Extended Epilogues

Dante

My father’s study hasn’t changed in twenty years.

Same mahogany desk. Same leather chairs. Same smell of expensive scotch and cigar smoke that used to mean safety when I was a kid.

Now it just means another negotiation I didn’t ask for.

“The Bellandis have agreed.” Giulio pours himself a drink, not offering me one. He knows I don’t touch the stuff. “Caterina is eager. Massimo is pleased. The wedding can happen within six months.”

I stay seated. Keep my expression neutral. Give him nothing.

“No.”

His hand freezes on the crystal decanter. “Excuse me?”

“I said no.” I cross one ankle over my knee, settling deeper into the chair. “I’m not marrying Caterina Bellandi.”

“This isn’t a request, Dante.”

“And that wasn’t an answer.” I let a smile touch my lips—the cold one, the one that makes men twice my age step back. “Find someone else to auction off.”

The glass hits the desk hard enough to slosh scotch over the rim. Good. I like him rattled.

“You’re being childish.”

“I’m being strategic.” I stand, move to the window, look out at the gardens Mom used to tend before the scandal broke her. Before the bottles took over. Before I found her on the bathroom floor. “Caterina doesn’t want a husband. She wants a steppingstone. Someone to climb on her way to more power.”

“And what’s wrong with that? She’s ambitious. Connected. Beautiful—”

“She’s a viper in Prada.” I turn to face him. “And I refuse to be her ladder.”

“The alliance would strengthen both families—”

“Your family is in ruins because of your choices. Don’t pretend this is about strategy.” I take a step closer. Watch him flinch. “This is about you clawing at relevance. Using my position to rebuild what you destroyed.”

His face goes red. “Everything I did was for this family—”

“Everything you did backfired.” The words come out flat. Controlled. I learned long ago that rage is a weapon best served cold. “And Mom paid the price.”

Silence.

The clock on his desk ticks too loud in the quiet.

“She would have wanted this,” he says finally. “An alliance. A proper wife. Grandchildren—”

“Don’t.” My voice drops to something dangerous. “Don’t you dare tell me what she would have wanted. You weren’t there. You weren’t holding her hand while she choked on her own vomit. You weren’t watching her die because she couldn’t survive the shame you brought on this family.”

He goes pale. Good.

“I loved your mother—”

“You loved what she represented. Status. Respectability. A pretty face at your political dinners.” I straighten my cuffs. Adjust my jacket. Armor back in place. “When she needed you, you were too busy saving yourself from the scandal to notice she was drowning.”

“Dante—”

“This conversation is over.” I head for the door. “I’ll marry when I choose. Someone I choose. For reasons that benefit me, not your desperate attempt to stay relevant.”

“If you refuse this, you’re on your own.” His voice follows me. Desperate now. Pleading underneath the threat. “I won’t help you when Matteo’s enemies come calling. When the other families question your judgment—”

“I’ve been on my own since I was twenty-three.” I pause at the door. Don’t turn around. “Since I became the man you were too weak to be.”

I walk out.

The hallway is cool and quiet, my footsteps echoing on marble floors that used to feel like home. I’m halfway to the front entrance when I see her.

Caterina Bellandi.

She’s leaning against the banister at the top of the stairs, perfectly posed like she’s been waiting for her cue. White dress—virginal, calculated. Dark hair swept over one shoulder. Red lips curved into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Dante.” She descends the stairs with practiced grace, each step deliberate. “I heard raised voices. I take it the meeting didn’t go well?”

“You were listening.” Not a question.

“I was concerned.” She reaches the bottom step, close enough now that I can smell her perfume—something expensive and cloying that makes my jaw tight. “Your father means well, you know. He only wants what’s best for you.”

“What is best for him. And what he wants is irrelevant.” I move to step past her, but she shifts, blocking my path.

“We could be good together, Dante.” Her hand comes up, fingers trailing down my lapel. “Think about it. The Vitale and Bellandi families united. The power we’d wield. The empire we could build.”

I look down at her hand on my chest. “Remove it.”

“Don’t be like that.” She presses closer, and I can see the calculation behind her eyes. The same look a predator gets when it thinks it’s cornered prey. “I know your reputation. Cold. Controlled. Untouchable. But everyone has needs. I could satisfy those needs. Give you everything you want.”

“You have no idea what I want.”

“Don’t I?” Her voice drops, attempting sultry but landing on rehearsed. “I’ve done my research. I know about your… preferences. The control you like to maintain. I can be whatever you need me to be.”

The presumption of it—the arrogance—makes something cold settle in my chest.

“Let me be very clear.” I take her wrist and remove her hand from my chest with enough force to make my point. “I don’t want you. I don’t want your family’s connections. I don’t want an alliance built on ambition and manipulation. And I certainly don’t want a wife who thinks she can mold herself into whatever she thinks I’ll fuck.”

Her smile falters. Good.

“You’re making a mistake,” she says, voice hardening. “My father—”

“Your father is a means to an end. Useful for now. But if you think I’ll tie myself to you to maintain that usefulness, you’re more delusional than I thought.”

Color rises in her cheeks—anger finally breaking through the practiced seduction. “You’ll regret this.”

“I doubt it.”

“You need me more than you know.” She steps back, composure cracking at the edges. “The other families talk. They question your judgment. Your legitimacy. A marriage to me would silence those doubts. Give you the respectability—”

“I don’t need respectability from people whose opinions I don’t value.” I straighten my cuffs, dismissing her. “And I certainly don’t need a wife who views marriage as a business transaction.”

“That’s what all marriages are in our world.” Her laugh is bitter. “Love is a liability. Sentiment gets people killed. You know that.”

“I know that settling for someone I despise is worse than being alone.”

The words land like a slap. I see it in the way her eyes flash, the way her perfectly manicured hands curl into fists.

“I could make your life very difficult, Dante.” The threat is barely veiled now. “My family has resources. Connections. Ways of making problems for people who refuse us.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?” I take a step toward her, and she actually backs up. “I’ve rebuilt my family’s name from ashes. Survived scandals that would have destroyed lesser men. Carved out power in a world that wanted me to fail. Do you really think I’m afraid of a spoiled mafia princess whose biggest accomplishment is looking good at charity galas?”

Her face goes white with rage.

“You’re going to regret rejecting me,” she hisses. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Get in line.” I move past her, done with this conversation. “There are plenty of people who want to see me fail. You’ll have to wait your turn.”

I don’t look back as I walk out the front door.

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Alessia

Seven months earlier…

My father calls me into his study at ten in the morning, and I know something is wrong because he never wants to see me before noon.

He’s a man of habits—late breakfasts, later drinks, and a general disdain for anything that interrupts his own routine. So when Marta, the housekeeper, knocks on my door and tells me that “your father requests you, now,” I already know whatever’s coming isn’t good.

The hallway outside his study feels colder than usual. I can hear the low hum of his favorite jazz record playing behind the door, the one he puts on when he wants to seem calm. I hesitate for a heartbeat before I push it open.

