Chapter One

Audry

“Ten minutes to go.” Kylie’s sultry voice in my ear was like a caress and if I didn’t know that she was happily engaged, I’d think she was flirting.

“Why do we have to talk like we’re Navy seals again?” I asked grinning like a mad woman, as I pretended to peruse the shelf of leaflets opposite the hotel reception.

“Shut up and go with it. He’s coming down the stairs.”

“No elevator?”

“Apparently not.”

“What about the underboss?”

“Our interceptor is ready to go as soon as he steps foot in the lobby. That’ll give you a window of maybe three minutes. Don’t waste it.”

“Have I ever been known to waste a single minute?”

Kylie just snorted in my ear. It was a good thing that we were such good friends aside from her being my PA, because otherwise I would be obliged to fire her on the spot. My target, Marco Cassio of the Cassio Cosa Nostra crime family stepped into the lobby. I’d seen pictures of him, of course – Kylie is very thorough in her research – but whoa the man… clean took my breath away.

I mean, those shoulders alone should be illegal, and nobody would blame me if I just walked up to him and buried my head between his pecks. Furthermore, who really had that shoulder to chest ratio in real life? Movie stars maybe, not ordinary human beings with crime families to run. It was just so unfair, why did he have to look so good?

The black hair, black eyes, black suit really add to the air of danger about him, and weirdly enough, the scar on his face just enhanced the mystique instead of being off-putting.

Oh, I am going to enjoy this job.

“Stop salivating and get in position, Audry. Interceptor making contact… now,” Kylie interrupt my musings. With a sigh I begin walking towards the bar. Through the corner of my eye, I saw Dominic accost Marco and his bodyguard, his glasses askew and looking earnest.

“Mr. Cassio, I have a proposal for you, please read it,” he said loudly, thrusting a bunch of papers at the crime lord. Marco simply glanced at his underboss and walked away. Valerio Cassio, Marco’s brother and right-hand man, grabbed Dominic and began to drag him towards the exit of the hotel.

I crossed my fingers. It was sink or swim time. If Marco didn’t go towards the bar, I would lose my window. I watched with relief as he strode across the room and into the bar. His appointment wasn’t for another hour and a half. Kylie was currently in traffic, making sure his vehicle was delayed, and Dominic was making it very difficult for Valerio to let go of him, as he tried to convince him that his proposal was the best thing that could ever happen to Marco.

“He’s really good at this,” I murmured to Kylie, impressed at the boy’s commitment. We’d hired him from an improv group, told him it was an acting gig.

“The longer you can keep the bodyguard occupied the more you’ll be paid.” I had told him. I could see he was going for gold.

Bravo, I thought as I sauntered towards the bar where I could see Marco ordering a drink. The bartender put the drink in front of him and I picked it up and drained it. “Hoo boy, I needed that.” I twirled around to face Marco with a grin, “Thanks for the drink.”

When I turned, he had been glaring but then his eyes widened and his jaw dropped, face paling as if he’d seen a ghost. “Amy?” He croaked in disbelief.

I stuck my hand out to be shaken, “Good guess, but actually, my name is Audry. Pleasure.”

He stared at my hand as if I had offered him a cancerous tumor to hold. Then he looked up at me. His face tilted to the side. Then he straightened up abruptly. “Apologies. I thought you were someone else.”

I smiled sultrily and took a step closer to him running my red polished nail down his lapel. “I’m up for a little role play if you like.” I grinned cheekily, biting my lower lip and winking.

To my surprise he recoiled, his face closing up. “No thanks,” he said coldly signaling to the waiter. My window was closing rapidly. His brother would be back at any moment.

I lean even closer to him, reaching for his chest, “Aw, you’re no fu-aaah!” I affected to trip, falling against him and letting him catch me with his body.

His strong arms closed around my waist. He picked me up – seemingly effortlessly – and put me away from him. I have to admit it made me a little breathless, the ease with which he did it. Mission accomplished though; it was time to get out of there.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” I feigned embarrassment, shuffling my feet and then hurrying off. On the way I passed his underboss headed towards Marco.

Phew, cutting it rather close.

I opened my hand, looking down at the keycard nestled in my palm. A grin spread over my face, “The eagle has landed or whatever.” I said in my ear.

I could just see Kylie rolling her eyes. “I take it you got the key card.”

“Yep.”

“Good, because Marco’s car is just drawing up at the entrance. I’ll follow him to keep an eye out.”

“Excellent. Going up.”

From my place behind the indoor plant that stood between the elevator and the stairs, I watch as Marco walked out of the hotel, his gait a graceful lope like a gazelle or some big cat. His shoulders filled the doorway, as he stepped out and I shiver, remembering how hard his body felt when I leaned against him.

He could definitely crush me with one hand tied behind his back. He could probably lift me up and break me in half on his knee, twist me around and smash me flat. All without breaking a sweat.

I didn’t know why I was breathing hard. As far as I knew I didn’t have a masochistic streak.

Chapter Two

Marco

“This meeting could have been an e-mail,” I complained to my brother as we once again hit LA traffic. It was a real pain in the ass, even in the cool air-conditioned Lexus I was traveling in.

“But how could the clans impress upon you how worried they are about the Bratva if this was an e-mail?” My brother Valerio replied. He thought he was such a comedian.

“Not helpful.”

“Wait,” he said, glancing back at me from the driver’s seat, “what’s up with you? Something’s wrong.”

I turned away from him to stare out the window, hating how perceptive he always was. I tried shaking my head but he cut me off. “Bullshit. What’s bothering you? You need a clear head for this meeting so you might as well tell me now and get it over with.”

“It’s the weirdest thing,” I shook my head in wonder, “I met some girl at the bar, and she was the spitting image of Amy.”

Valerio remained silent for a handful of seconds while keeping his eyes on the road, clearly caught wrong footed. Whatever he’d expected me to say it wasn’t that. “What do you mean spitting image?”

“I mean copy and paste, dude. She was like a flirtier, sassier version of Amy.”

“You’re not saying you…?”

“No, fuck you. Of course I didn’t sleep with her. Since when have you known me to pick up chicks in bars?”

“Okay so… what did you do?”

“Nothing. She kind of seemed to want to hit on me, but then she tripped and fell and got embarrassed, so she left.”

“And you just let her go?”

“What else was I supposed to do? Tell her, ‘Oh hey you’re the doppelganger of my dead fiancé, crazy huh?’. Or what?” I gave him a look of disgust through the rearview mirror.

He stared back at me through the small mirror, something like pity in his eyes, long enough for it to get slightly uncomfortable. I opened my mouth to tell him to stop but he spoke before me.

“It was probably the light. Those hotel bars are so dark. All she would have needed was some brown hair and eyes, the right height, the right weight…”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I looked away not wanting to argue with him about what I saw. I knew he was just trying to comfort me but, it was coming off a bit like gaslighting.

***

Maybe the Cosa Nostra was no longer what it used to be, but it was still a force to be reckoned with. Nicolò De Luca sat at the head of the table, the head of the largest clan in LA. His specialty was girls and drugs – so there was plenty of business in Hollywood for him. To his right sat Mauro Leggieri, owner of the largest gambling ring in America. To his left, me. Our specialty was transportation – we did it all; guns, drugs, illicit goods, anything that needed transportation, we were your guys. The only thing we refused to transport were human beings.

We left that to the Russians.

Down the table were the smaller outfits, distributors mainly – essentially our main customers.

“Gentlemen welcome.” Nicolò said looking around the table. “I know you’re all busy men, so I appreciate you taking the time to come out to Malibu.”

There were various nods of acknowledgment up and down the table. I waited for him to continue, appreciating that he usually did not waste time before getting to the point.

“Today we are here to discuss the incursion of the Russians into our territories. They’re a little too entitled for our comfort.”

“Not to mention acting up and attracting too much attention.” I added.

Nicolò nodded in my direction. “Yes, thank you Marco. I know your business has been particularly affected by their activities on the docks.”

“Yeah, the authorities don’t look too kindly on human trafficking.”

“That’s why we’re all here today. To discuss solutions.”

I sighed inwardly. I was not a fan of the endless talking we’d been doing all these months while the Russians continued to disrespect us. If I couldn’t convince the other families to ride with me, my options would be very limited. I’d either have to go rogue, or else accept the inevitable.

Both those options sucked.

Chapter Three

Marco

Try as I might, I could not get that woman out of my head.

Even as Nicolò droned on about the importance of maintaining a low profile so as not to attract the wrong kind of attention, I was busy wondering who she was.

Note to self: find out if Amy had any long-lost relatives.

It somehow felt like I was being haunted. Just when I was gearing up for a meeting to discuss Aleksandr Yegorov, I was visited by the ghost of the woman I had loved and that he had killed. The Italians had strict rules about keeping family out of business matters, but the Russians had never gotten that memo. They came to my pre-wedding dinner and opened fire, killing my father and my fiancée.

All just to send a message about trade routes.

What did they think would happen? Did they think I’d just roll over and hand them those routes? It had been ten years, and we were still grappling, albeit surreptitiously. I knew Aleksandr would like to kill me just as much as I would give anything in the world to kill him. But the cowardly clans would not sanction it for fear of setting off a war. Instead, they held talks with the Russians, who conceded that we could keep the disputed trade routes.

Ironically, those routes were already ours, for fuck’s sake. They were the interlopers.

“Don Nicolò, I know we have to think strategically but we need an actual plan for dealing with the Russians once and for all.”

“All in good time, Cassio.” Nicolò said, much to my unending frustration.

The meeting ended without any real resolution, simply more platitudes and action plans I wasn’t sure would ever materialize.

I walked to the car, where Valerio was waiting. He opened the door for me, and I slid into the back, digging into my pocket to pull out my phone. I switched it on, bracing myself for whatever messages were waiting. The meeting had gone on for three hours, so I knew I’d have a bunch.

I wasn’t prepared for just how many though.

My accountant alone had sent thirty messages. I clicked on them with trepidation.

I don’t think selling Accords shares will go down well with the Lamberts. I would also have appreciated it if you had let me know of your intentions.

I frowned, wondering what he was on about. I was about to call him when I read the next message.

Colbert’s too? That deal was part of our overall agreement. Did something happen? I need instruction, Marco.

My heart sank. What the fuck was going on? I called Jade right away.

“Mr. Cassio, finally. What is happening?” she asked sounding frazzled.

“You tell me. I haven’t sold anything. I’ve been in a meeting for the last three hours.”

“What do you mean by that? All the correct authorizations were given for the transfer.”

“You didn’t think to call me first?”

“I’ve been trying to call you!” she screeched. I winced, moving the phone from my ear.

“Yeah okay, send me all the data you have on what’s been sold and when. We need to know who did it and why and we need that info fast. Before I talk to the Lamberts or Colbert, the Hellers or anyone else. Quick, Jade.”

“On it.” She said and hung up. I straightened up, my heart racing with anxiety. Of course, my first suspicions were the Russians, but I didn’t think they were bright enough to pull this off. I had to trust that Jade’s hacker would be able to find out who had done this so I could have the pleasure of killing them once I got all my money back.

And I would get it all back. There was no other option.

I was filled with simmering rage and was determined to find a target for it very soon. I got out of my vehicle and strode into the hotel, wanting to collect my belongings and get back to the office as quickly as possible. There wasn’t much in my hotel room, as it had just been a temporary base of operations in Santa Monica, and a much shorter drive to Malibu compared to my headquarters in Pasadena.

All I had there were some clothes, my iPad, a few burners, and some cash.

I should have just gone ahead to Pasadena and let Valerio collect all this shit.

Tapping my foot, I waited for the elevator, my brother a taller, calmer presence behind me. We walked in silence to my room, and then he held me back as he checked the door and the booby traps we usually left.

They were still intact, and I nodded as he stepped back and let me enter. He would stand outside and wait for me, probably very glad to be away from my simmering spirit for a few minutes, unless I called him in.

I was walking straight for my closet, one hand stretched out to open it when I realized the room wasn’t empty.

Giving a shout, I reached for my gun when the woman on the bed raised her hands. “Don’t shoot.”

She was lying on my clothes, my iPad next to her, cash spread all around her, wearing nothing but a black teddy and some red soled heels. It would have been comical any other time, but now it just played into my paranoia.

“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in here?” I growled even as the door flew open and Valerio came barging in. He saw the woman on the bed and dived, grabbing her hands, and detaining them in his. He looked up at me, “Should I kill her, boss?”

I smirked a bit, cocking an eyebrow at her, “Well?” I asked, “Should he kill you?”

She batted her lashes coyly at me, “Not if you want to know where your money went.”

Chapter Four

Audry

The strategy was risky, I’ll be the first to admit it – stealing from a trigger-happy gangster is one thing. Sticking around and confessing is truly unhinged behavior. Kylie told me so many times. However, I could see no other way to infiltrate his many layers other than to offer myself up to him.

He didn’t make it easy, but I’m not one to complain. His iPad had his passwords saved. His fingerprint, I simply lifted from his key card. Oh, and the booby traps on the door… amateur hour. Too easy to set up again for the eagle-eyed infiltrator; that is, me.

Months of study and research, including a very drunk and high night with his accountant’s assistant, had given me the correct authorizations. Transferring the money from one place to another was a matter of moments. I was really proud of myself for this one.

Brilliant work Audry.

If nobody else was going to pat me on the back, I sure was. But now this bodyguard was holding my hands way too tight, and it was a little painful I admit. Difficult to maintain a flirty mien when you’re in pain. But I did my best.

“It’s rude to keep a woman waiting. Where were you all this time?”

His eyes literally flashed at me. It was scary sexy. I might have been a little wet. “Who do you work for?” He asked me coldly.

“Hey, come on, if you’re going to interrogate me you should at least ask what my name is.” I changed to a preppy British accent, “We haven’t even been properly introduced. What would Emily Post say?”

His lips twitched the slightest bit, as if he was tempted to laugh.

Got him! I thought triumphantly.

Marco looked at his underboss. “Cover her up and bring her along. We don’t have time for this.”

He watched as his underboss manhandled me, taking off his coat and covering me with it, before gathering his belongings off the bed and stuffing them into a bag. He walked out of the room without another glance at me, the body guard following behind, his hand like a vice around my arm.

I went meekly, determined not to provoke anyone any further problems by making a fuss. Marco’s shoulders flexed, and I could feel his annoyance. He seemed to be quite volatile at the moment and I couldn’t really blame him. Still, had I made an effort to look attractive for him. The least he could do was notice.

They bundled me into a black Lexus with tinted windows and luxury leather seats. There was a drinks bar in front of us and the leg room was ridiculous. I’m tall, so I notice those little touches. Of course, Mr. Gangsta’s Paradise happened to be much taller than me, so I suppose the leg room was for his benefit, not mine. He sat across from me, glaring malevolently, his icy blue eyes boring into me like a piston.

