about one more verbal sparring away from negating all of the progress that I have made since I left her double-wide trailer home and conned my way to the city.  

Growing up in the sort of situations that my mother routinely put me in, my morals might not line up with many other peoples. Still, it also makes working here a hell of a lot easier given the shady business dealings that happen down in the basements that I’m not supposed to know about.  

“Laura? You’re up in ten!”  

Ismenia pops her head around the corner to the booth, where I’m getting ready to signal that it is time for me to finish setting my face. On any other night, stage work would be my favorite. I make the most money there while I’m shining, doing my thing…but tonight, it is harder to shake the exhaustion from my limbs and get myself up there where I need to be. I have a new dance that I’m supposed to be trying out, and I spent all weekend practicing it. I’ve been saving it all week for tonight, Friday night because that’s when all of the lawyers and higher-end clientele break out their wallets and let off steam from their long, hard weeks.  

I can’t get Maxine out of my head. She’s an inspiration to me. Somebody to look up to, she always has been. She’s the sort of friend who always has her head on right. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to go about doing it. The men that would offer me a path into that life don’t go for girls like me. They go for girls like Maxine, sweet and demure with that girl’s next-door vibe. I’ve always been a touch too loud and outspoken for a lot of men. They don’t know how to handle me. I’ve always wanted a strong man to take control. But I’m fine handling things myself until the unlikely time comes that I find one.  

Suck it up, buttercup. I think to myself. It doesn’t matter. Thinking about things like that isn’t going to help my tired ass get through tonight. I polish off the last of the coffee Maxine forced into my hand on the way out of the coffee shop and stand.  

I rotate in front of the mirror to see how the dress’s fabric that I’ve chosen tonight clings to my curves. I made sure to wear my most scandalous black strappy dress so that nobody would notice the wholesaler heels have a strap that has been glued back together. I pick up the closest perfume and spray away.  

I look passable…but the bags under my eyes are getting harder and harder to cake makeup onto. I give myself a bright, winning smile and grab for my things…but my bag is missing.  

Shit. Where is it?! I turn in a small circle, pushing the largely teased strawberry blonde curls away from my face and behind my shoulder as I look for the small hobo-style bag, I always carry to work every night. Without it, I don’t have anything to collect my tips. I know and trust almost all of the employees that doesn’t mean I would leave large stacks of cash lying around without clearly marking them as my own.  

Nobody else had been in here with me, had they? I can’t be that out of it. No. Absolutely not – oh, there on the floor by the door, it must have fallen off the peg. I bend down and scoop the fallen contents back into the bag and hope that later tonight, it’s going to be a hell of a lot heavier than it is now.  

“Five-minute warning!” they call around the corner to me.  

Room key, pack of gum, wallet…where’s my purse? No, no, no. I check the floor and under the bench, but it’s not there. I can’t go out on stage without my wallet! I have to find it!  

The door to the dressing room cracks open once more, and I can hear the sounds of my song intro starting up. Panic bubbles up the back of my throat. Dread and anxiety start to settle deeper as I frantically look for the wallet that isn’t there.  

Deep breaths, Laura, calm down. It’s not like there’s any money in there, just your I.D.  

I can go out without it, I guess. It’s not like there is anything that can be stolen…not really. Every last dollar and cent that I have made went straight to the tuition department like it always does. If I don’t make this song tonight for my long set, I’m not going to cover my last payment…the humiliation of being kicked out of college right before graduation? I can’t fathom it. I will have to find it after because there is no way that I can miss my song.  

I remove my small personal belongings and shove them into the closest wooden cubby beside the door. I wad up the rest of the bag I use to collect my tips into my hands and start to run out in the direction of the stage – and collide firmly with a huge, very sturdy man. His hands clamp onto my hips to keep me steady and keep me from falling over as I nearly bounce off him.  

Good going.  

Like a deer caught in headlights, I stare at him through my long stage lashes. For a moment, I’m transfixed by the strong cut of his jaw and the firm line his full lips are pulled into. The low club lights dance off of his skin and well-tailored suit. The man glares down at me with the coldest look that I have ever seen in my life. It doesn’t even occur to me to tell him that he’s not supposed to be back here, and I know everybody who works at the Leonessa club, so he’s absolutely not an employee here.  

“Sorry!” I blurt out of reflex. I don’t even try to pull out of his grasp right away, not until I get a better gauge of his temper and how this interaction will go.  