He’s sitting behind his desk with a glass of whiskey in his hand, even though it’s barely past breakfast. The curtains are drawn, shutting out the daylight, and the air is thick with the smell of cigars and stale liquor. The ashtray beside him is already full.

“Sit down, Alessia.”

He doesn’t look at me when he says it, just stares at the amber liquid in his glass like it holds the answers he’s been searching for his entire life.

I sit in the chair across from him and fold my hands in my lap to stop them from shaking because I already know this conversation is not going to be good. My father doesn’t call me into his study for good news.

“I’ve made an arrangement.” He still won’t look at me and that tells me more than his words do. “With the Moretti family. You’re getting married to Lorenzo Moretti, Don Emilio’s son.”

The words hit me and for a second I can’t process what he just said because surely, he didn’t just tell me he’s arranged my marriage without asking me. My stomach drops and my hands go cold but I keep my face neutral because showing fear around my father only makes situations worse.

“When?” The word comes out steadier than I feel.

“One month.” He finally looks at me and his eyes are tired and empty in a way that makes him look like a stranger. “The wedding is in one month.”

One month to prepare for marriage to a man I’ve never met, never even heard of beyond the Moretti name that everyone in Chicago knows means danger. I can feel panic trying to claw its way up my throat but I swallow it down because breaking down in front of my father will only make him angry.

“I don’t know him.” My voice is still steady but my heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my wrists. “I’ve never even met him.”

“You’ll meet him before the wedding.” My father pours himself another drink and I watch the bottle shake slightly in his hand. “This is not a discussion, Alessia. This is already decided. Don Emilio has agreed to clear my debts and bring me deeper into the family business in exchange for the marriage.”

And there it is. The real reason he’s marrying me off to a stranger. Not because Lorenzo Moretti is a good match or because this will benefit me in any way. Because my father gambled away money he didn’t have and now he’s paying his debts with me instead of cash.

“I’m twenty,” I whisper. “I don’t want to get married to a stranger.”

“I know, my dear.” His words sound almost gentle, which makes them worse. “But there’s nothing else I can do.” He drains the glass and stares past me. “This is the world we live in, Alessia. You should be grateful I was able to arrange this instead of something worse.”

Something worse. Like there’s something worse than being sold to a man I’ve never met to pay off debts I didn’t create, debts from my father’s gambling problem that he’s never been able to control. I want to scream at him, but I know it won’t change anything. The deal is already made.

I leave his study and go to my room and sit on my bed staring at nothing. One month until I marry a stranger. One month until my life stops being mine and starts belonging to Lorenzo Moretti.

***

The wedding happens exactly one month later, in a church I’ve never seen before. The flowers smell expensive, like roses imported from a country I’ll never visit. The guests are all strangers—men in tailored suits, women dripping in diamonds. My father’s arm is locked around mine as he walks me down the aisle. His grip is so tight it feels like a warning. Don’t run.

At the altar stands Lorenzo Moretti.

He’s tall, broad-shouldered, perfectly put together. Handsome, in a way that’s almost cruel. His dark hair slicked back, his jaw sharp enough to cut glass. The kind of man who could make a room go quiet by walking into it.

If I didn’t know better, I might think he looks kind. But I do know better. His eyes are cold, controlled, studying me like he’s already memorized what he’s bought. When our gazes meet, something in my chest twists.

The ceremony passes in a haze. The priest’s voice echoes in the vaulted ceiling, but I barely hear him. I repeat the words I’m told to repeat. I nod when I’m supposed to.

My hands don’t stop trembling until Lorenzo takes them. His palms are warm, his touch firm. Possessive. He slides the ring onto my finger—it’s heavy, gleaming, too tight—and it feels less like jewelry and more like a lock clicking shut.

When he leans in to kiss me, his hand curls around the back of my neck, forcing me to stay still. His lips are soft, but his grip is hard. I can’t move even though every part of me wants to pull away.

The reception is endless. People congratulate us and Lorenzo keeps me glued to his side with his arm tight around my waist. Every time I try to move away or speak to someone his grip gets tighter. He introduces me as if I am his property. The way he clasps me makes me feel like his plaything.

I look at my father across the room, laughing, surrounded by men whose loyalty he’s just bought with me.

And I know, in that moment, that whatever debt he thought he was paying…

I’ll be the one who keeps paying it.

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the you series,

When it comes to dark mafia series, you prefer: *

• Long series (10+ books) where each story stands alone with only light connections between them
• Medium-length series (5–6 books) where the stories connect through shared characters and ongoing tension between families or gangs
• Themed mini-series (around 5–6 books) built around one core idea — like revenge marriages, blood oaths, forbidden heirs, or mafia royalty

When it comes to epilogues, you prefer: *

• A glimpse into the couple’s future — seeing them happy a few months or years later
• An ending that hints at what’s next — featuring our main couple but focusing on setting up the sequel or the next main characters

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Matteo

Three years later…

The sound of something crashing downstairs pulls me out of sleep at six in the morning. I’m out of bed before I’m fully awake, hand reaching for the gun in my nightstand, but then I hear Nico’s laugh followed by Leo’s higher-pitched giggle and I remember that the only threat in this house is my three-year-old twins destroying the kitchen.

Alessia stirs beside me and opens one eye. “Your sons are awake.”

“They’re only my sons when they’re causing chaos.” I pull on sweatpants and a t-shirt. “When they’re being angels, they’re yours.”

“They’re never angels.” She sits up and her hair is a mess from sleep and she’s wearing one of my old shirts and I still can’t believe sometimes that this is my life now. I have a wife, kids, and domesticity I never thought I’d have. “Go stop them before they burn the house down. I’ll be down in five minutes.”

I head downstairs and find both boys in the kitchen with Isabella, who looks like she regrets offering to make them breakfast. Nico has somehow gotten flour all over himself and the counter, and Leo is standing on a chair trying to reach the cabinet where we keep the cereal.

“Uncle Enzo lets us have chocolate cereal.” Nico announces when he sees me.

“Uncle Enzo doesn’t live here and doesn’t make the rules.” I lift Leo off the chair before he falls and breaks his neck. “And you’re covered in flour. What were you trying to make?”

“Pancakes.” Nico grins at me with zero remorse. “Zia Bella said we could help but then I dropped the flour.”

“I can see that.” I look at Isabella who’s trying not to laugh. “Thank you for this.”

“They’re your children.” She’s already wiping down the counter. “You deal with them while I salvage breakfast.”

I get both boys cleaned up and seated at the table just as Alessia comes downstairs looking more awake. She kisses the top of each boy’s head before coming over to kiss me, and I can taste toothpaste on her lips.

“Did they destroy anything important?” She asks quietly.

“Just Isabella’s patience.” I pour her coffee and hand it to her. “And about five pounds of flour.”