“There’s no need for all that.” I said as softly and sultrily as I could, “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“Who are you?” he barked.

“I’m Audry.” I made to stick out my hand, “And you are…?”

He quirked an eyebrow. I have seen many people do that, but never so elegantly. “You hacked into my accounts, and you don’t know my name?”

“No of course I know it. I was just being polite.”

“Why?”

“Hmm?” I furrowed my brow in pretend puzzlement.

“Why did you rob me?” he snapped, grinding his jaw like he wanted to bite me.

I sighed dramatically, looking out of the window. “Why does anyone do anything? For the fun of it of course.”

He reached out and grabbed the lapel of the coat I was wearing. “Listen here bitch, if you don’t give me a straight answer, I’ll-”

“Okay! Okay.” I tried to placate him, “Listen, I want to answer you, I do. But I can’t.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

His mimicking of my accent was really quite good. I grinned at him. This was going to be fun.

Chapter Five

Marco

“So, you can’t tell me why you stole from me? What can you tell me?”

“I can tell you that I can get your money back.” She looked me in the eye as she said it, nothing flirtatious about her tone. Maybe she was even serious.

“I see. And why should I believe you?”

“Give me your computer and I’ll give you a demonstration.”

I threw back my head laughing cynically. This woman was really too much. “What kind of fool do you take me for?”

She looked at me batting her lashes like some Victorian lady. “I don’t think you are a fool at all Mr. Cassio. The problem is you think me a fool. However will we manage if we can’t take each other seriously?” She laid it on thick with the Victorian accent. I couldn’t help feeling it was all a game to her.

My eyes raked over her frame, “You wanted to be taken seriously in that Victoria’s Secret cosplay you got going on?”

“Ouch. And here I thought you might appreciate the eye candy.”

“Hoping to lead me around by my dick?”

She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to be so crude about it.”

I snorted bitterly, “Well sorry, you tried it with the wrong man.”

She leaned forward, eyes wide, eyebrows raised. “Why? Are you homosexual, monsieur?”

I had to laugh at that, shaking my head as I gave her a derisive look. “What hubris. To think every man who isn’t attracted to you is gay. You must be delusional.”

The irony was that, with her strong resemblance to Amy, I couldn’t help but look twice, thrice, my body reacting to the familiar even as my mind tried to tell it to stand down. Her resemblance to Amy was really messing me up and I couldn’t help thinking that someone was deliberately fucking with me.

Only one name came to mind.

Aleksandr Yegorov, my nemesis.

***

The compound in Pasadena looked like an ordinary estate on the outside. A standard split level estate style house set in three acres, surrounded by ten-foot-high concrete fences topped with electrified barbed wire. Underground though, there was an entire warren of rooms for storage, accommodation, training, and even dungeons. It was its own little city, and I was the mayor.

Valerio dragged Audry out of the car and marched her into the house with me following behind. She was remarkably cool and calm for someone who had essentially been kidnapped.

Unless this was part of her plan.

I couldn’t imagine why she would want to be kidnapped but then again, I couldn’t imagine why anyone would be insane enough to steal from me. I had her hung up by her wrists, toes just scraping the ground, in her sexy little teddy outfit, and turned the heat all the way down. I figured by the time I made some phone calls, and had a meal, she would be ready to talk and give me some real answers.

I was so heartily sick of her quips; and much as I hated to admit it, she was fucking me up. Hearing her words coming from Amy’s face was making me feel like I was going crazy.

Aleksandr Yegorov you will pay for this.

I called my accountant.

“Bad news Marco. My hacker said he traced the transaction to the source. And the source was you.”

This did not surprise me seeing as she probably used my iPad. I have to admit that was pretty clever of her. She could have gotten away with it completely, if she hadn’t waited for me on my bed in her underwear.

Taking a deep breath, I knew it was time to call my associates – the Lamberts, Colberts, and Hellers. They had to hear from me what was going on.

I explained as best as I could that an issue had arisen, but I was sorting it out. “I’ve already found the source of our problem. I’m getting them to fix it now. All I ask for is a little patience.”

Seeing as, in ten years of working with them, I hadn’t once let them down, it was the least they could do for me.

This business doesn’t exactly operate on trust, and I knew they would be fidgety until the money was back where it belonged. That meant I had to get Audry to tell me where my money was. Now that she had marinated enough to reflect on just how bad this could go for her, it was time for me to play good cop.

I went to my sister’s room, and collected a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, as well as some vans. “Here’s hoping you’re the same size as Amy.” I murmured to myself knowing that my late fiancée and my sister had worn the same size.

I stepped into the dungeon, to find her struggling. Her nipples were peaked, their shape apparent through the thin silk of her teddy. She was twisting from side to side, her face contorted with the effort, as her feet strained to touch the floor. I knew she had to be exhausted and cold.

I walked right up to her, looking into her liquid brown eyes. They were so like Amy’s, and yet not. Amy hadn’t been a shrinking violet, but she had been shy and retiring, her eyes demure, and soft. A shy smile always peeking out through them. It’s the thing I miss about her most – the fact that she smiled with her eyes.

Audry had the very same eyes, but they weren’t smiling. They were regarding me very cynically. Even in her pain her lips were twisted in a smirk. Her eyes dared me to do my worst. They told me that I could never touch her soul, whatever I did to her body. It was such a mind fuck.

I put my hands around her neck, eyes locked with hers and squeezed. I wanted to see the fear come into her eyes, the realization that she’d lost.

“Harder daddy.” She whispered, tilting her head to give me better access.

I snatched my hands away, eyes narrowed in annoyance that she’d got to me so easily.

“That all you got?” she whispered.

I blinked, reaching up to unlock her shackles. Maybe she had a fetish for pain. If that was so, she wouldn’t get any satisfaction from me.

She dropped to her feet with a sigh of relief, rubbing the feeling back into her wrists. I thrust the clothes at her. “Get dressed. Then we can talk.”

I moved towards the door turning my back on her. I figured she would try and attack me, and then try to escape, but even if she managed to knock me out – which, frankly, doubtful – there was no way she could negotiate the maze that was our underground layer, and escape, without being caught.

To my surprise, she didn’t try anything. I heard the rustling of fabric, and then a loud sigh. “I’m decent,” she said snarkily.

I turned around to face her, and smiled. The clothes fit her perfectly. “You did as you were told. That is an excellent start. Good girl.”

How likely are you to recommend this preview to a friend?

Not at all Likely Extremely Likely
0	1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10

Submit

Chapter One

Kate

6 months ago

I take just a moment longer to pull my hair from the bun that I’ve had it in all day. Billy likes my hair down. Long bright blonde ringlets fall past my shoulders in waves and curl prettily around my face as I fluff up my hair just a little. I re-button the top few buttons of my blouse that I had undone and adjust things to be a touch more modest. I reapply a thin coat of lip gloss on my full lips and rub some of the blush from my cheeks before grabbing the bag of takeout food that I’ve brought home. Billy will be happy that I came home early. I’ve been busting my ass to get this case closed early. The higher ups were so thrilled with my work that they are even giving me a bonus. Billy will be thrilled! I can just see the look on his face now when I tell him that we can expect a hefty sum to be deposited into our joint accounts in the next couple weeks. Maybe I can even convince him to spend a little bit to take Liz to the zoo this weekend. I could make a picnic and we could make a whole day out of it!

Now we can watch that streaming movie that everybody is talking about, have a family night and have a good dinner that I don’t have to cook. It’s shaping up to be a pretty damned good evening. We need a good evening. It’s been far too long since it’s just been… easy.

I balance everything carefully in my arms as I kick the car door shut with my foot and start to head inside of our ranch style three bedroom. There have been times where I felt that maybe our starter home was a touch too modest, but not today. I don’t think that there’s much that could dampen my spirits today.

At least, not until I hear the crying.

My heart drops into my ass instantly. My keys nearly fall out of my trembling hands as I hurry to open the door, already fearing the absolute worst. It’s a strange sort of adrenaline that nearly knocks me off my feet. I drop the take-out food to the ground and hear it squelch on the ground as it falls, but I can’t bring myself to care. I use my other hand to brace my trembling one. I’m only two seconds from kicking the damned door in when the lock opens and I shoulder my way inside.

“Liz?!” I scream instantly, but my voice cuts off mid-sound.

The source of the crying is abundantly obvious. For one second, just one sharp inhale of breath, I register just what it is that I’m seeing in front of me. Billy is standing up beside the dinner table. The warm yellow light of our outdated fixture creates a sort of circular spotlight on the perverse spectacle in front of me.

Billy’s hand – he always had such large hands, he played just about every sport under the sun in college – is on the back of our young daughter’s head. He’s bowed over close enough to snarl spit into her ear as he screams at her. The raspy voice of his that I had until this very moment always found so endearing is now a deadly venom that will haunt my dreams for the rest of my life.

“I don’t get what is so fucking difficult for your tiny little brain to fucking comprehend” Billy shouts as he shoves Elizabeth’s head toward the workbook. He shoves her forward and her forehead hits the workbook and table hard enough that it makes an audible thump. She’s going to have a bruise. He’s hurting her. My husband is hurting my daughter. She’s crying. My mind refuses to put those pieces of information together.

Elizabeth’s tiny hands are braced against the lip of the table so tightly that her skin is white from the pressure of forcing herself away from the table and the splayed open workbook in front of her. It looks like homework. She must have asked for help. She’s found most of her second-grade homework simple, so it must have been her math work. She’s bright, nearly two whole grade levels ahead. Yet, for some reason Billy is mad enough at her that her tears have formed a circle across the workbook that I can see all the way from across the room.

He hasn’t heard me.

He doesn’t know that I’m home yet.

“I’m sorry!” Liz yells through her tears. She doesn’t know why her Daddy is hurting her. She doesn’t understand why anybody would hurt her. I don’t understand why anybody would hurt her.

“I don’t want to hear your bullshit lies! I want you to fucking do better! Always whining! Always complaining! It’s not my fault that you’re stupid!” Billy seethes.

Something in his face chills me to my very marrow.

Something more than rage, more than anger or a fit of his alcoholic rage, there’s pleasure there. He’s enjoying scaring her.

I snap.

One breath, I’m frozen, the next I’m across the living room and tackling my husband. My six foot three, two hundred and something pound husband built like a damned linebacker while I’m only five foot three.

My body colliding into his doesn’t do much more than sway him. But at least it gets his hand off my daughter. “Go to your room!” I snarl at her. I will apologize later. Liz is up from the table a second later, and Billy reaches for her.

“Don’t you fucking leave this table, bitch!” Billy snarls at her as she dodges him and runs as far as she can, howling her whole way down the narrow hallway to her room. I hear the door slam shut and something in my chest loosens only a smidge. Billy rounds on me – something that I expected – those same large hands hitting me in the middle and knocking me back hard enough to lose my breath as I collide with the half wall separating the kitchen and the small dining room space. “Who do you think you are, interrupting me?!”

How many times did her head hit that table?

How long has he been screaming filth at her?

I start to stagger to my feet, and he hits me again – backhands me hard enough that I collapse. My whole body folds around my face as I cradle the injured skin with both hands. It feels like my eye is about to pop out of my skull. My teeth feel rattled.

“Those little shits these days, that’s the only teaching that they know! Their teachers are too soft on them, everybody is too soft on them! She needs to learn!” Billy snarls, spit falling from his mouth and landing in a glob on the carpet between us.

“She’s only six! Billy! Nothing can justify what you were just doing to her!”

“A smack is the only thing that teaches! A good dose of fear will have her acting right!” Billy reasons. I can see in his face that he believes his words. He truly doesn’t think that he’s done anything wrong.

“You want to keep talking back to me?” He sneers at me, and normally when this sort of thing happens, I know better than to get up off the ground. He will go back to his chair and calm down. I’ll bring him another beer and everything will be okay. Tomorrow he will be sober and apologize.

But tonight, instead of leaving me on the ground he starts down the hallway.

I only endure this for her. A girl needs her dad. I sure did growing up. But this? My dad would have never laid a hand on me. I never knew if that was because he wasn’t that sort of man, or if it was because my mother was in the same situation as me but just dealt with it better.

I can’t let him get to Liz.

I would rather die.

I lunge forward, my hands catching the pants leg of his jeans and holding on with everything that I have. He starts to drag me along with him, scraping my body against the carpet as the buttons on my blouse catch and rip open from the friction – I’m going to be covered in carpet burn in the worst of places, but I can’t let go. I can’t.

“Bitch!” Billy yells at me as the foot that I’m clinging to catches, and down he goes. He hits the ground so hard I swear that the whole house shakes. But now he’s mad enough at me that he’s going to forget about our girl, who is likely still crying in her room. That’s all that matters. He just needs to leave her alone.

He scrambles over the carpet to me and crawls on top of me. I slap, hit, and bite every inch of him that I can to at least try to be on the offensive. He grabs hold of my wrists so tightly I swear my bones bark in protest as he pins my arms down on the carpet. He bends forward and bites the first bit of exposed flesh that he can get his teeth on – the swell of my breast. Hard enough that I know he broke skin. I know it. Blinding pain sears through me as I buck and kick and scream and cry.

His fist finds my gut, then my ribs. Never the face, of course, not unless he’s really out of his mind. That’s only happened twice. The slap alone is going to be hard enough to cover up for work tomorrow.

All of my breath whooshes out of me in a wheezed rattle and the fight leaves me. How can it not? It’s not like I could actually win against him. He’s more than twice my size. Fighting for oxygen, Billy sits back, trapping me under his weight and making it just that much harder to breathe.

“You done now?” Billy smirks and grasps my jaw in his hand. There will be bruises from his fingertips. I can already feel them forming. “Sometimes I think you must like it when I get rough with you. You know how stupid it is to fight back, dirty bitch.”

I don’t talk back this time. I know it’s pointless now. Besides, Liz is safe in her room, he won’t touch her now.

“Much better. Now, be a good girl and go touch up your makeup. You look fucking revolting.” Billy smirks and lets go of me roughly. He pushes off me, rolling back through his heels until he’s standing over me.

I know better than to try to stand.

Crying silently, I roll through the pain onto my hands and knees, crawling slowly through the agony that’s building in my ribs. I hope he didn’t break anything. I don’t look back over my shoulder, but I can feel him following me.

“Leave the door open,” he commands as I finally reach the sink and to struggle to my feet. He’s right. I’m revolting. My face is swollen and my makeup is ruined. I grab my makeup wipes and clean my face as carefully as I can. Only then do I dare glance at the reflection of the man watching me so intently from the mirror.

How is this my life?

How did I let this happen? Why am I not strong enough to stop him? I can’t keep doing this.

Even as a fresh tear rolls down my face, I push it away with my hands as I start to apply more makeup to cover the damage he’s done.

“See? It’s much better when you know your place, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.” I answer meekly. The adrenaline has left me and all that I’m left with now is exhaustion.