This man is devilishly handsome and looks like he’s walked out of a fantasy. He is tall and broad. I can tell that he’s well-muscled even through the suit that he’s wearing. If I wasn’t about to go on stage for my set right now, I might be thinking about trying to find a way to talk him right back into the dressing room. There are quite a few things that I could do to a man who looked like that for a few hours. Hell, even better of an idea, I might be able to talk him into accompanying me into the back rooms of the club. He looks like he can afford it easily.  

“Shit…I’m so so sorry…so sorry, I misplaced my wallet, I was looking for it…lost track of time, and now I have to get on stage…rushing around like an idiot. I’m so sorry…,” I ramble as my hands run down the man’s chest.  

His suit doesn’t appear wrinkled, and for a moment, he doesn’t do anything to attempt to stop my roaming hands either. He simply watches me with a grunt of disapproval…and doesn’t let go of my hips for anything. His hands are warm, the callouses catching on the blended fabric of my dress as I smile brightly.  

“There you are, good as new,” I wink for good measure…but it doesn’t do anything to crack into that touch exterior that he’s got going on.  

Slowly, his brow arches as he looks down at me. He removes one hand to dip into his back pocket and pulls up the exact thing I was looking for. “This wallet?” 

“Hey! My wallet!” I repeat with a happy chirp and move to reach for it, but he pulls it out of my reach. It’s not hard to do; the man is huge. The happy mask that I’m wearing slips a little.  

“I thought that it must belong to somebody who works here. You ought to be more careful with where you place your things…the barman didn’t even know who this was from your picture,” he flips open the wallet to show my driver’s license. “How do I know this is really  

“Well…they don’t let you wear wigs in the DMV pictures, and the picture was taken long ago,” I reach for the wallet again. “Hey man, you’re being really weird a wallet.” small red warning bells start to go off in my mind. I don’t know why he won’t give me back my property. Is he trying to get a reward or something? Like with most other things, I ignore them quickly and change tactics.  

“This is some ploy to get yourself a finders fee, isn’t it?” I shift my weight onto one hip and twirl a curl of hair around my finger as I bat my lashes up at him. Maybe he’s just looking to play the role that most men who come here assign dancers like me. I’m playing into what men stereotypically want me to act like while in the club. Pretty, overly interested, with the illusion of being easy. All oWe at the Leonessa are supposed to be walking, talking fantasies for the clientele.  

“You could have just said something. It’s not like giving you a free lap dance will be hard…,” I grin suggestively. “Or maybe it will be.” 

I thought that maybe that was what he was hoping for…but the idea seems to repulse him slightly. That hurts. The sting of rejection doesn’t usually hit that hard. I drop the act and look up at him expectantly. I wiggle my fingers to emphasize that I would like my property back. 

He finally pushes my wallet back in my direction, and I snatch it back to my chest.  

“Thank you anyway?” I try, but that doesn’t seem to have much of an effect on him either. What a strange, overly handsome man. He nods in my direction. 

“Laura!” Ismenia barks from down the hallway, and the sudden sound of her voice makes me jump on reflex.  

I whip around to see her waving at me frantically from the other end of the hall. I turn around to tell the man to thank you again and that I have to go… but he’s nowhere to be seen. How can a man like that move so quickly?  

“Girl, now!” Ismenia nearly shouts, and I take off running in her direction.  

I can’t risk putting myself on the shit list here. I need this job too much. I thrust my wallet at Ismenia without explanation while she fumbles to catch it as I sprint past her. I run as quickly as I can to the back of the main stage and slow to a walk right before I start to sway my hips and ascend the three steps onto the stage’s platform. The spotlight warms my tired skin, and the music kicks in.  

Showtime.  

This is the easy part. This is the part where I can pretend that in another life, I am a real dancer, maybe a ballerina somewhere up on a fancy stage where people pay hundreds of dollars for tickets to see my graceful moves alone. Up here, I can be anybody that I want to be, and everything else fades away.  

Nothing matters for the length of my song as I revel in the movements and focus on the fantastic things that my body is capable of. No men gawking at me, hoping to see something more than what they are paying for. No worries about food or how I’m going to make payments – just me and the music.  

Maybe it’s silly, but it’s my happy place. The stage is the place where I can allow the bright lights to make all of the rest of the world simply fade away until there is nothing else but the vibrations of the music and the movements of my body.  

I close my eyes and allow the feeling to consume me.  

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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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