Nico is talking at full speed about something that happened at preschool yesterday, and Leo is trying to interrupt with his own story, and the noise level is already higher than I’m equipped to handle before seven AM. But Alessia just sits down and listens to both of them like she can actually follow what they’re saying, and eventually they calm down enough to eat the pancakes Isabella puts in front of them.

“Papà, can we go to the park today?” Nico asks with his mouth full.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Alessia corrects automatically. “And maybe. Your father has work this morning.”

“I can clear the afternoon.” I’m already mentally rearranging meetings because the truth is I’ll cancel anything to spend time with them. Being a father is still strange to me after three years. Still something I’m figuring out. But I know I don’t want to be the kind of father mine was, always working, always busy, always putting business before family. “We’ll go after lunch.”

Both boys cheer loud enough to make me wince, and Alessia is smiling at me over her coffee cup with that look she gets when I do something she approves of. After three years of marriage, I can read every expression on her face, know what she’s thinking before she says it.

My phone buzzes with a text from Enzo asking about a shipment coming in tonight, and I answer it quickly before putting the phone away. Work can wait until after breakfast. Until after I’ve spent time with my family doing normal things that have nothing to do with territory or violence or any of the business that used to consume my entire life.

***

Alessia

I watch Matteo push Nico on the swing and Leo is already running toward the slide for the fifth time, and I can’t stop smiling because this is my life now. This is what I chose when I said yes three years ago when I didn’t even know I was already pregnant.

Some days I still can’t believe it’s real. That I went from four months of hell with Lorenzo to this. To a husband who actually loves me. To two beautiful boys who have Matteo’s eyes and my stubbornness and enough energy to power the entire city.

“Higher, Papà!” Nico shouts and Matteo pushes him higher despite my automatic worry that he’s going to fly off and crack his head open.

But Matteo is careful even when he’s playing rough. Always has been with them since the day they were born two minutes apart and screaming loud enough to be heard down the hospital hallway. I watched him hold them for the first time and saw him realize that these two tiny humans were his responsibility now and he’d kill anyone who tried to hurt them.

Being a mother terrified me at first. But Matteo made sure I had choices about everything. Made sure the whole experience was mine instead of something being done to me.

And then the twins arrived and I fell in love with them so fast it scared me.

“Mamma, watch!” Leo yells from the top of the slide before coming down way too fast.

I watch him and clap when he reaches the bottom, and he runs back around to do it again. They have so much energy and I’m tired just watching them, but it’s a good tired.

I walk over to where Matteo is now crouched in the sandbox helping both boys build what looks like it’s supposed to be a castle but mostly looks like a pile of sand. He glances up when I sit down next to him and reaches over to squeeze my hand briefly.

“Having fun?” I ask.

“More than I thought I would.” He admits quietly while the boys are distracted. “I never saw myself doing this. Having kids or playing in sandboxes. But it’s good.”

“Yeah.” I lean my head on his shoulder. “It is.”

Nico dumps a bucket of sand on Leo’s head and Leo retaliates by throwing sand back and suddenly they’re both yelling and covered in sand. Matteo separates them while I try not to laugh because they’re both filthy and we’re going to have to hose them down before letting them back in the house.

“No throwing sand.” Matteo’s voice carries authority even with two three-year-olds. “You know the rules.”

“But he started it!” Nico protests.

“I don’t care who started it. I’m ending it.” Matteo stands and offers me his hand to pull me up. “Come on. We’re going home before someone loses an eye.”

Both boys complain but they follow us out of the sandbox, and Matteo carries Leo while I hold Nico’s hand because he’s the flight risk who’ll take off running if we’re not paying attention.

The walk home is only ten minutes but it feels longer with two sandy, tired children. By the time we get back to the estate they’re both cranky from hunger and exhaustion.

“Bath time.” I announce and both of them groan like I’ve suggested torture instead of getting the sand out of their hair.

Matteo helps me get them upstairs and into the bath, and we end up with water all over the bathroom floor because of course we do. But eventually they’re clean and dressed and calm enough to eat dinner.

After dinner we put them to bed and I read them the same story I’ve read fifty times while Matteo sits in the chair by the window checking his phone. By the time I finish, both boys are asleep with Nico sprawled across his bed and Leo curled up with his stuffed lion.

“They’re out.” I whisper to Matteo and we slip out of the room quietly.

We end up in our own room and I’m exhausted but happy, and Matteo pulls me against him on the bed. His hand finds mine automatically and our fingers lace together like they always do.

“Thank you.” He says it quietly against my hair.

“For what?”

“For this. For choosing me and staying and building this life.” His arm tightens around me. “I know it’s not always easy being married to me. But you make it work. You make everything work.”

“We make it work.” I correct and turn to look at his face. “Together, that’s how this works.”

He kisses me and it’s gentle and familiar and perfect. After three years I know exactly how he kisses when he’s tired, when he’s stressed, when he’s happy. Right now he’s content and that makes me content too.

“I love you.” We’re here and safe and our boys are asleep down the hall and this is my life now.

“I love you too.” He pulls me closer and I rest my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat steady under my ear.

This is what happiness looks like. It’s not perfect, but it’s ours.

And I wouldn’t change any of it.

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Isabelle

Shock and confusion battled within me as I sat on a bench outside the library. I had promised myself that I wouldn’t ever be one of those girls crying in public over a man, and yet, here I was.

My vision blurred as hot tears filled my eyes. I still hadn’t made sense of the text I had just received from my now-ex boyfriend, Mark.

I knew I couldn’t keep sitting there so, I decided to make my way to my dorm.

I trudged across campus, my eyes fixed on the pavement, trying to process the sting of Mark’s text message.

It’s over, the text simply read. Two words that had shattered my world. They were followed by his claims that we had grown apart. We had been together for two years, and I thought our love was unbreakable. I didn’t think we had grown apart, but it was clear he didn’t feel the same.

As I tried to walk, my legs felt shaky. Before I could get far, someone enveloped me in a warm hug. It was my best friend, Sarah. I was slightly confused to see her as she didn’t attend UCLA, but I guessed she was on her way to the gym, which was near my campus.

“What’s the matter?” She asked, and without saying a single word, I handed her my phone. I didn’t talk because I was afraid that I would dissolve into a sobbing mess.

“I’m so sorry, Izzy,” she whispered. “What a jerk! And to leave you with a text… a coward too!”

I collapsed onto the bench Sarah had led me to, tears streaming down my face. She handed me a tissue and sat beside me.

“We’re going to get through this together,” she promised. “And then, we’re going to confront Mark. He can’t just break up with you over text!”

I felt a wave of panic wash over me at her words. Maybe it was cowardly, but I didn’t have the strength to face him. I wanted to keep my last bit of pride intact by not crying in front of him and begging him to come back to me.

“I can’t… I don’t want to see him!” I said, and she paused at my words.

“Okay, you don’t have to. We’ll just take it one step at a time. You’re too good for him anyway.” She declared.

I nodded. Sarah was right; I deserved better.