“Hurry up now. I’m starving. What’s for dinner?”

***

Everything hurts.

More than hurts.

I don’t think I’ve ever had this many bruises before. I think I might need to actually go to a hospital this time. But I don’t have time. Who knows how long he’s going to be asleep. I have to do this now. I can’t let another day like this pass. I can’t. I can’t do it. I could endure it if it meant Liz would grow up with a loving dad, but he hit her too. I can’t let him hit her ever again.

I bite on my lip so hard that it bleeds as I slip from bed to keep from crying. Again, when I pull on the softest pair of sweatpants that I own. I leave my phone. I don’t want him finding me. I take my laptop and slide it into my bag. I pull a loose hoodie over my head and tie my hair up in a messy bun. Only the heirloom jewelry that I entered this marriage with and all the cash that I have saved up. I don’t want to risk trying to take another single fucking thing. It’s going to be hard enough to lift my daughter as it is, when I’m almost positive that he’s broken at least two of my ribs.

I can’t let that stop me now.

I can do this.

In an hour, I’m going to be far, far away from this house of horrors. I can do this. I’m going to be free. Liz won’t grow up thinking that this is okay. I will change that generational curse and I will do better. I swear that I will.

I slip into her room silently, grabbing her shoes and most beloved stuffed animals and shoving them into my purse. I take only a single change of clothes for her to wear tomorrow and stuff that into my purse too. The bag is getting heavy enough that it’s cutting into my shoulders. I bend and scoop her up, still sleeping, blankets and all into my arms. I sway and rock her the best that I can as I silently move through the living room toward the front door.

I jump at shadows and every single sound until I have Liz safely asleep in her car seat in the back of my modest car and slide into the driver’s seat. Moving hurts. I can do this. I can overcome this. I have to. I lock the doors and slowly slide out of the driveway and I don’t breathe again until I’m on the interstate.

I glance at the back seat at my daughter, my whole reason for living, for fighting.

I make a silent vow to her and to myself.

Never again.

Chapter Two

Kate

Present Day

Perhaps the very best thing about divorcing a psychopathic monster is that the experience makes you feel like you can survive absolutely anything.

At the beginning of my career, I used to be scared of coming to the high security prisons like this. I was worried that one of these criminals might find me, and ruin my life. I was constantly worried that somehow, one of them was going to hurt me. Now? I dare them to try. Touch me at your own peril. I know that some of them may see it as a challenge, but I no longer care.

I’m not the meek woman that I once was.

The meeting that I’m headed to today would have made me pause before. But in the last four months at my present firm, I’ve made a reputation for myself. They call me the barracuda. I’m frightening because I’m the very best at what I do. Which is why I’ve been hired to take on the case that absolutely nobody else would touch. Nikolai Volkovich – murderer, former Bratva leader, human trafficker and drug lord. Just to name a few of his former titles. But now? He’s a leashed little cat, harmless as a kitten. Just like all the rest of the poor bastards in this particular high security prison.

My heels click softly on the concrete as I head inside with my chin held high.

I feel the vibrating of my phone in my pocket. I truly do. I recite case details to myself in my head, I try to ignore the fact that my ex-husband has apparently found my new cell phone number and presumably my location. Billy may want me to go back to him badly but that doesn’t mean that I’m going to do it.

I know what the texts are bound to say anyway.

He wants me back. He can’t live without me. How dare I steal his daughter from him and break up our family. If he’s feeling particularly sad, he might be on a rant about how selfish I am. The messages can be anywhere from sweet and adoring to downright menacing. Very on brand for my ex-husband. Good to know that the six months that we have been apart have resulted in no personal growth for him.

It was the opposite for me.

I didn’t realize how desperately I needed freedom for Liz and myself until I had it.

I won’t let that go for anybody.

Never again.

“Ms. Thorne?” The guard beside the gate addresses me with a polite wave and a bow. I smile kindly at him, although I rarely manifest warmth these days. I think I left that behind in my marriage as well. Billy took all the parts of me that were good and light, and he beat them out of me. What’s left? A cruel, business-minded bitch unless I’m dealing with my daughter. I like it that way. I wear my reputation like armor.

I hold up my badge, identifying me and the firm that I work for instead of answering.

The guard’s smile falters and he ushers me inside of the gate quickly. He leads me through the prison slowly, stopping at various security checkpoints. I pointedly ignore all the cat calls and jeers from the inmates that we pass along the way, savoring the fact that they know I’m free and that they will rot behind these bars. Normally, once one enters this particular prison, there is no parole, there is no leaving.

If it weren’t for a very specific addendum in my own contract with Alek, I wouldn’t be here either.

But my new employer has offered me something that I covet, something that I cannot obtain on my own and I know for a fact that he can provide. In addition to generous financial compensation, he’s promised protection for me and Liz. Lifetime protection. Nobody will ever lay a finger on us again.

The guard stops in front of a small square room. No observation windows. Just a table that’s been welded to the floor and two chairs. One of which is also welded into place, for my protection of course. The prisoner inside will have their hands cuffed to the table and their feet chained to the floor. Their waist will be secured to the chair that they sit in. The man will not be able to so much as stand without permission, and he certainly will not be able to touch me. I don’t think that I would have taken this meeting in person otherwise.

“The room is equipped with no microphones, for client and attorney privilege, in accordance with all laws. But there is a live camera feed for your protection. That’s just protocol.” The guard explains. “You will have fifteen minutes with the prisoner, and after that time the light above the exit door will sound an alarm and blink red. Thirty seconds after that and I will enter the room and escort you back out again. Any questions?”

I don’t bother answering. I already knew all of that.

Besides, Alek assured me that the camera feeds would be turned off, thanks to one of his more technologically savvy men. Mr. Volkovich and I will have utter privacy for the next fifteen minutes.

Alek also warned me at great length of all the violent things that Mr. Volkovich is capable of. If it weren’t for that deal I made with Alek, the man who hired me, I would put Nikolai into the dirt myself for the things that he’s done. Heinous, despicable things. I understand better than almost anyone why a woman would need to get divorced from a monster like him at all costs. I know what I’m walking into. I’m prepared.

I certainly did not come unarmed.

The guards missed my ceramic pocketknife and taser – just like Alek promised they would – in case Nikolai pulls anything stupid. I had considered the pepper spray, but that might have caused more harm to him than I could explain away easily. I can’t afford to have any negative reports about this meeting. Not if I’m going to get what I want.

“Ready?” The guard asks.

I nod, holding my attaché case in front of my body as he opens the door and waves me inside. I keep my head held high as I saunter into the room, heels clicking. However, the man at the table isn’t at all what I had thought he was going to be.

The Nikolai Volkovich that had been described to me was supposed to be larger than life. He was supposed to be akin to the boogeyman who haunted children’s nightmares. The man in front of me might have been that once, but the life appears to have been sucked out of him.

I can tell from his frame that he’s in incredible shape. He hasn’t lost any muscle tone, but he’s certainly sicklier and paler than described. His hair isn’t as short as it was in the mug shot that I was given, and the stubble across his chiseled jaw doesn’t look natural on his face. He looks… haggard. A dangerous sort of devilishly handsome. Given the nature of this prison, I’m not wholly surprised. I’m sure that there’s a great deal of people in here that would love nothing more than to have his guts for garters. No wonder he’s been so willing to cooperate with everything that I’ve requested of him thus far. He must want out of here something fierce.

Even still, I don’t want to come within five feet of him.

But I don’t have a choice.

His soulless black eyes track my every movement as I cross the room and delicately slide into the metal chair provided for me. His posture is nearly relaxed. There are no lines of tension in his shoulders and his bound hands are uncurled. Like a lion in wait. He’s taking my measure, I’m certain of it. I cross my legs at the ankles, ignoring the way that I can feel his eyes raking over my body. I’m dressed fairly modestly today, despite the tailored cut of my outfit. Pencil skirt and blazer, emerald green silk blouse tucked into my skirt. Modest, natural makeup suits me best when I have to bother with it at all. I don’t like what a lot of makeup on my face tends to trigger within me, so If I can avoid it now, I do.

“Are you my birthday present?” Nikolai asks, his thick Russian accent curling around the words to make such a simple statement sound utterly filthy.

Chauvinistic pig.

“I am your attorney.” I answer flatly as I pull out a legal pad and a pen. I click it pointedly and train my hand in a writing position before I deign to grace him with a look. “I was under the impression that you were the one who requested this meeting.”

Nikolai’s tongue presses into the top of his mouth. I see the exact moment that his attention dips to my breasts. I am tempted to throw my pen at his damned head, but he would likely use it as a weapon somehow. A man like him? With his reputation? You never can be too careful.

He slowly eases back into his chair and shrugs a shoulder. “Can’t blame a man for hoping.”

I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed a man be quite so comfortable in his damned skin. Even now that he’s a shadow of his former glory, I can easily see why so many women fall for him. Visually, he’s damned attractive. He’s got every bad boy aesthetic in the world going for him. Tall, muscled, jawline that you want to ride, perfect hands and tattoos covering most of his exposed skin. I have absolutely no doubt that if I were to crawl over this table and straddle him, that he would give me the most mind-blowing orgasms that I’ve ever had. Sometimes you can just see it in a man.

But unfortunately for him, I’m not like the other women whose lives he’s ruined.

He’s not going to benefit from the fact that my own trauma has ensured that I need that sort of man to get off. I have plenty of other options for that.

“I assure you, Mr. Volkovich, that this will be an entirely professional exchange between us. I will not allow a conflict of interest to jeopardize my case, or my perfect track records.” I say plainly, but I can’t help but smirk at the end. “I’m sure it is surprising to you, that a woman could keep from dropping her panties at the mere sight of you, but I’m sure you will live.”

The corner of Nikolai’s lip quirks up. I can see the exact moment that he takes the challenge that I’ve presented for him.

Maybe I’m a bit of a sadist. Maybe I do like the violence his gaze promises.

Nikolai leans forward in his metal chair, the chains around his body clinking softly as he narrows his focus down on me. “I know the cameras are off, are you sure that that you don’t want to give me a little present?”

My nose wrinkles in distaste. The only thing that I’m likely to give him is a swift kick in the balls if he doesn’t stop coming on to me. I keep my face stern and disinterested despite the hungry look he’s giving me. I’ve handled myself against worse. “Mr. Volkovich, if you aren’t going to take my counsel seriously, then why am I even here?”

Nikolai grins and it transforms his whole expression into something that nearly takes my breath away. I have to cross and re-cross my legs under the table under the intensity of his expression. It’s not joy, not at all. It’s something sinister, but alluring. He was testing me. I can see it. He notices the moment that I catch on, too.

“Can’t be represented by somebody so easily swayed, now can I?” Nikolai shrugs.

“And if I had said yes?”

Nikolai shrugs a shoulder away and feigns an innocent expression. “Win win for me then.”

“How about we stick to business, Mr. Volkovich?” I pull the paperwork that I have come here to have him sign from my bag. I pointedly ignore the way my phone vibrates in my bag, the screen illuminating every few moments from the barrage of texts and calls that I’m getting. I don’t know how that bastard Billy keeps calling despite me blocking his number every time. I have changed my number three times already and he just keeps finding me. I take a calming breath and place the neatly organized paperwork on the table in front of Nikolai. “As I was saying–”

He cuts me off and looks at my bag. “Something the matter?”

“No, nothing. Thank you for asking.”

“That’s twice today that you’ve lied to me, and I’m supposed to trust you to represent me?”

He wants me to ask him what it is that I’ve lied about. I’m not going to play into his little games. “I don’t think you have much of a choice, do you? Seeing as I’m the only lawyer on this continent willing to represent you, let alone woman.”

The muscle in his sharp jawline ticks. He knows that I’m right.

Now it’s my turn to smirk.

I tilt my head to the side and bat my long lashes at him pointedly. “You do know that it’s greatly beneficial for a woman to have been assigned your case, don’t you? I would think that instead of sitting here testing me when I’ve more than earned my reputation, you should be attempting to convince me that you’re a man worth saving. I am the last thing between you and the death penalty. Your smart mouth won’t stop that poison from being injected into your veins. Will it, Mr. Volkovich?”

Sitting before me is a man that has been in control of every single aspect and person in his life for a very long time. Nothing happened in his Bratva without his permission. Nobody moved an inch without his say so. Being helpless here and at the mercy of a petite blonde woman? It’s got to be driving him absolutely mad.

I tuck my ankles under the chair and lean forward. I make sure that the angle of my arms pushes my cleavage up for his perusal and lean into the airheaded bimbo act that so many men like to think that I am. It couldn’t be further from the truth.

“You can sit there and think of all of the ways that you would handle a woman like me. You can imagine bending me over this table and hate-fucking me all you want. Whatever you need to do in order to sleep at night, Mr. Vokovich. But it will do nothing to change the facts here. I have you by the balls in all of the ways that you don’t want. If you don’t start doing exactly as I say, when I say it, then it’s not going to work very well for you. Understand, pumpkin?” I wink at him for good measure before sliding the papers toward him with the ballpoint pen. “Be a good boy and sign these papers for me so that I can do my job. Then, when you’re breathing free air again, we can see whose dick is really bigger. Mine or yours.”

I’ve got him. We both know it.

I ease back into my chair as he stews in his anger. He has to let me talk to him however I want. He’s helpless. I don’t think he’s ever had to sit with that particular emotion before in his life. I’m happy to be the one to cause the feeling. Nikolai takes the pen, clicking it angrily while he scowls. I won’t even try to deny the thrill of feeling powerful over a man like Nikolai as he signs page after marked page. When he’s finished, he flicks the papers toward me and I take them with a saccharine sweet smile. “Good boy.”

Nikolai’s grin widens into something bordering on feral. The lack of emotion shining back at me through those black eyes almost makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Somewhere deep in me awakens a very real and primal urge to run from him. Nobody with a soul can look like that.

Dammit if it isn’t fucking sexy though.

I stand on my side of the table, frozen, as his tongue wets his lips before he speaks.

“For the record, mine’s going to be bigger.”

I sure hope it is.

How likely are you to recommend this preview to a friend?

Not at all Likely Extremely Likely
0	1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10

Submit

Best selling books of {Faye Pierce}

★★★★★ 51 ratings

Read the book

★★★★★ 37 ratings

Read the book

★★★★★ 45 ratings

Read the book

Chapter 1

Fabio

“Are you drunk, Eva?”

“Would that make my request viable?”

I have had my few moments of idiocy here and there, but that particular one haunts me to this day. It inhabits my sleep and crawls under my skin when I am wide awake.

Like a fucking blood-hungry predator, its talons dig mindlessly, close to ripping away every shred of sanity I have left. It also doesn’t help that I have to see my tormentor every day, since, much like oxygen, she is unavoidable.

It hurts to be around her, yet there is no greater pain than not being around her.