With Sarah’s support, I began to heal. We spent hours talking, laughing, and crying together. She spent the next few weeks coming over to my campus to be with me, she was my rock.

After a while, although I didn’t feel completely healed, the wound from the break-up began to feel less painful. I knew that with time, I would get over him.

However, one evening, several months after the breakup, I met up with Sarah and she seemed strange. She had been fidgeting and it was obvious that she was nervous.

“What’s the matter? You keep fidgeting,” I finally said. She sighed heavily, and her reaction made me sit up.

“Izzy, I’ve been meaning to ask you… how would you feel if I went out with Mark?” Her words hit me like a hard knock. I stared at her in disbelief.

At first, I thought I’d misheard her. “What? You and Mark?” I tried to sound casual, but my mind was racing.

Sarah nodded, her eyes searching mine for a reaction. “I know it’s weird, but we bumped into each other the other night and we started for hours and I think really like him, Izzy. But I value our friendship too much to lie to you or hurt you. I wanted to be upfront with you.”

I felt a sting of hurt and confusion, but I pushed it aside. I didn’t want to lose my best friend over this. “It’s okay, Sarah. Really. I’m over him. You two would be great together.”

Sarah’s face lit up with a smile. “Thanks, Izzy. That means a lot to me.”

But as we hugged and chatted, I couldn’t shake off the feeling of betrayal. How had that happened? She, of all people, knew how much Mark had hurt me.

I concealed my true feelings, not wanting to ruin our friendship, but I couldn’t help but feel sadness. However, she was my best friend, and I believed our friendship was stronger than this. It had to be.

I wanted her to be happy, and if she thought that she would be happy with Mark, then I knew I would have to accept it.

We sat side by side sipping coffee and gossiping, we were about to graduate soon and we were all looking forward to the future.

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to you about

Which story idea do you prefer? *

• A mafia boss rescues a woman from a crash meant to kill her. Exploiting her amnesia, he claims she is his wife to protect her from human traffickers. As he falls in love, she starts to remember his dark past.
• A woman infiltrates a mafia family to avenge her fiancé's death but falls for the mafia boss she meant to destroy. As she prepares her revenge, she discovers she's pregnant with his child.
• A mafia boss and a police detective must team up to take down a common enemy, sparking a tense love/hate relationship. Things get even more complicated when he discovers she's the daughter of a man his father killed, leading to a dangerous and tangled romance.

How would you describe your ideal book boyfriend?

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Vincenzo

One year later

As I walked into the nursery, I couldn’t help but smile at the sight before me. My beautiful wife, Isabelle, was sitting on the floor, surrounded by toys and giggling with our adorable baby boy, Leonardo.

He was crawling around, exploring every nook and cranny, and his infectious laughter filled the room.

I joined them on the floor, and we spent the next hour playing with Leo, watching him discover new things, and enjoying every moment of it. At one point, Isabelle looked up at me, her eyes shining with happiness, and I knew exactly what she was thinking because it was the same thing I was.

I had done what I once thought was impossible. I had built a happy family, the complete opposite of what I had growing up.

As we sat there, surrounded by the chaos of toys and baby books, I turned to Isabelle and said, “You know, I never thought I could be this happy.”

Isabelle smiled, her face radiant with joy. “I know exactly what you mean,” she replied. “This is exactly what we wanted, isn’t it?”

I nodded, feeling grateful for the life we had built together. “Perfect,” I whispered, taking her hand in mine.

Leo, sensing that our attention wasn’t fully on him anymore, crawled over to us and snuggled into our arms. We sat there, basking in the happiness that filled our home.

I treasured these moments even more because of the complex matters I had to face outside our home. It didn’t matter how busy we were, we always made time to be together as a family.

I spent the whole day at home, and we trailed Leo as he crawled through the garden, giggling with every move. He was a bright, curious child, and he stopped every few moments to stare at butterflies and flowers.

I chuckled at the way his nose wrinkled when a butterfly landed on his forehead.

We had both cleared our schedules to stay home all day.

When evening came and all that crawling around had finally made our son tired, we put him to bed before going to our rooms.

I held Isabelle, my wife and the mother of my son, in my arms. I had a family, a home filled with more love than I ever thought possible. My heart was full.

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Virgilio

15 years earlier

Talent show, my ass.

I glare at a schoolmate as he approaches me with a sheet and pen, and then backpaddles.

I slam my locker door with ferocity. I hate this school. I hate the noise right now. I hate the buzz. And I fucking hate that one person in the distance laughing so fucking loud like life is indeed a bed of roses.

Zoe Gray.

Just a few days after she asked me to be her model, and I’m still wondering why the fuck I ever agreed to that. For the money, no doubt, but her vanilla personality makes me wanna puke.

I sneer at her with narrowed eyes, standing at the entrance of a corridor, surrounded by a bunch of equally annoying-looking girls hankering for morning gossip—her group of friends.

The school bustling with life and students hurrying through the hallways, their laughter and chatter filling the air, do nothing to make my gaze falter.

If I’m going to be working with her, I need to make sure she understands some things. I start towards her, tsking at the walls adorned with colorful posters announcing the upcoming talent show.

The closer I get, the louder her stringy laughter rings out like blaring music. She’s the center of attention, her radiant smile and infectious joy drawing everyone in. She’s dressed in a vibrant outfit of blue jeans and a bright yellow sweater that matches her lively personality, every bit the life of the party.

My irritation skyrockets as I watch her laugh, her ocean-blue eyes glinting with a bubbly emotion that feels mocking.

Life is tough.

But how would she know this when she has fucking two-hundred-and-fifty dollars lying around to throw into something as stupid as a fashion competition?

“Zoe,” my tone is sharp, and her head snaps toward me. She keeps her smile unwavering even as she notices my grim expression. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

I sneer at her friends, and they exchange curious glances. I don’t talk to any of them. I don’t talk to anyone. Perhaps this might be the reason they’re so curious.

“Sure, Virgilio.” Zoe shrugs and trails after me as I lead her to the side, a little away from the gnawing buzz.

I crowd her, but she doesn’t seem intimidated by my height or unhinged by the sourness of my expression.

“Do you ever stop smiling?” I snick. “Do you ever have a single serious thought in your head?”

She snorts, then does the annoying thing of laughing louder. “Why do you care?”.

I search her eyes and, very quickly, something somber flickers in her eyes.

“Because it’s infuriating,” I feel affronted. I’m struggling to get away from my father so I’m selling some of his drugs to make money, but she, like most of these kids, has been handed life on gold plates. I hate that she is rubbing it in. “You walk around here acting like everything is perfect. Like you don’t have a single problem in the world. It’s superficial and immature. You have no idea how tough life really is.”

Her eyes meet mine, her gaze unwavering. She holds still for a quick second, the air swirling around us, fuming with unspoken confrontations.

She chuckles, and her face melts back into her usual soft expression. “Thank you.” She smiles even brighter than before.

I blink at her words. “What?” Her response and reaction take me aback.

She shrugs, “What did you expect to hear?” She scoffs. “It was nice chatting with you. I should go now.” She sighs, then spins and heads back to her cluster of friends.

I tsk, folding my fists.

Perhaps I do not hate her.

Perhaps I’m jealous.

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• A mafia boss rescues a woman from a crash meant to kill her. Exploiting her amnesia, he claims she is his wife to protect her from human traffickers. As he falls in love, she starts to remember his dark past.
• A woman infiltrates a mafia family to avenge her fiancé's death but falls for the mafia boss she meant to destroy. As she prepares her revenge, she discovers she's pregnant with his child.
• A mafia boss and a police detective must team up to take down a common enemy, sparking a tense love/hate relationship. Things get even more complicated when he discovers she's the daughter of a man his father killed, leading to a dangerous and tangled romance.

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Audry

I lay luxuriously on the beach bed, enjoying the cool breeze coming off the Pacific Ocean as the sun set. Marco had surprised me with an impromptu picnic – he called it that – giving me just enough time to grab my bikini before we headed out.

There was nobody else about, just us, some seagulls and a few trees, leaning curiously towards us in the breeze to see what leftovers we had. It had been a rather romantic day. We didn’t have a lot of those with a clan to run on his end, and cons to plan on mine. I was quite relieved when I realized that neither Marco nor his family was going to oblige me to join the family business. They were quite content for me to do as I pleased.

“If you want a role in the family, well, that’s a process. We trust you but that doesn’t mean everyone does,” his mother told me.

“Not after what I did.” I said sadly.

“No, they’re just a distrustful bunch. But considering everything you’ve done for our security and the new business you’ve brought in, let me tell you, they’re inclined to accept you,” she whispered confidentially.

“As long as I prove myself loyal.”

“Yes.”

I took a breath and nodded determinedly. “Okay, challenge accepted.”

As a result of that promise, I’d been doing my best to discover ways they could up their game businesswise including setting up an automatic payment system so that no one had to go around collecting protection money anymore. Of course, no one wanted to be made redundant so I suggested reassigning those guys to a boxing gym in the poorer neighborhoods, where they could recruit distributors loyal only to the Cassio family and find out what the word on the street was before it became a problem.

“You’d have seen me coming a lot sooner than you did if you had had an underground network of informants.” I said with a shrug. “Just saying.”

Marco’s face was inscrutable. “What makes you think I don’t?”

“I think you rely a lot on technology for surveillance with George and his assistants, but for some things you need boots on the ground. Now, if your goons are not busy terrorizing businessmen-”

“They don’t do that, but continue.”

“They could be building a trade, helping in the community, and advancing themselves. Your goal should be everyone has a chance to be better than what they started as, right?”

He stared at me in stupefaction. “Is that your goal? To be better than where you started.”

I blinked a few times, totally caught out. “Okay if I’m keeping it 100, I love the job I do. It takes smarts and I’m not ashamed of it. But what’s my end game?”

He shrugged at me, “Do tell.”

“I don’t know yet. But I’ve been that kid on the street, and I know that giving them purpose outside of knocking people’s heads together will breed loyalty like you’ve never seen.”

“I agree. And the boxing gym is a very good idea. But I think instead of joining one, we could start a few in the poorer neighborhoods. Teach the kids how to defend themselves, while doing a low-key recruitment exercise. So thank you for that idea.” He pulled me to him and kissed my chin. Then he smiled. “We make a good team.”

I smiled back. “Yes, we do.”

I smiled with my eyes closed as I thought back to that conversation.

“Why are you smiling?” Marco asked from his own beach bed.

I opened my eyes and turned my head to look at him. “Nothing really. I’m just glad to be here. This was a good idea.”

He grinned at me. “I did promise to give you a soft life.”

“You did.” I reached out my hand and he took it. “And you’ve done an excellent job congratulations.”

He gave us a praised laugh and sat up. “Well, um I have one more thing up my sleeve, if you’re up to it.”

I raised both my eyebrows and sat up as well. “I’m always up for a little adventure. What you got?”

He got to his feet and bent to take something from the basket. I sat up watching him as curiously as a squirrel. His hand emerged from the basket, clutching something that fit in his palm. I waited on tenterhooks to see what it was. Another plan to steal a rare jewel maybe? I couldn’t really see that happening on this beach.

Then he went down on one knee and my mind shut down. Literally, there was a blue screen flashing error 404, no thoughts – just shock.

I watched him open the box in his hand from another plane of existence. He removed a ring and my eyes widened. It was a plain white gold band, embedded with an emerald and opal and a diamond. My mouth dropped open, but my throat was closed, and I didn’t remember what words were.

“From the moment we met,” he began, “my life has been a whirlwind of chaos, danger, and excitement. But through it all, you grew to be my constant, my partner, my love.” He was staring into my eyes, and it was like staring into the sun. “I can’t imagine my life without you, and I don’t want to. Audry, will you marry me?”

I don’t know if I was crying, but my vision was blurry. I felt as if I was standing on the edge of a cliff and about to jump off it. Even more remarkable, I wanted to jump off it. I cleared my throat trying to remember how to make sounds. “Yes Marco,” I couldn’t quite stop the trembling in my voice. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

He took my hand in his – it looked so small compared – and gently slipped the ring on. It fit perfectly, I could hardly believe it.

“God this is so trippy.” I said with wonder, my eyes on my ring. My engagement ring. “Somebody pinch me.”

He laughed. “I won’t pinch you, but can I kiss you?”

“Definitely,” I put my hands around his neck and pulled him to me. Our lips met in what was supposed to be a perfunctory little kiss, an acknowledgement of our new status, new commitment. But it escalated it into a mauling of each other’s mouths – just uncivilized licking and sucking and biting, me trying to stick my tongue right down his throat. Eventually we let go of each other, maybe even exchanged some sheepish looks and grins.

We both resumed sunbathing, on our respective sunbeds – or rather watching the sun go down over the water. It was a beautiful sight, so apt. Marco turned to me with a grin. “So tell me, missus Cassio-to-be, how do you see this going?”

“Well now that you mention it, I’ve been thinking about going to Las Vegas.”

He gave me a quizzical glance, “You wanna elope?”

“No! Don’t be silly. Your mother would put a hit out on us.”

He chuckled. “True.”

“What I want is to go and find my brother. He needs to know what happened with me and James, and I need to see him.”

“Huh.” Marco said looking thoughtful, “You know, now that you say that, there just might be the perfect job for us down in Las Vegas. Title fight. We could clean up.”

“I like how you think,” I rubbed my hands together in anticipation. “Let’s do this.”

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Audry

The grand dining room at the Martin estate never failed to make me feel very small. It was so opulently appointed. Everything was antique or expensive, or antique and expensive. The artwork on the walls – mostly stolen pieces – were priceless. I lived in fear of knocking over a vase, and have it turn out to have belonged to the Romanovs.