“Eva, I am not kissing you.”

“But you want to. I know you do.”

Her words were the beginning of my downfall. Because I did fucking want to. But limiting myself to just wanting to would have been better.

Because then, I could have just lived with wanting to kiss a girl that I had watched grow into a woman. Not that this would have made me feel any less guilty. But wanting to kiss her would have been better than what I did next.

I kissed her.

She was eighteen. Yet, my desire for her was unbearable. Like a dog with a bone, I jumped at the slightest opportunity to taste her. One fucking kiss and here I am years later, unable to fill up the indentation of that moment.

I clear my throat as I glimpse her off in the distance, her camera around her neck and her thick glasses perched on the tip of her nose. Her pitch-black hair twisted to resemble a doughnut on her head, her baggy black cargo pants, and her strappy lemon-green crop top.

I occupy my mind with the task of adjusting my suit as each of her steps brings her closer to me. Perhaps I am nervous. An emotion that only Eva has been capable of evoking in me without even trying.

I struggle not to fidget and scowl while glancing at the vibrant yellow garden around her studio. It stands in stark contrast to the impending darkness I feel within. Just like she is a contrast to that part of me.

She is pure. Something about her always makes the world feel a lot better, the damn sun shine brighter, and even the fucking wind feel more soothing on the skin.

An angel. My angel… No, no, she is just an angel. Not mine. So innocent, but yet so devious. An innocent sinner. She reminds me of Eden, of Paradise, but I am afraid I am already a man doomed for hell.

This will be harder than I had envisioned. It’s meant to be a talk. A quick talk.

“You look like you will hate this session,” her voice is like a soothing balm, her smile like toppings on ice cream, “You didn’t have to agree to it,” she stops before me. So dainty and crushable that I want to wrap a fragile label all over her.

“Hmm,” is all I say, and the fact that I am known not to be much of a talker is good in this case since, around Eva, I am mostly fucking lost for words.

“Hmm?” She snorts dryly, “Want to get on with it then? I take it you have zero seconds to waste.” She is not far from the truth. The longer I stay around her, the hazier the lines begin to look.

The pattern of torture has always been the same. I want to be near her, but I need to fucking maintain some distance between us. I have so much I want to say, but I also have to keep quiet around her so I don’t utter things I can never be heard speaking. It’s amazing how my tongue feels numb when I see her—not out of cowardice, but because I am mesmerized.

“My studio is behind you,” she points with her chin and I slant, giving her access to the door, “For the record, I wanted my father,” she chews the inside of her mouth. “He, at least, never looks like I am holding a gun to his head when I ask him to be my model,” she takes a step towards the door, “And I didn’t even ask you,” she spins, the proximity too fucking close and I do us both a good.

I step back.

She didn’t ask and everyone was surprised I had, in fact, offered. Her father didn’t give much thought to it. But Vittoria, her stepmother, that conniving matchmaker… well, she seemed pleased by the idea. The truth is, I offered because I needed Eva’s attention for a quick while, and I wanted it to be just the both of us.

They might have misinterpreted it as me coming around to accepting what Emanuele has tagged as inevitable, which is me getting married to her in order to become part of the Teso clan. I wonder what he would think of me and my fucking honor that he keeps babbling about if he knew that I kissed her on her eighteenth birthday.

“After you,” I take another unnecessary step back.

“He can talk,” she laughs softly, but as she reaches to push the door open, I step forward and help her with that. Old habits die hard, “I can open my door, Fabio,” she professes, and I nod, not budging. I want to hold it for her and she is going to fucking let me.

She swings her head from side to side as if considering it, then walks in. That’s more like it.

It was difficult to get a moment alone with her. If I am not working around the clock to get things running, I am with her father or with all three of them: him, Vittoria, and Eva. I need time with her to do what I am about to do.

I step into the monochrome space. White walls, black furniture, black equipment, and emotion-strapping white and black pictures taken by her plastered on the walls. I would never understand her inspiration behind this choice of art. Not the photography but the implementation of the art itself. Considering her effervescent personality, I would think she would choose to capture bright colors and rainbows.

She drags a stool and slaps the top of it. “Sit,” she leaves to start assembling lights and other things she thinks she will be needing.

There is no fucking way I am sitting and playing model. I am here to talk and leave. As quickly as possible.

“Eva,” one hand goes into the pocket of my dress pants, but she seems to be ignoring me, dragging as many lights as she can with her. I step forward to help her but the spears from her eyes as she glares at me force my hands into my pockets.

“We are taking pictures, right?” She lets go, stands upright, and rests both hands on her waist.

“To talk,” I clear my throat.

“Now you want to talk?” She lifts both eyebrows, an expression that brings her father to mind in a whiplash.

“We have both been busy.” Or I have been avoiding her. Talking generally is stressful, talking with Eva is close to having a seizure.

“I don’t want to talk.” She skirts me and heads around to the corner, where her laptop, a desk, and a couch are set up. The pencils, stick notes, fountain pen, and a mint green pen holder on the desk are the only items of color in the room.

“But we have to,” I am inching towards her, and when I realize my mistake, I walk to the stool.

She sets her camera down on the desk and I relax a little. I never know what to expect when she is holding that weapon that brings all my insecurities to the surface.

“Humor me,” she turns to face me, arms folding across her chest. A miracle, to say the least, since it’s keeping that view concealed. My mind is fucking filth.

“Did you…” I pause, thinking of the best possible way to ask this question without ticking her, “Did you tell your father about it?” I gulp, waiting for her to understand, but when she squints her electrifying tidal blue eyes, I can tell she has no clue what I am insinuating.

“It being?” She lets out a breath that tells me she is tired of trying to be difficult. I was waiting for it. Her span of being difficult is short.

“The kiss,” I grind out.

“What kiss?” She contorts her face, then lets it fall, then her eyes shut for a quick bit, and then they open, “You are joking, right?”

“No.” I am not. I never look or sound like it because I possess not one jesting vein in me.

“That kiss?” She scoffs. I am relieved that she thinks of it as nothing now. I can imagine she has had more, perhaps better, experiences with boys her age, and that, although mine was her first, it has no place in the grand scheme of kisses.

However, I also want to shoot anybody who has ever come that close to her.

“That kiss,” I confirm.

“That was years ago, and you are asking now?”

“Did you tell him?”

“Why would I?” She lifts both shoulders. “Did it happen?” She stands, and I grit my teeth.

“Eva…”

“You act like it never happened,” she intersects, “I could have been tricked by your actions into believing I dreamed about it,” she stands and circles the desk to plop on the couch behind it. “We can keep it at that, can we not?” she takes off her glasses and drops them carefully on the desk.

I nod once. “That we can do.”

She gets up and moves a bit too hastily, almost tipping over the items on her desk. “That would be convenient for you, wouldn’t it?” she asks, stomping out from behind the desk and dashing toward me through the light stands and other props she brought out for the never-to-take photo session. “Acting like you never wanted to kiss me.”

I bite down my tongue because now it wants to speak. It wants to tell her how fucking much I had wanted that kiss and how it had felt like a defibrillator, waking me up from a life of gloom. But that she will not be hearing from me.

“I have always done my damn best to keep away from you and show restraint where you are concerned, Eva,” this truth she can hear me say. A glimpse of the truth. A snippet of my hell. The torture I have to go through every fucking day, perhaps for the rest of my life, depending on what her choice is.

“That makes the both of us,” she swallows, and I am not sure what to make of that.

“I will do you a favor,” I lock eyes with her so she knows that I mean what’s about to come out of my mouth, but I feel like the blood in my veins runs hot from her proximity, her eyes, her body. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I don’t have to do what?” She folds her hands across her chest again, lifts her chin, and glares at me through lengthy, encasing obsidian lashes.

“You don’t have to marry me,” I stand, a mistake that I can’t undo because of how clumsy it will make me appear and I value Eva’s judgment of my person a little too much than is considered healthy.

“It’s not up to me.”

“It is…”

“Did you not hear my father?” She throws her hands in my face. “Did he sound like he is going to ever change his mind?”

“I am telling you, you can choose differently,” I am fucked because I both want to be chosen and not be fucking chosen. I take a moment to breathe her in and say, “I won’t do anything to you.” She smells like life, fuck. “I will keep my distance until after the marriage, that might not even happen if you so much as say the words.”

She flutters her lashes, scoffs, and takes a step back, “What do you mean?”

I don’t have to close the distance, but I do. I do not have to touch her face to explain myself, but my hand goes up of its own accord. It’s like every part of me functions independently when she is concerned.

“Eva,” the pad of my fingers brushes her porcelain skin, a little stroke from her cheek to her cheekbone, and she shudders out a breath, “You can marry whomever you want,” and I am making it difficult for both her and me by not keeping my fucking hands to myself, “I will disappear and never show my face again if that is what you want. If that will make you happy. If it means you get to have the life of your dreams.”

I tilt my strokes to brush a wandering strand of her hair behind her ear, then brush the ear with my thumb and index finger, relishing her irregular breathing. It mirrors my heartbeat being this fucking close to her and touching her this way.

“I will go against your father’s desire, all you have to do is say the word, Eva,” I grit, wishing I could clip my tongue for that slip.

She steps forward, her body subtly plastered to mine and my body singing songs of arousal. She tilts her head, straining as she throws it back to hold my gaze.

“Go to hell,” she grips my hand and rips it off her face.

It is exactly the place she and her father will send me to when they find out about my secret, I think bitterly. She deserves better and better is nowhere near me.

I tip my head, understanding that I have been given a direct order.

Fair enough.

Chapter 2

Eva

Epic declaration of nothing.

He is telling me that he would vanish from the face of the earth, and I have no doubt that he could, but for what reason?

He would much rather disappear, acting as though he is letting me make the choice.

We are looking into each other’s eyes, and I’m waiting for the unlikely possibility that he may back away.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” I drop my hands on my waist.

My body, my heart, my mind, my everything spring alive at the scent of him. Being this close to each other is as exhausting as it is exhilarating.

“Whatever you wish to do with it,” he maintains his expression void, but it is not his face that is my tell-tale, it is his eyes. Those rich green orbs disclose all that he tries to repress. And right now, they are telling me he cares about something. I am not sure what, though.

“Being forced to marry me must be horrible for you, isn’t it?”

“Eva, I didn’t mean…”

“You had to say it this way so as not to hurt little Eva’s fragile heart,” I puff my words out, enunciating all the way as if it will balm the sore spot his rejection has punched in my heart, “But I have good news for you.”

More like lies. Anything to make me feel like I am not groveling at his feet, waiting to be chosen by him. I have never known Fabio to take a step back when he wants something. He always has a way of making things work. If he is indecisive about this, about me, about us, if there is an us, then it only means one thing.

He does not want any of it. He doesn’t want me.

“You have it all wrong,” he grits, his jawline turning razor-sharp. It surely doesn’t help that he is what dream men are made of. It doesn’t help that his beauty smites and keeps one smitten for life. From hair to dress shoes, “I am not…” I lift a finger and he nods, grinding his teeth.

“I don’t care for anything you have to say,” I shrug. I have had my fair share of rejection this morning and I will not stand here for more, “I don’t care about the marriage and now seems like the best time to let you know I have a boyfriend.”

Aha!

His eyes. My tell-tale. He doesn’t like this information. And I get what I needed from the way his eyes fold and open gently to hinder the slipping of emotions behind them.

“Hmm,” he scoffs. I was expecting that one. His go-to answer for all things Eva.

“Yes, hmm,” I step away so the truth behind my own eyes does not call my bluff. I don’t have a boyfriend. I have never even thought about having one.

I have felt… satisfied with my life. Like I had everything I needed. Everyone I needed. But now they are forcing my hand to lie. Lie and pretend to be the typical college girl who is somehow mixed up with some… God, I hate this.

I strut to my desk and tap on it, my other hand stuffed halfway into the back pocket of my pants.

“Who is he?” He gruffs.

“A human,” I shrug.

“Does he have a name?” He is moving, coming closer to me and my heart is spinning, making me dizzy.

“He does have a name,” I puff, keeping my tone light-hearted.

“What is his name?” I could have guessed his next question.

“It’s Nunya.”

“Nunya?”

“Nunyabusiness,” I drop my head to the side to smile at him as he stops behind me. If I can lean in, just a little, not so much, just… I take pull head back, pushing down the urge.

“What does he do? How did you meet him? Who’s his family? Do you have a picture of him?” He prances to one wall to stare at a picture of a model I had taken recently. He is shirtless, holding a surfboard and smiling at the camera like it’s a wave, “Is that him?” He flips to face me. Is that jealousy I hear, or is he just being the overprotective Fabio I have always known him to be? “Answer me, Eva,” he growls.

“Why should I?” I strut carelessly to the armchair behind my desk and throw myself on it.

“Because it is important that I know,” he grits back at me, placing both hands flat on my desk.

I sit upright, squaring him up, “Why?”

“I need to know if he is worthy of you.”

“Worthy of me?” If the air wasn’t charged with both fervor and annoyance, I would have laughed so hard.

“Is he?” He bites out.

“That is yet to be seen, and why should I worry about it whatsoever anyway?” I pick up my camera, “Love doesn’t need any of that. We are young and in love,” I take hold of my camera and begin to fidget by adjusting the lens back and forth.

“I will find him,” he stands straight and takes one step back, then another. He breaks off the stare as he gets to the door, spinning and plucking himself out of my studio.

Good luck with finding the mystery man.

It appears that we will both be searching for my boyfriend.

I puff, drop my camera gently on the desk, put my glasses back on, and sink into my seat.

When he agreed to be my model, I should have known it was a trick. Fabio would never let me take pictures of him. I was eager, I was a little over the moon but a part of me knew there was something else to it.

He couldn’t even pretend and let me get one shot before coming clean.

I hate it.

I sulk, wishing Vittoria was here. She always knows what to say…

“You can do better kiddo,” at the sound of Salvatore’s voice, my heart drops to my stomach. I am one thought away from bolting, but he lifts a pistol and swings it in the air recklessly. “Kill the thought,” he snaps, as if reading my mind, and then scowls at my studio. It is good to see his hatred for my art is ever-blazing.

“Salvatore?” It is him. I know this. It’s obvious. But I cannot stop myself from wondering how he is here, in the estate. I can see he came in through the window but how did he get past the security at the back and front gate?

“In the flesh,” he smirks, “You don’t look too happy to see me,” he strides to the stool I had kept for Fabio and sits on it, “That makes two of us,” he scratches his stubble.

There is something being evil does to someone. It’s like it comes with its own makeup to rebrand a person. His curls have lost their sheen. His eyes and cheeks are sunken. His cheekbones are more acute. His collarbone almost tearing out of his skin.

I have always known he had it in him to be ruthless but to betray his family and take sides with the same man who murdered his mother, fought his father tirelessly for years, and threatened his family? That is a different level of ruthlessness.

“What are you doing here?” My eyes drift from his face to the gun in one hand and an envelope in the other.

“We will get to that, but first,” he stands and goes to the door, “I have a question for you, kiddo,” he locks the door and walks back to sit on the stool. He has always been the one to not care about his appearance, but he seems to have made an effort today. By this, I mean his white T-shirt is white and his blue jeans look bright.

“Stop calling me that,” I clip, trying for bravery because it looks like he does not wish to use the gun if I don’t give him a reason to. But I won’t put anything past him. If he can try to kill his father, our father, I don’t see why killing me will be any problem for him.

“I am in the mood to be a good big brother, and to make sure you don’t make mistakes,” he rests one hand, the one holding the gun, on his lap, “Tell me, how is it that you like that guy?”

I am trying to understand what he is asking.

“Fabio,” he throws hastily, “How can you even like him?”

“What gave you that impression?”

“It’s all over you,” he swings the gun up and down at me, “You were sulking, and I could give you some tips but that would go against my own plans.”

“Thank you but I can only imagine the kind of advice you would give me,” I gulp.

“I know you might not agree with me, but I want what’s best for you,” he stands, “You are my little sister.”

“You could have fooled me,” I pick up my glasses and put them back on with trembling fingers. I have seen guns before, but I have never liked them—let alone one in Salvatore’s hand aimed directly at me.

“Eva,” he grits and stalks to stand in front of my desk, “Let me do the talking, we can fight when all of this is over.”

“Over to you then,” I try to look at the bright side, but I can’t see any in this situation.

He drops the envelope on the desk, dragging his free hand through his hair, down his face, and then lingers to scratch his stubble. He digs his hand into his back pocket, brings out a cellphone, and tosses it on my desk.

“You could have at least shaved,” I grumble.

“Shut up,” he bites out. He looks like a shadowed version of our father.

“Just saying,” I fold my arms across my chest to help apply pressure on my pouncing heart.

“I said shut up,” he barks and I clamp my lips in a whimper, “I did not come here to have you bug me,” he uses the tip of the gun to slide the envelope towards me, “I have good news,” he smiles but it doesn’t leave his lips. “I am now the new head of the Bratva,” he blows out air like he is living a dream come true.

“Do you even hear yourself?”

“Yes, and the last time I said something, it was that you should shut the fuck up,” he flicks the gun at the envelope, “Pick it up,” he nudges.

I reach for it hesitantly, unsure of what it might be. It can be a letter bomb. My hand halts, hovering above the envelope.

“Chill, Eva. It’s an invitation. I made sure Boris never made any attempt on you when he was alive and that should mean something,” he strides back to the stool and sits.

Boris, the man who waged war against my father and sent his daughter Nina to woo, with triumphant success, my brother into joining their side. All of which came to an end when Salvatore messed with Vittoria, his arranged fiancée. Now my father’s wife, our stepmom.

“Thank you,” I reach for the envelope. If it is thanks he needs, I will give them. Anything to make him deliver his message and leave.

“You are welcome. Now, open it.” I pick up the cream and brown envelope and open it, only stopping briefly to admire its maze-like design. “I don’t have all day,” he bites out his irritation and I hurry to pull out a card from inside it.

I adjust my glasses and read it.

He is getting married?

My head shoots up, and he gives a mocking bow, “You are invited,” he stands, “Now, I would love for you to be there without being forced. You know, show up happy and support your big brother as you should.”

If I am getting him correctly, I will be there either of my own or through coercion.

“I don’t…”

“You don’t have a choice, kiddo, in case what I said earlier wasn’t clear enough,” he strides to the window that he came in through. “It’s my wedding and you are the only family member I find less irritating and want to see there.”

“I see,” I whisper to myself.

“Until we meet again. You can reach me and Nina through that phone. It’s a burner and it has our numbers saved on it. I know you miss me, big brother to the rescue,” he has lost his mind. “And Eva, you are young and beautiful, for fuck’s sake, leave that old dude the hell alone, focus on…” he darts his dark eyes around my studio and then shakes his head, “Just focus on something,” he makes an expression of irritation. He climbs onto the window and I am not foolish enough to scream because I know he means business with that gun.

I watch him as he sits at the window, and a part of me wants to reach out to the brother I never really had. The brother I could have had. I cannot say when or how it went bad, but it did and it never got better again.

“I know you are itching to go tell Father, so,” he jumps to the other side and pokes his head, “go ahead then,” he flicks his gun at me and then disappears.

I don’t even let his exit cool off, I push off my seat and scurry with staggering heartbeats outside my studio, heading for papa’s office.

I walk to the main building, clutching the burner phone and invitation to my chest, my heartbeat ricocheting in my ears, my vision hazy from tears mounding because of the panic jamming in my stomach.

“Eva,” my father’s strong arm catches me by the waist and plasters my quivering body to his, his buff frame enclosing me, “Hey, love,” he clamps his arms around me, and the longer I inhale his familiar, comforting scent, and see his wave of gray hair and beard, the more my heartbeat slows down.

He and Fabio are standing a little distance from the main door, but I hadn’t noticed them.

“He came,” I gulp more air and untangle gently from his embrace, “Salvatore.” I stretch the burner phone and invitation to him. The sound of Salvatore’s name makes him slit his onyx eyes, a shadow of guilt and pain masking his expression like the dark button-up shirt and slacks he is wearing. He reads the invitation and puts the phone into his pocket.

“Where is he?” Fabio asks, his demeanor changing to menacing and his eyes darting like that of a predator.

“He left through the window of my studio,” I point at nothing over my shoulder. “He is getting…” I point at the invitation, but my father is already on it.

“It’s okay,” he grinds, hugging me. “I will take it from here. You are safe, love,” he says, giving me a reassuring peck in my hair. “Fabio will be your bodyguard until I put a stop to this.”

I want to protest that the last person I want following me around is Fabio, but I bite my tongue. While this will be hard on me, I can sense from the change of his energy after my father’s declaration that this will be much harder on him.

Good.

How likely are you to recommend this preview to a friend?

Not at all Likely Extremely Likely
0	1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10

Submit

Chapter 1

Romeo

The fire crackles, whispering its own secret language and producing smoke that wafts through the air. It creates a woodsy scent that tickles against my nostrils and leaves a dry taste on my tongue. Besides the fireplace stand two metal poles for the sole purpose of sifting the hot charcoal.

Not that I’ve actually used them myself…

Streaks of sunlight slice through the expansive windows and bounce off the gold lettering etched across the spine of leather-bound novels that line the shelves. The library is mainly for show, but every now and then, I choose one to read. A man should never be too busy to enjoy literature.

My fingers curl around the wooden horse in my hand when a knock sounds across the office. It’s a firm thud that travels through the oak door, whipping my attention.

I act cool and raise an eyebrow at Mario, sitting in front of me, and his dark eyes widen in surprise.

“I thought my schedule was clear today,” I say, and place the knight onto the chessboard.

It’s rare for me to get visitors, especially during the day.

After the chess session, I plan to take a much-needed visit to one of our nightclubs downtown to check our revenue from last month. Our sales have spiked for some reason, and while I’m pleased, I need to restructure for the longevity of the club.

Mario gulps.  “I’ll check who it is.”

I lean back into the high-back leather chair as he scuttles towards the door. His promptness and dedication is the main reason why he’s been my trusted right-hand man for the last decade.

I gaze at the chessboard made from glass. Mario is a dreadful chess player. If I calculate correctly, I’m already two moves away from checkmate, and he’s only moved one piece.

Mario’s hand grips tightly around the golden doorknob and pulls it open, allowing the door to swing open. One of the guards is standing behind the door with sweat dripping down his forehead.

Did he run upstairs? If so, why?

“Good morning, sir,” the guard bows.

His black uniform clings against his giant frame, the collar pressing against his broad shoulders.

“What is it?” I ask, ignoring the formalities.

“There’s a woman downstairs who wants to see you. She says she wants to discuss important business regarding her late husband, Darius Williams,” the guard says.

Darius Williams? He was one of the richest entrepreneurs in New York and the leading competitor of all the private clubs in Downtown Manhattan until he passed away last month. His wife publicly mourned his death. However, like me, most of my family, the Serano’s, strongly believe that his passing was no accident.

Mario turns towards me. “Should he send her away, or…?”

“No. Bring her up,” I say, and clasp my hands together, “I’m curious to hear what business she has to offer.”

The guard nods and heads down the hall. Mario shuts the door and returns to the table, his black loafers tapping against the wooden floor.

“Do you have unfinished business with Mr. Williams?” Mario asks.

He rearranges the chess pieces into their correct order and picks up the chessboard, placing it into the side drawer of my office table. Pulling out a tablecloth, he dusts off the table.

“None that I’m aware of,” I say, as Mario wipes the table clean, “I’ve only met him once, as far as I recall. He was too honorable for the business he was leading.”

Another knock sounds at the door.

“That must be her,” Mario says, and places the table cloth into the drawer.

He marches to the door and opens it. A middle-aged woman stands on the other side, staring straight at me. She’s short but exudes elegance from head to toe, owning the space without even stepping inside. The woman struts into the room with her black stilettos and a purple cashmere shawl draped over her black, knee-length dress.

“Well, hello,  Mr. Serano,” she says, with a coy smile.

Mrs. Williams clutches her oversized purse as she walks past the white sofa perching on the silk rug.

She looks good for her age – that I can admit. She hardly has any wrinkles, and obviously lives a life of luxury.

With a slim figure and glossy red hair, she’d still be able to attract a few men, especially now as a deceased billionaire’s wife. Unfortunately for her, she’s far from being close to my type.

“Hello, Mrs. Williams. How may I assist you?” I say rather formally, and clasp my hands in front of me.

“Oh, please, call me Barbara,” she says coyly, and sits on the stool in front of the office table, “I’m sure you’re surprised by my visit.”

“Extremely,” I say, and squint at her, “I’m assuming there’s something you want.”

“Well, first, I have to congratulate you on your recent induction as Head of the Serano family,” Barbara smiles, flashing a pristine set of whitened teeth, “You know, your father and Darius had a long history.”

“I’m well aware.” I clench my jaw. “Did you just come here to exchange pleasantries, or is there something I can help you with?”

“Cutting right to the chase… No,” Barbara says, and the smile falls from her face, “I’m here because I need your assistance in… taking someone out of this world… discreetly, of course. I hear you and your family are very skilled in that department.”

A dry chuckle escapes my lips. “Oh, is that so?”

“Well… You have quite a reputation. And not only for your handsome men and Italian charm. You’re a house with many talents, and I would like your… assistance.”

She bends forward and picks up her purse. Zipping it open, she whips out a brown folder and hands it to me. I quirk a brow in suspicion as I open the folder and slip out a photograph.

“Who is this?” I say, and peer at the picture.

It’s a full-length image of a young woman. She’s stunning – curves in all the right places and a sizeable bust. Her eyes seem to be looking straight into my tainted soul. Even in her faded blue jeans and casual grey top, she draws my attention. Her dirty blonde hair is tied in a high ponytail. I feel a stirring in my pants as I wonder how her hair would look loose behind her naked body with her back arching in the air.

Mmmm.

I cross my legs and shake my head. Now isn’t the time to get carried away. But I can’t stop my eyes from staring at her slim frame. Her tiny shoulders look easy to grip on to, and those wide hips would do wonders in my playroom. I can already envision her ocean blue eyes rolling to the back of her head as I thrust my cock into her.

Wow.

I can’t deny it.

She’s beautiful.

Not just the standard kind of beauty I fuck on the weekends or the escorts I hire during my late-night urges.

No.

She has an innocent, raw, and natural kind of beauty. She’s exactly my type, and I want her.

No. I need her.

“This is Darius’s so-called daughter,” Barbara scoffs, “He had her out of wedlock before we got married. Even though he’d never met her, he wanted her to carry on his legacy. Left his business to her in his will. Of course, I can’t allow that to happen. A stranger barging into our lives, into our world, bringing down everything my husband fought so hard to build.”

“So, you want me to kill her so that you can obtain her portion of the inheritance. But surely his dying wish was to leave her his business – hence the will?” I ask, and trail a finger around the corner of the photograph.

“Oh that,” she laughs, as though it’s a mere detail. “That was merely a weakness on his part. He was an ill man with a heavy conscience – he couldn’t have been thinking straight when he made the changes. I was by his side when he was building his empire. And I will not allow a one-night stand to take everything Darius and I made together. Of course,” Barbara says, leaning forward as she places one elegant hand above mine, “You will be highly rewarded.”

My eyes widen as Barbara nibbles her lip and stares at me.

Great, now she’s hitting on me.

She may be hot for her age, but Barbara is old enough to be my mother. Even if I was desperate and horny, I wouldn’t sleep with a woman like her. I know all about her kind. Money-grabbing, relentless, merciless. Maybe she reminds me of myself in some aspects. I always get what I want, no matter what the price.

I stifle a grin. “Unless you’re compensating me in the form of money, I’m going to have to decline.”

Barbara’s face falls. She snatches her hand away, and her cheeks flush as she clears her throat.

“Yes, of course,” she says, “In exchange for this favor, your men can work at Delirium downtown. They’ll be responsible for all the security. Who goes in, who goes out. Everything…”

“Delirium,” I say, and my eyes widen, “That’s one of Mr. William’s exclusive private clubs. I heard he made a million during opening week.”

Barbara grins. “Correct. I’m sure your guys will enjoy the extra bit of cash. All you have to do is make sure that by tomorrow night, this young lady is dead.”

I gaze at the picture again.

The delicate hands. The snow-white skin. The wide grin.

I glance down at her bust. It looks firm, even underneath the loose top that conceals it. I slide my tongue against my teeth and wonder how her nipples will taste if I slide my tongue over them.

Mmmm.

I squeeze my hand into a fist to stop my erection from growing harder. If a picture has this much effect on me, I wonder how I’ll control myself in front of the real deal.

I have to make her mine.

I glance up at Barbara. Her wish will be granted. In a way. “We have a deal. I’ll ask Mario to arrange the paperwork.”

* * *

Jennifer

Jazz music bounces off the high walls of the auction house.

Propping my elbows onto the table counter, I monitor the front door and try not to take a nap even though I’m beyond exhausted. Last night, a rat sprinted underneath my bed, and I spent the entire night trying to catch it. There’s nothing more annoying than tiny little creatures that can scuttle away at the speed of light. Pest control charges a fortune in this city, and I’m already wasting money on my minuscule New York apartment.

To be fair, it’s a lot better than living in Sweet Home, Alabama, but I love the affordability and serenity of the countryside. People are a lot more laid back and kinder in the South. There’s a sense of togetherness that bonds everyone. New York, on the other hand, is filled with people ready to kill you to get what they want. Literally, a guy almost pushed me in front of a car to steal my taxi the other day — crazy bastards.