I tended to avoid the dining room when I could, but tonight we had been summoned – both my brother Benjamin and I – to dine with my stepfather, James, who sat at the head of the table. I sat to my father’s right while Benjamin sat to his left.

We ate in relative silence not really being a chatty type of family, and it wasn’t until the digestive was said before us that my father spoke. “Audrey? Benjamin?”

“Yes, dad,” Benjamin said with emphasis. He always had to rub it in that James was his real dad and I was just some stray they picked up. He gave me a smug look just to rub it in some more, and I squeezed my fork hard while visualizing boiling his head in hot water. That vision helped me to show him my teeth in the parody of a smile.

James cleared his throat, in a menacing reminder that he had the floor. We both turned to him at once.

“As you both know, our family’s legacy is built on skill, cunning, and the ability to outsmart anyone. It’s time to see who among you is truly worthy of carrying on that legacy.”

I tensed hearing those words. The possibility of being thrown out of this family always hung over my head like the sword of Damocles. I couldn’t help thinking, this is it. This is when they tell me to go. After all, I wasn’t a child anymore, they didn’t have to feed me or house me. I just hope that James recognized the many ways that I put myself out to be useful to him.

He turned to me, with what passed for a soft smile on his face. “Audrey, Benji, I am challenging you to steal one billion dollars within the next year. Whoever succeeds will have access to their share of my inheritance and will prove themselves worthy of the Martin name, becoming my only legitimate heir.”

My heart sank with fear, but I ruthlessly stamped it out, replacing that emotion with determination. He was giving me a chance to prove myself and come hell or high water, I would do so.

Benjamin was right on time with the negativity. “You think you can actually do it, Audrey?” He sneered. “You’ve always been second best. You’ll never make it.”

My lips twisted as anger surged through me. “I haven’t seen you make it either.” I shot back, very proud that my voice did not tremble at all.

Benjamin cackled. “I’ll meet you at the finish line, if you ever manage to reach it,” he said dismissively.

In spite of the facade I put on, his words hurt. He was the only sibling I knew, and yet he kept putting me down. I’d watched enough Supernatural to know that that wasn’t the sibling relationship I wanted.

James finished his digestif without uttering another word. He stood up and left the table, which was the cue for me and Benjamin to do the same. I raced to my room, my mind buzzing with ideas. First thing I did was to get on a video call with my assistant Kylie. She was highly skilled in many arts and if anyone could help me win it was her.

And I was determined to win. I was grateful that James gave me the chance to prove myself – he didn’t have to. I was essentially nobody to him. But he was ready to officially bestow me with his name and his legacy, as long as I proved myself worthy.

There is no way I’m gonna fail this.

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Was there a part that bored or that you didn't really like in the book?

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most there didn't

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• A mafia hitman ordered to kill a politician's daughter instead becomes her protector, driven by a debt of gratitude from their past, risking both their lives in a dangerous game of love and loyalty.
• To avoid an arranged marriage, a mafia princess convinces a rival gang capo, who is actually an undercover cop, to pose as her boyfriend, leading to a dangerously real romance that threatens both their missions and lives.
• A mafia boss hires a struggling actress to pose as his girlfriend to fend off a rival gang, but as he protects her from their relentless threats over her father's debts, their staged relationship turns into a passionate and dangerous love affair.

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Nikolai

One month later

It will never cease to feel strange to me how quickly I’ve adapted to a routine. A real one. Not the fast-paced night life or the constant espionage and games. It’s all so suburban. Breakfast. Taking Liz to school. Picking her up from school. Even more strange to me is just how comfortable it all feels. Liz doesn’t seem scared of me anymore, even if all of her friends do.

Henry tends to avoid me when I pick Liz up from school. I can’t say that I blame him for it either. He’s starting to look more like me as he grows older. Taller, but not the athletic type. Maybe someday, if Liz stays as interested in him as she is now, I will get the chance to get to know him a little better. I know through Daniel that he’s super into reading and music, things I don’t know anything about. We have nothing in common. It’s really for the best that he wound up where he is, with people who understand him in the right way.

I still don’t know if I’ve got the right stuff in me to be a father of my own, but I’m trying the best that I can.

I hold the door open for Liz to get into my car. A truck. I’m really embracing the whole Texas thing. I figured if I was going to fully turn the page over that I need to be as removed from my old self as I could get. No more temptations.

Apart from the hitman, assassin thing.

It’s still strange to me that I have chosen to live so close to my enemies-turned-employers-turned-somewhat-cordial-not-quite-acquaintances. It’s all around strange. Helena and Daniel have been so absorbed in the bliss of their newborn child that work has been slow.

Kate and I finished the renovation of our own house just a week ago. Extra bedrooms and an office added onto a house that is modest. For me. I’m used to mansions, after all. I offered to build something similar to what I had built in the past, but Kate insisted that she didn’t want to have to call me from across the house anytime she wanted to talk to me. She chose a six bedroom, two story house with a finished attic. Office for her, office for me, guest bedroom and then Liz’s room. Full master suite with properly soundproofed walls. She swears that she’s going to come up with something to do with the extra bedroom.

Now that the kitchen renovations and landscaping are the way that she wanted them she’s thrown herself into wedding planning. How she’s doing that while running her new firm, I have no idea. All I know is that she unofficially asked both Anya and Helena to be her bridesmaids. She suggested that I should ask Alek and Daniel to stand by me as groomsmen, but it doesn’t feel right. Horus perhaps, but that isn’t a relationship that’s repaired itself yet either. There’s no more bad blood, but it will take time.

I think the best thing about learning to proxy parent with Liz is that she makes everything so easy. She does all of the talking now that she’s decided I’m not scary. She tells me about everything that happens at school and her interests. She speaks at great length about the cartoons that she likes and the cat that she’s planning to ask her mother to get her. She tells me in great detail how I’m supposed to be on her side about it.

As if I could care less about having a cat in the house.

Though, I am turning into a person who lives in a house with a kid, a fiancée and I apparently will soon own a cat. I never would have imagined such a thing.

Letting my anger go is a constant work in progress, but Kate is always only too ready and willing to be the outlet for any physical aggression that might strike me.

“Can we get ice cream on the way home?! I got an ‘A’ on my English test,” Liz calls from the back seat as we pass her favorite ice cream shop. She starts to rummage around in her backpack for the test to prove her score to me. Like I would have said no to her getting ice cream on the way home.

“Of course we can, zayka.” I answer.

“I’m not a bunny!” Liz giggles from the back seat. Her face flushes pink as she laughs. She always protests when I call her by the nickname that I selected for her, but I’m just pleased that she seems to be remembering more and more Russian words every day.

“No? Then tell me you are not, in Russian, or else I cannot understand you, zayka,” I grin right back to her.

She pretends to pout, but I get her the ice cream anyway.

I’m a man who gets his soon to be stepdaughter ice cream after school.