My eyes are already heavy with sleep, and I can barely manage to blink them open. Shaking my head, I lean forward to grab my steaming hot cup of coffee. I can’t allow my boss to catch me sleeping. I’m already on thin ice after breaking an antique mirror from Egypt last week. It’s going to take me ages to pay it off with my current salary. That’s what happens when you’re a clumsy idiot.

I glance at my cellphone. It’s almost six o’clock.

Almost time to leave.

I stand up and begin packing my bag. If I leave now, I’ll be able to catch the six-fifteen train instead of sitting for an hour on the subway. That leaves more than enough time to grab some Ramen before I collapse into bed.

But before I can daydream about another lonely night, I hear a knock, and my door starts to open.

“Hello?” I try not to sigh as I plaster a tight smile across my face.

Seriously? Couldn’t they have popped in an hour ago, or even tomorrow?

Oxford black shoes tap into view, scraping against the linoleum marble tiles. The shoes are sleek and glisten under the bright fluorescent lights. My eyes trail up the grey slacks and land on a fitted white shirt pressed against the broad chest of a well-proportioned man.

Wow.

His arms bulge slightly, and I can see his biceps popping, even through his shirt.

“Hello.”

His deep voice beckons me. I gaze upwards and, oh God, I try not to swoon at his full, pink lips. They pull my attention, and thoughts of what they could do to my body flit across my mind. He has a razor-sharp jawline with stubble and deep dark eyes that match his dark hair. What is this Greek God doing in my office?

I clear my throat. “Hello, I’m sorry, was I expecting you for an appraisal? Are you interested in purchasing an antique?”

The man smirks and glances directly at my chest, which is slightly exposed in my low v-neck dress.

Okay, rude.

While he may be attractive, that isn’t enough for me to side pass on disrespectful behavior. I pick up my agenda and whip it under my chin, disrupting his line of vision.

He shakes his head and gazes back at my face.

“No, we didn’t have an appointment, miss. I’m… Let’s say, an impulsive buyer. I’m looking for this,” the man smiles, and pulls an iPhone out of his pocket.

He turns the screen towards me. An image of a golden necklace with an emerald scorpion stands in the center. It’s an eighteenth-century model and looks slightly familiar.

Hmmm. I’ve definitely seen this before.

I whip open the catalog and page towards the end.

“There it is,” I say, and point at an identical model of the image, “It’s in the back room. I can take you there if you’re interested in seeing it.”

I glance at the clock and see that it’s two minutes to six.

Please say no, please say no, please say-

“Yes. I’d like that,” the man replies with a curt nod.

My shoulders sink. I try to maintain my smile as I walk around my desk and lead him through the corridors of the auction house. We stroll past walls of ancient paintings, medieval artifacts, and several rare finds displayed across the room.

“My name is Jennifer, by the way. Jennifer Lace,” I say, and turn back to him, “And you are…?”

He quirks a brow as he glances down at me. I feel tiny in his presence – he must be at least six feet tall.

“Sir is fine,” he says, and avoids my gaze as he looks around the building.

“Okay…” Usually, rich clients are the weirdest kind, and this one, in particular, has the “rough-tough, I take everything I want” vibe. So there’s no point in arguing.

We stop at the back of the auction house, and I press the keypad to unlock the door. The room is dark and slightly dusty, and we usually house our oldest and most expensive items here. The man brushes his arm against mine as he stands beside me, and a wave of electricity sizzles through me.

Woah.

Goosebumps race up my arm, leaving a memory of his touch. We lock eyes for a moment, and I see a reflection of myself in his dark orbs. I look flushed, and my cheeks are rosy. Man, he might be extremely handsome, but it was just a small touch. Looks like I’ve been on my own for way too long…

I step to the side to allow him to pass. “You can go first… sir.”

The man smirks.

He shakes his head. “Ladies first.”

“Uh, okay,” I say, and continue forward.

I feel his eyes piercing my back as I walk beside a glass cabinet displaying a row of jewelry. I trail a finger above it as we saunter past, gazing at the vintage jewels inside. We halt at the end of the row, and there stands the magnificent necklace.

It’s even more stunning in reality, and the green center shines brightly.

“Here it is,” I say, and wave my hand toward it, “The eighteenth-century green scorpion.”

He leans down to take a look at it.

His dark eyes widen in surprise. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Yes, it’s definitely one of our best pieces,” I say, “It’s pure gold, and the emerald in the center is over 100 carats and is one of the largest set emeralds in the world. This necklace was crafted during the 16th century for an Indian princess from her suitor.  Unfortunately, he died before they could marry. She remained faithful to his memory and never married but wore the necklace every day until she died.  It’s a very valuable and highly sought after piece. We’ve had several inquiries already.”

“Wow, you really know a lot about this stuff,” he adds with a dry chuckle.

“I kind of have to,” I say, “It’s my job. But I’ve always loved historical items. I majored in History and found that when you match each item to a story, it comes alive. This just isn’t a valuable necklace – to me, it’s a symbol of eternal love,  a love that never dies – no matter what. And, that, to me, is beautiful.”

I stare at the necklace and rub my fingers across the glass. When I glance back up, I find him staring at me with a look of awe.

My cheeks heat up. “Sorry. I’m an antique geek…”

He smiles softly. “Don’t apologize. That was… impressive. A lot of people scorn history like it’s something dead and finished. That’s a sad story, though. Remaining faithful to one person through life and even after death – is that kind of love even possible?”

I blush again. “Maybe you’re right.”

His eyes trail to my lips and then down to my bust as he twists a ring around his thumb.

Seriously? Can’t he look at my face for at least more than five seconds?

He might be insanely attractive, but I don’t feel comfortable around him. I can sense he’s trouble, and I want nothing to do with that. What I want is my peace of mind – a simple life.

“Anyway,” I chirp in, in an attempt to grab his attention, “The piece costs ten million dollars. Would you like it securely shipped or hand-delivered?”

“Oh, no, I just wanted to inspect it up close. An acquaintance of mine asked me to check it out,” he says.

My mouth drops. “You were just checking it out?”

Did I miss my train for this? Unbelievable…

“Apologies if I wasted your time,” he says, but his eyes dance with laughter.

He definitely isn’t sorry. In fact, it seems as he’s enjoying my frustration.

I press my lips into a thin line. “Well, since you had a nice time, ‘checking it out,’ I think we should go back to the front desk. I need to close up.”

“Okay. I just have to do one more thing,” he adds.

His eyes darken as he grabs my waist and places his lips on mine.
 

“I think she’s ok,” I say, my voice tight. “I’m going to fucking kill them all.”

Your First Name: *

Your Email: *

Your email address, not a Kindle one.

I want to read MERCILESS ROMEO

Chapter 1

Sara

Martha and I walk out of the lecture hall together, merging into the river of students flooding the hallway. Our management theory class has just ended and it is finally the weekend.

“How does it feel to be back on campus?”

I roll my eyes dramatically. “I can’t say I missed the campus drama but after a whole month of engagement parties and pretending to be the happy fiancée, it’s better than being paraded around like a show pony.”

Martha laughs, her brown eyes twinkling with mirth. She’s the only one who understands my situation with Lorenzo. The arranged marriage I never asked for but can’t get out of.

I know my father- my family needs the alliance, but it doesn’t make me feel any less of an object to be married off like this. I shouldn’t care, but Lorenzo is not even remotely relevant in the Cosa Nostra. Just a disgustingly wealthy man with the self-destructive tendency to bite off way more than he can chew. He’s been my father’s associate for long enough to strike a deal with him, but I doubt he is truly aware of what he’s gotten himself into. And now, I’m stuck with him.

“Well, at least you’re back now,” she says. “Everyone thought you’d stay away until the wedding, but you even came back a week earlier than you had originally planned.”

“Not sure I could have handled another week of that,” I reply.

“Well, look at it on the bright side,” she says. “At least you got to enjoy the food. I heard the lobster bisque was to die for.”

“Not sure it’s worth having to wear pantyhose in the July heat,” I reply.

We head out the heavy double doors into the late afternoon sunlight. Students lounge on the grassy quad, soaking up the sunshine. Two guys toss a frisbee back and forth, their carefree laughter carrying on the breeze. I wish I could trade places with them.

Martha gives me a sympathetic smile. “Chin up, buttercup. It’s good to have you back, even under these circumstances.”

The thought of the wedding still makes my stomach twist into knots.

Just the mention of the wedding makes my stomach twist into knots. In three short months, I’m expected to walk down the aisle to marry Lorenzo, a man twice my age who gives me the creeps.

All because Daddy dearest decided it would be good for business to merge our families. My whole future signed away without so much as a “hey Sara, what do you think about this?” It’s infuriating.

“Have you tried talking to your mother again?” Martha asks gently as we walk across the quad.

I let out a harsh laugh. “Oh yeah, because that went so well the first ten thousand times. ‘This is for your own good, Sara. Lorenzo comes from a good family. You’re lucky to have landed such a successful husband.’ Ugh.”

I kick angrily at a pebble on the path, sending it skittering into the grass. “They don’t care what I want. In their minds, I’m just Daddy’s little bargaining chip.”

Martha links her arm through mine and gives it a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry, hon. You deserve so much better than this.”

I sigh, my frustration melting into resignation. “It’s fine.” I try to sound nonchalant, but my voice wavers a little. The truth is, I’m terrified about marrying Lorenzo, but I don’t have a choice.

We reach the edge of campus where Martha’s shiny blue Prius is parked at the curb. She pops the trunk and she loads her backpacks inside.

“Call me later if you need to talk,” she says. “I can come over and we can drown your sorrows in ice cream.”

“It’s a deal.” I manage a small smile. Martha always knows how to lift my spirits, even if just for a moment.

We hug goodbye and she climbs into her car. I wave as she pulls away from the curb, the late afternoon sun glinting off her windshield. Then I start the walking back to my dorm.

I think about my situation and a small, defiant voice in my head whispers, what if you didn’t have to go through with it? What if you could find a way out of this nightmare?

I quickly silence it. There’s no way out. I just have to accept my fate. Dad would never allow me to back out now.

I take the long way back to the students’ dormitory, deliberately avoiding the Phi Kappa Sigma fraternity house where Dimitri and his band of merry boys live. Since day one he has been overly interested in me, but I have avoided him as much as possible.

It’s been a month since I last walked these paths, a month spent in a whirlwind of parties and forced smiles. Now, as I return, I can’t help but feel a sense of unease even though I haven’t caught sight of Dimitri or his lackeys lurking around corners. They usually just hurl taunts and leers in my direction, while he watches me silently from afar.

For a moment, I wonder if they have turned their attention elsewhere during my absence. Maybe they found some other poor girl to harass. The thought brings both relief and worry. Relief that I might be free from their harassment but worry for whoever might be enduring it now.

Everyone on campus knows to steer clear of Dimitri and his band at the Phi Kappa Sigma house. He’s got the whole lot of them wrapped around his little finger. They follow him around like obedient dogs, eager to please their master. Even his cousin Ivan, who by all accounts seems like a decent guy when he’s not by Dimitri’s side.

Whenever Dimitri and his lackeys go out, trouble follows. Loud parties that last all night, drinks spilled, girls being harassed and grabbed against their will. The authorities turn a blind eye since Dimitri’s family pumps tons of money into the university. It’s like he’s untouchable.

My phone buzzes in my pocket as I stroll down a tree-lined path, dappled afternoon sunlight filtering through the leaves. I don’t even need to check the screen to know it’s Lorenzo. Again. That’s the tenth call I’ve ignored today. I’m sure he’s fuming that I won’t pick up. Tough luck. I’m not in the mood to hear him drone on about his golf game or stocks or whatever else rich old men talk about.

The phone finally goes silent. But a few seconds later, it starts buzzing with a barrage of texts. I don’t read them, but I’m sure they’re full of passive aggressive jabs about me being an ungrateful fiancée. Lorenzo hates when I don’t answer his calls and texts immediately. He sees it as a challenge to his authority over me.

My thumb hovers over the power button, tempted to just turn the stupid phone off. But I know he’ll only punish me worse later if I do. With a resigned sigh, I slide the phone back into my pocket, letting it buzz unanswered against my leg.

Only three more months until I’m shackled for life to that arrogant, patronizing tyrant. Dad couldn’t have picked a more odious man for me to marry if he had tried. I bet Lorenzo gets some sick satisfaction out of controlling me, being able to lord his money and power over his new child bride. Just thinking about it makes my skin crawl.

Sometimes I fantasize about making a break for it. Hopping on a bus bound for anywhere and leaving this mess behind. But my father would hunt me down in a heartbeat. His precious business merger with Lorenzo’s family depends on me going through with this sham of a marriage. And Dad always gets what he wants, no matter who has to suffer.

A wave of unease creeps up my spine as I turn the corner onto a quieter street. The buzz from my phone has died down, and the sudden silence feels heavy, suffocating. I pick up my pace and the click of my heels against the pavement echoes the fact that I’m alone.

I’m halfway down the block when an unmistakable sound of footsteps falls into sync with my own. My heart races; I tell myself it’s just another student heading home, but a chill tells me otherwise. Before I can glance over my shoulder, a rough hand clamps over my mouth, cutting off my startled cry.

Panic surges through me as I’m yanked backward into an alleyway. The smell of cigarettes and leather invades my senses. I thrash against the iron grip, but it’s futile. My muffled screams go unheard as more hands join the first, dragging me deeper into the shadows.

“Let me go!” I manage to shout once they release their hold on my mouth. My words echo off the brick walls, sounding small and helpless, even to my own ears.

Boris looms over me, his face an impassive mask. Lev’s cold grip tightens on my arm, his fingers digging in like steel bands. Andrei and Mikhail flank him, silent sentinels blocking any hope of escape.

“What do you want from me?” I demand, voice shaking despite my attempt at bravado.

Boris just smirks and shakes his head slowly. Lev’s response is a low chuckle that sets my nerves on edge.

“Keep quiet if you know what’s good for you,” Andrei says with a sneer. His threat sends shivers down my spine.

I kick out at Mikhail, hoping to break free, but he easily dodges and grabs both of my wrists in one of his massive hands.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” he growls.

“Where are you taking me?” I try to keep the fear out of my voice, but it quivers uncontrollably.

They don’t answer. Instead, they hustle me toward a black SUV parked at the mouth of the alley. Panic bubbles up inside me like boiling water about to overflow. This can’t be happening.

I open my mouth to scream again when Boris clamps his hand back over it. “Not a sound,” he hisses in my ear.

The threat in his voice is unmistakable; any further resistance will be met with violence.

My mind races with images of what Dimitri might do if I anger his men any further.

As we reach the SUV, they shove me inside and slam the door shut behind me. The vehicle peels away from the curb before I can even attempt to get my bearings.

They take everything from me—my phone, my purse.