Kate made all of this possible. I have no idea where I would even be without her and Liz. No matter what, I’m going to make this marriage work. Kate is the love of my life.

Her car is in the driveway of our house when Liz and I pull in.

She should be at the firm for another three hours. Said that she was going to pick up Chinese takeout on the way home tonight so that we could watch some movie she wanted to see. Granted, Liz has to finish homework first. She’s been doing so well lately that most of her work has been completed before she ever even gets home with it. I think Henry’s studious influence has a lot to do with that. She had even tried getting bad grades to have him tutor her but it backfired when he found out her plan.

“Mom’s home!” Liz bounces in her seat with excitement. Her hand flies to the car door handle and I have to stop her from hurling herself out of it to get to her favorite person.

“Not until the car’s stopped, zayka!” If I had known that she was going to be home, I would have gotten her some ice cream as well. I check my phone just to make sure that I didn’t miss a text from her saying that she was coming home early before getting out of the car. But there’s nothing there.

The moment the car stops, Liz is running inside to find her mother. I think the fact that both of them have managed to resume normal lives without constantly looking over their shoulders in fear is my greatest accomplishment. I’m glad we will get to spend more time together tonight.

I hang my keys on the post by the front door and kick it shut behind me.

Kate’s standing in the foyer with Liz wrapped around her, telling her about her day. It only takes one look to know that something is wrong. My defenses automatically come up.

“Zayka, isn’t your show coming on right now? The special episode?” I ask Liz.

“Oh yeah!” Liz squeals and runs off without another thought.

“What’s wrong?” I ask when Liz is out of hearing range. Kate seems to pale at the very question. I pull her hand into mine and kiss it softly. “What happened?”

Mentally, I start to check off all of the places that I have guns stashed in this house and how quickly I can get to them. It just depends on the next words that are going to come out of her mouth.

I pull her closer when she doesn’t answer, keeping my eyes locked on hers. I need her to say something soon so that I stop thinking about every possible worst case scenario option.

Over the months that we’ve been together now, I’ve told her a good number of the things that I’ve been accused of. But there are still some rather questionable things about my past that I’m more than a little ashamed of. Things that I would rather her not know. Doors to my past that just need to be kept shut for both of our sanity. If she found out something about them and is starting to look at me differently because of it, I don’t think that I will be able to handle that either.

I can’t stand the idea of Kate, of all people, being afraid of me. If she leaves me I will have nothing. My whole world is now focused on her and that’s the way that I want it. We’re getting married. A real, big ceremony, because that’s what Kate wants. To think that we are so close to all that makes me feel absolutely sick when I think that I could still lose her.

My guilt runs the risk of my sabotaging the best thing that I’ve ever had on a daily basis. I can’t let it.

Kate looks up at me, tears welling in her eyes as she tries to speak and can’t seem to find the words. Her hands slip from mine and she turns, heading into the kitchen and further away from Liz. I’m scared to ask her for a second time what’s wrong. It is bad. It is something terrible.

“If you don’t tell me what’s happened, baby girl, I think that I’m going to go insane.” I say to her, retreating. She doesn’t acknowledge my words at all as she walks behind the kitchen island and reaches into the messy drawer that contains all the spare odds and ends from the various decoration projects that she’s been doing. She places down a bundle of white plastic sticks on the counter. There’s got to be at least a dozen of them. Various shapes and manufacturers.

But all of them have two very distinct pink lines on the result windows.

Time freezes. I feel dizzy and lightheaded as everything snaps into place. For a moment, my mind goes completely and utterly still. I can’t look away from them. Kate’s pregnant. She’s pregnant with a baby, a human baby.

My baby.

My black eyes flick up to hers. She’s nervously chewing on her lip, waiting for my response. She didn’t know how I was going to react, and that’s why she was scared. It’s not like it’s something that we’ve outright spoken or made real plans about. But then again, filling her like I do every chance that I get was only going to end one way.

“Say something.” Kate says finally.

A smile spreads slowly across my face. The glimmer of hope that I never allowed myself to dare to have.

I move to the side of the island that she’s standing on and sink to my knees in front of her. My hands bracket her hips, thumbs sweeping under the bottom of her shirt to graze against her perfect, impossibly soft skin.

“I must have done something right.” I say with reverence. Karma must have started to forgive me if it’s actually going to give me the chance to be the father that I never had.

“You’re not upset?” Kate asks nervously as her hands close over the tops of mine.

“Upset?” I look up at her with furrowed brows. “I’m thrilled.” I lift her shirt just enough to kiss her belly. “Our child is in here.”

Kate giggles, a tear rolling down her face before she sinks to her knees in front of me. Her arms wrap around my shoulders as she pulls herself closer to me and holds me tightly. I kiss her passionately. Every bit of hope that the new promising future holds is poured into that kiss. “No matter what it takes, I’m going to be the loving father that I never had. I swear it on my life.”

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Nikolai

What now?

The words keep rattling around in my head. I think those two words are the only things keeping me from actually going insane.

The heating in our efficiency flat got turned off over a week ago. There hadn’t been any food in the fridge in at least two weeks now so it didn’t really matter. I had managed to get enough blankets from the thrift shop two streets over to make it into the next month. I had tried to pay the rent for mom but before I had even gotten the chance, she had taken the money from me. The winnings from my fights should have been enough to feed us and keep the roof over our heads for at least one more month. It wasn’t quite enough to put the power back on, but we would have made it. We had lived through worse.

Tonight’s fight had been bad enough that I was almost tempted to go to the clinic for stitches. The gash over my right eye was going to leave a wicked scar, but now it’s the least of my problems. I’ve only been home an hour. Cans of soup from the food pantry are now left discarded by the door because she’s not going to be able to eat them. She’s not going to be able to do anything ever again.

Mother’s lips are blue.

Her skin pale and waxy. Her eyes open and fogged over, unseeing as she lies half on the busted leather couch and half hanging off of it. Rubber tubing around her arm and track marks littering too much skin. A habit that she swore a million times that she would kick. She had been clean for a month. I don’t know what happened today. I guess I’ll never have an answer to that question now. It’s done. She’s gone. My mother. The only person I had in the world to call family and she’s just… gone.

There’s nothing to keep me here.

I could call the cops. I could stay and answer uncomfortable questions and get profiled for my heavy Russian accent. Assuming that they would be willing to come to this side of town anyway.

I have seen dead bodies before. Doing what I do and living the way we do, it’s just something that happens. Usually don’t give them a second glance, but Mother? I can’t seem to tear my eyes off her, no matter what I do. My eyes are burning. I don’t think that I’ve blinked since I got home.

She’s going to rot into that couch. How long before she gets all stiff? Should I cover her up with the blanket? Where will I sleep if I do?

I can’t stay here.

I can’t sleep next to her corpse.

But I don’t have anywhere else to go.

Only, I do. It’s just not somewhere I want to go.