When we finally stop, I recognize the Phi Kappa Sigma fraternity house looming before us like some twisted fortress. The place where Dimitri holds court with his loyal subjects—his enforcers who are now my captors.

They drag me from the car and up the steps to the front door. My heart is racing so fast it feels like it might burst through my chest. I scan the street for anyone who might help me but it is deserted—everyone else is likely to be enjoying their Friday evening oblivious to what’s happening here.

“Please,” I whisper as Boris tightens his hold on my hand “just tell me why.”

His only response is a grunt as he pushes me forward into Andrei’s waiting arms. Mikhail opens the door and they haul me inside.

The house is dimly lit and eerily silent—which is quite strange since it’s usually raucous during parties. They march me down a hallway lined with doors until we reach one at the far end.

As they open it and push me inside, every fiber of my being screams that this is wrong—that something terrible awaits me beyond that threshold.

“Please don’t do this,” I beg them one last time as they force me into the room and close the door behind them, leaving no doubt that escape isn’t an option.

Boris’s hands clamp down on my shoulders, pushing me into a chair with a force that leaves no room for resistance. The rope scrapes against my wrists, growing tighter with each pull from Andrei. He fastens a gag around my mouth, silencing my protests. I twist against the bindings, my muscles burning with the effort but it’s no use. The ropes are unyielding, biting into my skin.

Lev and Mikhail share a knowing look before they leave the room, their footsteps a fading echo on the cold, hard floor.

In a sudden surge of defiance, I jerk my head forward, connecting sharply with Boris’s jaw. A grunt escapes him, more from surprise than pain. He stumbles back, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. I brace myself for his retaliation.

“Ty smelaya,” he mutters under his breath. You’re brave. I understand a bit of Russian because my father forced me to learn it. He said it was important to understand our rivals’ language, for respect and caution. So, while I can’t speak it, I can grasp some of what Boris says.

Then, without warning, his hand strikes across my face. The slap stings, making my eyes tear, blurring my vision. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I hold his gaze, unflinching, even as my cheek throbs with pain.

That’s when Dimitri walks in. He’s with Ivan, his cousin and right-hand man.

He stands in the doorway, a dark silhouette against the dim light.

When he walks in, his presence fills the room, commanding and chilling. Dimitri, with his cold, calculating eyes and a demeanor that spells danger. Yet, there’s an undeniable charm about him, a magnetism that draws you in, despite your better judgment. If only he weren’t so ruthless, I find myself thinking. Under different circumstances, maybe…

But no, that’s not a road I can afford to go down. Not with everything at stake, not with my heart caged in fear and loathing. Dimitri’s gaze meets mine, and for a fleeting second, I see a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Then it’s gone, masked by the familiar icy indifference.

“What do we have here?” he says, his voice resounding with a smooth, dangerous lilt that sends a shiver down my spine. He steps closer, and I can’t help but notice the way his shirt clings to his lean, muscular frame.

I try to steady my breathing, to maintain some semblance of control in this helpless situation. Dimitri is the predator, and I the unwilling prey, caught in a game that I never wanted to play.

His eyes, dark and inscrutable, fix on mine, holding me captive in a way the ropes never could.

Then, without a word, he leans down and his lips meet mine. It’s a kiss that’s not a kiss, devoid of tenderness, a show of power, a claim. I’m frozen, shocked by the audacity, the brazen violation of my space. His lips are firm, unyielding, and I’m too stunned to respond. When he pulls back, it’s with the faintest smirk, as if he’s just won a round in a game only he’s playing.

Dimitri turns sharply to Boris, his features set in a hard line. They lock eyes, and Dimitri’s voice drops to a dangerous growl, the words coming fast and furious.

“Yesli ty yeshche raz udarish’ yeye, ya otorvu tebe golovu,” Dimitri hisses, the threat in his voice icy and lethal. If you hit her again, I’ll rip your head off. I catch the meaning of his words, just enough to grasp Dimitri’s deadly warning.

Boris recoils slightly, the fear in his eyes betraying his usually stoic facade. He nods quickly.

Just then, my phone starts ringing. Dimitri’s eyes flicker to me, a mischievous glint appearing in them. He reaches over and snatches my phone from the table. “Looks like Lorenzo’s calling,” he says with a teasing tone. He holds the phone out, looking at me with a challenging smirk. “Should I answer it? Let him hear all the terrible things I could do to you?”.

Another phone erupts into a shrill ring at that moment, slicing through the tense air. Ivan walks up to Dimitri and gives him the ringing phone.

“It’s your brother.”

Dimitri snatches it and his eyes narrow before he strides out. His scowl deepens with every step. Ivan walks out behind him. The door slams shut behind them.

Mikhail and Lev reenter the room, their eyes flicking over me with a mix of curiosity and malice. Boris, still nursing his jaw, sneers in my direction. “Dimitri’s got his claws out for this bitch,” he mutters, a venomous edge to his voice. “Thinks she’s something special.”

Mikhail smirks, a cruel glint in his eye. “Well Dimitri’s not here to play the hero now.” His words hang heavy, ripe with implication.

Andrei’s laugh, dark and wicked, sends a shiver down my spine. He moves towards me, and his rough hands shove the gag back into my mouth, stifling any protest. I try to scream, but it’s muffled, and it’s useless.

Then Boris’s hand connects with my face again, a sharp sting spreading across my cheek. My vision blurs, as tears well up. My shirt strains against the force, and one of my buttons pops loose.

Lev’s eyes light up with a predatory hunger. He reaches out, and his cold and unwelcome fingers touch my skin. “Soft,” he murmurs, almost to himself, before his hand traces my chest to my breast and he fondles me roughly. I twist away, repulsed, but the ropes hold me tight. God, please no, I scream in my head.

Boris grips my hair, yanking my head back with brute force. Lev and Andrei join in, touching me anywhere their hands can reach. I feel degraded and repulsed by every touch.

The room spins, I’ve never felt so much fear and desperation in my life. I can’t fight them off no matter how much I try. The realization sinks in like a stone in my stomach. This is happening, and I’m powerless to stop it.

Suddenly, the door swings open, and Dimitri strides back in. His eyes take in the scene, and a shiver slices down my spine at the cold fury building in his gaze.

“Chto, chert voz’mi, vy tut delayete?” he spits out. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Chapter 2

Dimitri

I storm into the dimly lit room, my eyes burning with a rage I haven’t felt in years. Watching them touch Sara makes all the warning signs blink red. No one is allowed to touch Sara. No one is allowed to fucking touch my woman. She’s mine, and no one else’s. The stench of fear and sweat hangs heavy in the air. Lev, Boris, Mikhail, and Andrei freeze, their smirks fading as they catch sight of me. I lock eyes with Boris. My fists clench. “I thought I warned you,” I say, my voice low, each word punctuated with a step forward.

Boris tries to speak, but I’m on him before he can form a word. My fist connects with his jaw, a sharp crack in the heavy air. “Not,” I say, hitting him again, “to touch,” another hit, “her.”

Blood bursts from his nose and streaks down his face. I don’t stop. My fist slams into his cheek, and there’s a sickening crunch. Blood now pours from a split lip, mingling with the red from his nose. His eyes are wild with pain and fear.

Boris stumbles back, trying to shield his face, but I’m relentless. Another blow sends his front teeth flying.

His knees buckle, and he falls, a heap on the ground. Blood pools around him, his breath ragged and wet. The others watch, horror-stricken, but none of them dare intervene.

Then I turn to them. “You think you’re safe?” I growl. I launch at Lev, my anger a physical force. I hit him square in the stomach, and he doubles over. Mikhail and Andrei try to step in, but they’re no match for my fury. I strike fast, hard. Mikhail goes down with a blow to the temple. Andrei gets a fist in the ribs. They’re all on the ground now, groaning, bleeding.

In this world, mercy is a luxury I can’t afford. Not when it comes to what’s mine.

“Get out,” I snarl. They scramble to their feet, dragging Boris with them, his limp body draped over their shoulders, and hurry out of the room. The door slams shut behind them, leaving me alone with Sara.

Her eyes are wide with terror, her lips parted in a silent scream. She dares not make a sound. I look at her, my heart pounding in my chest. I lost control, and I know I must regain it.

“Don’t move,” I order, my voice barely above a whisper. I see the fear in her eyes, but she doesn’t defy me. I approach her, my hands trembling slightly. I reach out and grip her chin, my fingers tightening as I force her to look at me.

“You’re mine, Sara,” I hiss. “Do you understand?”

She stares up at me, her eyes filled with hatred. “You have no right,” she spits, once I remove the gag her voice barely audible.

I feel a surge of anger at her defiance, but I force myself to remain calm. “You’re right,” I say, my voice low and dangerous. “I don’t have the right. But you’re still mine, and that’s all that matters.” My gaze drops to her hand, to the engagement ring and the sight of it ignites a deeper anger in me. Fuck! I have an overwhelming urge to yank it off her finger and throw it away, to erase any claim anyone else has on her. But I restrain myself.

I shrug off my leather jacket and drape it around her trembling form, shielding her from the cold night air. Then, I pick her up in my arms, cradling her close to my chest, inhaling her intoxicating scent. I can feel her heart beating against my chest, a fragile rhythm that echoes the chaos of my own.

As I carry her to my car, I feel the soft brush of her cheek against my neck, a contact that sends a wave of desire crashing through my body. I smile to myself, a cruel twist of my lips.

***

I grip the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles turning white, as I navigate the winding roads leading to Sara’s dorm. I glance at Sara beside me, her face is pale and drawn in the faint moonlight filtering through the car windows. She’s still trembling, even though her eyes are determined.

As I pull up in front of her dorm, the engine idles loudly in the quiet night for a few seconds before I step out and then open the door on Sara’s side. My heart is pounding as I move to help her.

“I can walk,” Sara protests trying to push herself up.

Ignoring her, I say firmly, “You’re not in any state to walk. I’m responsible for what happened back there. I’ll take care of you now, so don’t argue.”

With that, I lift her gently, despite her feeble attempts to resist. The night air is cool and crisp, but I’m sweating profusely. My muscles are aching from the exertion of the fight, and my head throbs from the adrenaline rush. But all I can focus on is the softness of her body in my arms.

I reach her room without encountering anyone on the way, and fumble with the doorknob. The door swings open, and I step inside, carrying Sara over the threshold. The room is dark and quiet, the only sound is Sara’s soft sobs. I kick the door shut behind me, the heavy thud echoing in the silence.

I try to drop her on the bed, but she clutches me tightly, her arms wrapping around my neck, her fingers digging into my shoulders. A whimper escapes her lips, soft and pleading, and it sets my blood on fire.

“Fuck” I curse under my breath, a low growl rumbling in my chest. She still has that effect on me, even now, when she’s terrified and vulnerable. I lay her down on the bed, her body still trembling, her eyes wide and fearful. “Don’t tempt me, printsessa.”

I pull the covers up over her, tucking her in gently, as if she were a fragile doll. I can’t help but notice how small she is, how delicate. Her curves are soft and inviting beneath the thin fabric of her dress, and I feel a surge of desire that I can barely control.

I step back, putting some distance between us, but I can’t take my eyes off her. Her chest rises and falls with each shallow breath, and her lips slightly parted.

I reach out and brush a strand of hair away from her face, my fingers lingering on her soft cheek. Her skin is cool and smooth beneath my touch, and I can’t resist the urge to lean in and kiss her.

Her lips are soft and I groan against her mouth as my tongue slips past her teeth to explore the sweet depths of her mouth. She tastes like innocence and fear, a heady combination that drives me wild.

As I deepen the kiss, I feel her body tense beneath me. For a moment, I think she might push me away, but instead, she surprises me by trying to bite my lower lip. I pull back slightly, a smirk playing on my lips as I look down at her. Her eyes are blazing with defiance, and I can’t help but be impressed by her fiery spirit.

“Feisty,” I murmur, pulling and sucking the broken skin into my mouth. Her blazing defiance only sets my body more on fire. I can’t believe I let myself lose control like that. I’m Dimitri Morozov, for fuck’s sake. I’m not some lovesick fool. I’m a man of power, a man of action. I don’t let my emotions get the better of me.

But Sara… she’s different. She’s gotten under my skin in a way no other woman has. I can’t deny the attraction I feel towards her, the way her scent intoxicates me, the way her body fits perfectly against mine. But I should not let her get to me. Her engagement to Lorenzo is a strategic move, a way to solidify the alliance between the two powerful mafia families. I know that if I give in to my desires, I could put everything at risk. I can’t let my feelings for her compromise my family’s position.

It’s not just her family that puts her off-limits. Mine is just as dangerous, just as ruthless. I know that if her family found out about an affair, they would see it as a betrayal. And the consequences would be dire, for both Sara and me.

I can’t help but feel a deep resentment towards her and her privileged upbringing. She’s a Mafia princess, raised in a world of luxury and power. I’ve spent my whole life fighting tooth and nail for everything I have, for my father to approve of me. I can’t help but see her as a symbol of everything I hate about this world.

“I should go,” I say, taking a step back. “I’ll see you in class.”

“Wait, Dimitri,” she says, her eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that’s hard to ignore. “I… I… thank you for rescuing me back there.”

Her words hang between us as I turn and walk out of her dorm room, slamming the door shut behind me. I take a deep breath of cool night air, trying to calm my racing heart.

I slide into the driver’s seat of my car, my body still tense with desire. I can’t get the image of Sara out of my head. The way she looked at me with those wide, fearful eyes. The way her body trembled in my arms. The way her lips felt against mine. I groan and lean back in my seat, my hand instinctively moving to my crotch. I’m still hard, my cock straining against the fabric of my pants. I can’t help myself. I unzip my pants and pull out my cock, my hand wrapping around it tightly. I close my eyes and imagine Sara’s lips wrapped around me, her tongue flicking against the sensitive head. I stroke myself slowly, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. I can feel the pressure building in my balls, the tension coiling in my lower back. I grip the steering wheel with my free hand, my knuckles turning white. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m Dimitri Morozov, for fuck’s sake. I don’t jerk off in my car like some horny teenager. But I can’t help it. Sara has an effect on me that no other woman has. I can’t get her out of my head. I stroke myself faster, my hand moving in a steady rhythm. I can feel myself getting closer, the pressure building to a fever pitch. I bite my lip to keep from moaning out loud.

My body tenses with anticipation. And then, with a final, desperate stroke, I come. My body shudders with the force of my orgasm, my cock pulsing in my hand. I lean back in my seat, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I quickly clean myself up with some wipes I keep in my glove compartment, then zip up my pants. I take a deep breath and start the car.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, jolting me out of my thoughts. I pull it out and see Ivan’s name flashing on the screen. I answer with a gruff “What?”

“Hey, cuz,” Ivan growls. “How’s Sara?”

“I think she’s ok,” I say, my voice tight. “I’m going to fucking kill them all.”