I’m frozen for who knows how long. I sit in silent vigil, kneeling by the couch where she lay, thinking about all of the things that she would never get to do, all of the promises that I made to her over the years. That I was going to get us out of this mess and make sure that we lived in better circumstances. Now I’m never going to get to fulfill a single one. Even if I go and make something of myself, she won’t be there to see it.

Hours pass and my legs have long since gone numb. I pull the ratty blanket up and over her before leaving the apartment exactly the way that I found it. I don’t have any personal belongings in here anyway. Nothing of value. I pull the hood of my jacket up and bury my hands deep into my pockets as I head out onto the street, which is quiet and cold tonight. I turn my father’s business card inside of my pocket as I walk.

What choice do I have?

He might be a bastard, but I owe it to my mother to do something, to make something of myself like I promised that I would, in her memory. I can’t wallow forever. I either follow her, or I have to make the best that I can out of the situation.

I’m a fighter, through and through. It has to mean something that today is the very last day of Roman’s offer to join him. I avoided the gangs up until now, but I knew that I could never run forever.

Moscow might be nice. Mother always said I should go. Whatever training I can get there has to be worth it. Whatever he wants me to do, I’ll do it. I’ll rise through the ranks from the bottom, if that’s what it takes.

Someday, I’ll take control of the damned Bratva and show the world who I really am. This could be the first real break that I’m getting and I’m not going to waste it.

Pain, anger, regret all swirl inside of me as I head to the address that Roman put on the card he left for me. I can’t even imagine what he’s going to say. Thinking about it is better than focusing on the numbness that’s creeping its way through my body.

Mother’s life of pain and her sacrifices aren’t going to be for nothing.

At least her suffering is over now.

I end up at a derelict looking warehouse missing a good half of its windows. The metal double doors are parted slightly for me, and I let myself inside. The dim lighting is sparse, but I have been to enough places like this to know how to find my way around. Head down, keep quiet and act like you belong there. Usually works like a charm.

I take the metal stairs down into the basement where I can hear people talking. Men loading things onto vehicles and packing other things into larger wooden crates. People milling about, but everybody appears to have a purpose. Not a single idle hand to be seen. I can appreciate when an organization operates like a well-oiled machine.

Is this what I have to look forward to?

I find my father by a loading dock, holding a clipboard with a cigar hanging out of the side of his mouth. I don’t say a word as I go to stand beside him. He only glances at me for the shortest of seconds.

“Was wondering when your sorry ass would show up.” Roman says more to himself than to me. He chuckles softly as he checks something on the clipboard. A second later he snaps his fingers and somebody shows up to take it from him seemingly out of nowhere.

“The offer still stands?” I ask without elaborating.

Roman turns then, taking a really good look at me, sizing me up. “Walk with me.”

It’s not a request, it’s a command.

I do as told, quietly walking alongside my father as we wind deeper into layers of this building that shouldn’t even be possible.

“I won’t pretend to know what caused your change of heart, Nikolai, nor do I care. What I care about is what you can offer me. I plan to invest quite a bit into making you my heir if, and when, you earn that title. It will not be an easy path for you to walk. You understand this?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have any room for people who question my orders. In this Bratva, I am king. What I say goes and is done without any hesitation. Those who cannot follow that one simple rule… well, I have no tolerance for useless men.” Roman warns. The threat lingering between us is more than clear. He doesn’t want a son. Not really. What Roman truly wants is a soldier. A weapon. I’ve already proved that I can be the former.

“My generosity doesn’t come free either, Nikolai.”

We stop in front of a familiar looking ring. I’ve never been here before, of course, but I can tell a fighting ring when I see one. It’s clean now, but the metallic scent of blood never truly leaves a place. This one’s lined in sand, uneven, surrounded by arching metal bars. One entrance in, and one way out. Unlike the fighting rings that I’ve been in before, I have no doubt that this sort of fight doesn’t stop when somebody taps out or is knocked unconscious.

It’s a test.

The first of many, I would be willing to bet.

“Only way into my Bratva is through blood, Nikolai. I will not make an exception just because you are my son. You must win your fight and prove yourself. Do this, or you will be useless to me as well.” Roman says plainly. There’s a glimmer of something on his weathered face that I can’t quite place. If I’m not mistaken, it almost looked hopeful. “Make me proud.”

Like there’s any other option?

I let my leather coat and hoodie slide off my arms and I drape them over the closest railing before hopping down those four steps into the pit, just like I’m supposed to do. At least this is something that I’m good at. This is something that I can do.

Hell, it’s what I need if I’m being perfectly honest. An outlet to channel all the rage and grief that’s going to turn into toxic sludge inside of me if I don’t get it out quickly.

The man that drops into the pit in front of me is at least twice my size and ten years older, covered in tattoos and scars. It’s nowhere near a fair fight. But, if the son of the leader can’t take him, just as Roman said, I would be useless. No time for complaining. The brute comes thundering toward me, each footstep sending vibrations through the ground and up my legs. I’m big for my age in every sense of the word. I’m trained and lethal and still light on my feet. It’s a point of pride.

Most of the time.

I don’t even see the man’s ham hock of a fist coming until it collides with the side of my head. I hadn’t dropped my guard. There’s no way he broke through it – and yet I feel like he knocked my brain loose inside of my skull. My ears start to ring and my fucking teeth rattle in place. I stagger back a few steps.

I glance at Roman and he’s completely unimpressed.

If this brute hits that hard every time, I’m not going to make it out of this fight alive, if things get dragged out. I have to end this quickly. There’s no other way around it. A strange need to make Roman proud seems to come out of nowhere. Strong and undiluted as I turn my mind off and slip into that calm, quiet place that always helps me win my fights. A mental place where nothing but the opponent directly in front of me seems to exist any longer.

It’s not a fair match.

That doesn’t stop me.

Everything seems to go blurry as the assault on my body only seems to get worse. Punch after punch, no matter how much I try to get away, and no tactic that I’ve used before seems to make even the slightest bit of difference. Just when I think that I’m about to lose and surrender to the pain something inside of me snaps. The black dots at the edge of my vision seem to spread and the wheezing in my lungs gets worse. Then there’s nothing. No sights, no sounds, no more pain, just the burning in my muscles as they take over for me. Every hateful emotion that I’ve felt for the last few years of my horrible life seems to bubble to the surface in a way that I can’t stop or control. I surrender to it. I let my body become a tool of rage upon my opponent.

I’ve never killed anyone before.

Broken ribs. Sprained everything. Concussed would be putting it lightly. Blood seems to be pouring out of me when the ringing in my ears stops and the striking silence of the men outside of the fighting ring suddenly registers.

Through the eye that’s still open I turn to look at Roman, resting on his elbows against the railing with a shit eating grin plastered onto his face and his cigar clamped in his teeth.

Did I do good? I can’t ask, but I swear he understands me anyway.

Roman nods subtly, and motions for somebody to come and scoop me up.

Approval. Praise. Acceptance.

It’s enough.

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