How likely are you to recommend this preview to a friend?

0	1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10

Submit

Best selling books of {Faye Pierce}

★★★★★ 51 ratings

Read the book

★★★★★ 37 ratings

Read the book

★★★★★ 45 ratings

Read the book

Chapter One

Alek

“Are you ready now?”

Of course not. The man standing in front of me knows that I will never surrender. I won’t break. No matter what he does to me. No matter how many days of torture he forces me to endure before my heart finally gives out and I die, I will not break.

I think that’s what Nikolai Volkovich gets off on the most.

Even though it’s a futile endeavor that he’s undertaking, the bastard has always been a sadist. He likes hurting people just to see them scream. Something about him craves blood. Whether he’s inflicting bruises on his opponents in the boxing ring or with full out torture, he loves it.

I swear the bastard is circling me with a predatory half chub in his black slacks.

Not that I can see much of a bulge there. Guess that he’s not packing much inside of his pants. It would make sense that all his bravado and violence are a result of needing to compensate for a shrimpy, small dick.

I smirk. I can’t help it.

The very action makes my eyes water with pain – the one that isn’t swollen shut anymore.

Nikolai stops his circling appraisal of the carnage that he’s inflicted on my suspended body. My hands chained up above my head have been numb for at least the last hour, maybe two. Every breath that I suck in feels like I’m inhaling shards of glass. But if thinking about the likelihood of him being lacking in the manhood department keeps me sane? Who cares?

“Something funny?” Nikolai asks as he grasps my chin in his beefy hand so hard I wince.

“No, of course not.” I wheeze.

Nikolai snarls and releases me with so much force that I spin in a half circle where I dangle.

He’s got to have at least seventy-five pounds of muscle on me and he’s a good three inches taller than my six foot one. I have always been fast on my feet, but he’s a brick shithouse. It really wouldn’t even be match a fair match between us if I wasn’t chained to the ceiling of his rank ass basement. Those stains on the floor? Not just my blood. It’s rude, really, to bring me of all people into a room that he’s already tortured somebody in before.

At least bleach the floors or something.

I, Alek Ivankov, deserve a little more flourish at the very least. A private torture room isn’t too much to ask for. It’s not like the rich bastard can’t afford one with all his blood money.

Now my mind’s eye switches to a delusional scenario where I’m being led down into Nikolai’s basement and being shown various torture rooms like they are the finest hotel suites for me to take my pick before being shoved into one.

That thought makes me laugh out loud. The action might cause my bruised ribs to puncture my lungs. Only one of which is working right anyway. It’s been what – two weeks that he’s had me down here? With the lack of natural light everything blends together.

Nikolai hates when I laugh at him.

Sometimes, I think that my own defiance of him is going to break him first. What’s that saying again? Topping from the bottom? Does that apply here? Torture from victim or something? It’s just so funny that I can’t seem to stop.

At least until Nikolai’s brick fist collides with my kidneys and my laughter shifts to a spurt of blood from my mouth. That’s not so funny anymore. I gasp and strain to breathe. My feet don’t reach the floor so the very tips of my toes try to steady myself just enough to lift up to relieve pressure on my lungs as I swing in place. It doesn’t help.

“Much better.” Nikolai gloats before the chain holding me up is suddenly dropped and I collapse into the puddle of my own sweat, blood and drool on the ground. The chain from my wrist shackles is instantly shifted to the thick iron band around my neck that makes it almost impossible to hold my head at a normal angle – and I’m chained to the wall all over again.

Everything hurts.

No, this is something more than hurt. This is something that doesn’t stop. There’s no abating it. Nothing I do seems to make it better. I want to say something snarky to piss him off again, but I’m seeing double as it is. Vision swimming, consciousness only hanging on by a thread here. It’s not looking great in my world.

“Have it your way.” Nikolai speaks in a voice like razors. He swaggers toward me, full of false bravado and overwhelming ego. He squats down to talk to me, to relish in his little victory with a wry smile on his annoyingly chiseled face. “Tomorrow, you will tell me where that bitch is, or I’m going to start taking limbs.”

I believe him.

It still won’t be enough to make me tell him what he wants to know. I would rather endure his torture than tell him where my sister Helena is. My loyalty runs deep. If this is the very last thing that I can do for her, I’m happy to pay whatever price is asked of me.

My only acknowledgement that I’ve even heard a word that he said is a deep groan of pain as I struggle to roll onto my side so as not to choke to death on my own blood.

The sheer force of blood rushing back to my abused wrists and hands is painful enough that I almost don’t register the kick in my ribs that Nikolai finishes today’s session off with before he spits at the ground by my face. I don’t even have the impulse to flinch before he turns his heels, muttering under his breath in heated Russian, and slams the door to my prison.

Leaving me in darkness once again.

I’m not delusional enough to think that I’m ever going to see sunlight again. I know that I’m going to die in here.

I think maybe it would have been a mercy for Daniel Colombo to have killed me. His visit last week was unexpected to say the least. Was it only a week ago? Perhaps it was longer. Time has been blurring together. Maybe this is all just a nightmare. Still, his mug was yet another face that I never thought that I would see again. He has more of a reason to want me dead than Nikolai does. After all, Daniel thinks that I killed his sister, Lilian. I forgot how much they look alike. Looked. Nikolai had offered me up to Daniel in exchange for making some sort of deal with him. I couldn’t hear the terms of whatever it was that Nikolai wanted from him. But I do know that Daniel refused him and went on his way without taking my life. Talk about character growth. The Daniel I knew before, he swore he would kill me with his bare hands the last time we spoke.

The image of Lilian’s face swims to the forefront of my mind’s eye. And, for a moment, all the pain in my body disappears. Her lovely visage floats there, her smiling, laughing at something dumb that I said. And then it shifts to the portrait of rage that she was wearing the last time I saw her and the pain returns fast.

I’m almost thankful when oblivion pulls me under.

The black inky unconscious nothingness might be kinder still than the thought that maybe… just maybe… I deserve everything that I’m getting.

Time loses meaning so quickly.

There’s no way to know how long I’m passed out for. Even with my eyes open it’s dark enough in this little room that it’s hard to tell where the floor meets the wall apart from when the occasional sliver of light appears under the door. It’s not constant. They don’t feed me on a schedule, so unless I want to start obsessively counting the seconds, I have to let the concept of time fade entirely.

It could be hours, or maybe it has been days before the door opens again.

At no point does my body stop hurting. The gnawing in my stomach is just as bad. Never mind the rest of the bodily functions that I’m pointedly ignoring.

I don’t expect Nikolai to come back too soon – but when the door opens again I am ready with a sarcastic quip that doesn’t leave my lips because the body standing in the doorway is far, far too small to be Nikolai.

Something dark and anxious flops in my stomach.

For all the death jokes that I’ve been making to myself during my lovely stay here, I certainly didn’t think that I was actually going to die.

The silhouette of a woman that can only be described as heavenly comes quickly into the room. The little sashay of her hips is all I can make out of her features until she comes closer to me – the light behind her is so brilliantly bright that I can hardly even look at her for more than a second before my eyes burn.

The woman stops in front of me, and I can make out stunning olive skin and exotic features with a metal box in her hands.

She speaks, but in my delirious state I can’t really understand what she’s saying.

What game is this? Some new fresh hell, or have I died and this is it. An angel has come to patch up all the hurt.

“Am I dead?” I don’t even really recognize my voice as I speak because it sounds so much rougher than I expected it to. “Finally kicked the bucket?”

The angel smiles. A light all of its own.

Water – cool and crisp runs over my lips and I flap my mouth like a fish on land trying to guzzle every bit of it down. Moments later her cool, soothing touch is on my forehead before she replaces it with a damp cloth as she fishes around in her metal box of healing for something to help patch me up. I try my best to remain still. I don’t want to scare her away. It doesn’t matter to me if she’s real or not – or if she’s only helping patch me up with the express intention of hurting me all over again. If this face is the last one that I ever get to see, it will have been worth it.

“Stay with me.” She says in a sweet voice as she blots up blood and gingerly dabs salve on my bruises. Normally I detest physical touch but I’m far too weak to do anything but appreciate the soothing contact as she tends to me.

The angel asks me to stay with her, and I want to. I want to do anything she says. And anything is better than the state that I’ve been in until now. Except eternal sleep, which would certainly be the easier. But there is still a lot of work left for me to do on this mortal coil.

“I’m sorry if this hurts…” She mutters in a voice full of compassion as she tries to dip that same ointment from her kit between the ruined skin of my wrists and the thick metal of my cuffs. I watch as she eyes the thick band around my neck with what I can only assume is pity. She lifts her hand to touch it, and I flinch away. “…I’m sorry.” she mutters again.

I catch her hand, something my body protests violently, but I am shocked by how real she feels. I stare at the place where I’m holding her wrist in disbelief. My thumb passes over the inside of her wrist, seeking her pulse because I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like. I need to know if she’s real or if she’s an angel to carry me into the afterlife. I don’t think I would fight her. It would be better passing than I could have imagined myself worthy of.

“You have to let me go if you want me to help you.” She teases with a hint of a smile on her voice.

My blue eyes finally lift to her and study the fine details of her lovely face. “Help me?” I ask in disbelief. “Angel, I’m beyond helping.”

Chapter Two

Anya

I’ve been hearing screams coming from the basement for weeks. Weeks of forcing myself to endure the fact that, despite this brand-new house in a brand-new state, Nikolai’s already put in a torture dungeon.

Not the sexy kind that was in our last place in Vegas either.

I don’t even know why I’m surprised.

Nikolai has always been the sort of man to get off on violence. He is the very best at what he does and most of the time he’s a scary bastard. But he’s my scary bastard. My protector.

But even still – there’s only so much that a girl can take.

I’m not the kind of person that can just sit around and allow somebody to hurt when I have the power to do something about it. I don’t have the stomach for it. Even if I had never taken the Hippocratic oath – I still couldn’t have done it. I’ve been helping his personal doctor since we arrived here in Houston. It’s not exactly going to get me my legal nurses’ license but at least it allows me to practice. All the work that we do is strictly off the books and primarily pertains to the men that Nikolai brings in from this war that he’s in with Daniel Colombo.

The same war that’s been keeping him out of the house for several hours of the day – every day.

Nikolai will be furious with me when he finds out that I’ve stolen his key. I hope that he won’t notice until I’ve had a chance to help as much as I can. He’s expressly forbidden me from coming down here. Says that it’s where he’s working. Since we’ve moved here to Houston, he’s made it expressly clear that I’m to be kept wholly separate from his work now.

More than just at arm’s length.

I don’t love that he’s been pushing me away. We haven’t been married for nearly long enough for him to use that as an excuse either. I tried asking Nikolai why he was keeping the man in the basement and he just said that he deserves it. I can’t imagine what this man might have done to deserve enough pain to fill my nightmares for weeks. I can’t sleep. More than that, I have to be able to live with myself.

I just have to hope that my meager training in first aid will be enough to help in some capacity. Even if I can’t do much to help, I have to try. If I can just give it my best shot and know the extent of his injuries, then maybe I can finally get some sort of sleep tonight.

At least that’s what I’m going to tell Nikolai if he happens to catch me.

The very walls of this giant house feel like they are conspiring against me as I sneak down the large winding halls and stairs. I still have a hard time coming to grips with the fact that this is something I have to do inside of my own home. But it doesn’t really feel like that these days, does it? Whatever magical thing that makes a house into a home? This one doesn’t have it.

I sneak down into the basement with the help of Nikolai’s key and instantly wish that I had grabbed a sweater or something to fight off the intense cold lurking in the concrete halls. I hug my metal first aid kit to my chest as I wrap my arms around my body and slink down the long, winding hall. There’s nothing and nobody down here. Which is for the best. I don’t want to run into one of Nikolai’s men when I’m already breaking so many rules.

Most of the doors are unlocked and slightly ajar. But there’s one that’s locked and so I unlock it and brace myself for what I’m going to see inside of it. It’s so dark that it takes a moment to spot the lump of a man in the back corner of the room. The smell coming from inside of the room isn’t something I want to put into words.

“I’m a professional.” I mutter to myself and summon what is left of my courage before heading inside. I’ve attended to gun shots and stab wounds aplenty in the clinic. Broken bones and contusions. I can do this. Nothing that I can see in here can look any worse than what I’ve seen at the clinic – and then I see him. It’s worse. It’s so much worse. I’ve seen Nikolai’s men in just about every state and all manner of injuries from the war that he’s in with the mafia – but this is something else.

For a moment I’m frozen in the doorway.

My husband did this. This brutality. My husband, my Nikolai, is the one that inflicted these wounds and put this body in this state. I know he’s capable of violence. Some of it I like even, but this is on a whole other level. This man looks like he has one foot in the grave. There’s a wheezing rattle coming from his chest each every time he inhales and exhales. I don’t even know where to start. This is way beyond what I know how to handle – but I have to try.

It takes everything I have to keep my hands from shaking as I go closer.

This man is a stranger. Clearly, he’s done something truly horrible to Nikolai for him to have done this. He’s far too injured right now to be of much danger to me though, so it’s a risk that I’m willing to take.

Only one of his eyes seems to be able to open and he looks up at me with a crystal-clear blue eye. Like ice in the dead of winter when the sunlight hits it just right. He doesn’t move or flinch from me as I start to blot at some of the worse wounds. Everything looks like it’s clotting at the very least. I offer him water – and that’s the first real response that I get from him. The bottle is gone in seconds. Who knows the last time that he was given anything. I don’t even know if they have been feeding him. Not much. That’s obvious. There are hints of the man that he once was when he looks up at me again. A little less crazed, a little less distant. I don’t even know if he’s capable of really seeing me or feeling what I’m doing for him but I hope it helps. Even if it’s just a little.

Then he speaks. A rumble of words from somewhere deep in his chest. His voice sounds like he’s close to death, knocking on the gates of hell. Maybe that’s why he keeps calling me angel.

When he grabs my wrist, his touch impossibly soft and cold. He keeps a cage of fingers around my wrist without actually holding too tight, like somehow I’m the fragile one, while he claims that there’s no saving him.

“That’s impossible.” I force a tight-lipped smile. “There’s no such thing as being beyond helping.”

“Why else would an angel be here to take me to the afterlife?” He asks. I can tell that he means it. I wipe a bit more of the grime off him and try again. I can’t imagine the sort of pain he’s suffering this very second if he’s asking me questions like this. My stomach ties into knots and I bite back tears. No point in crying, I have to help him.

“I promise you I’m no angel.” I force another smile. Maybe if we both relax a little, it won’t feel so hard.

“Look like one.” he grouses and slips back down to where he’s lying on his side. The purple bruising on his torso bothers me the most. The pants that he has slung low on his hips are filthy. It can’t be helping. He’s seconds away from raging infections if he doesn’t have any already.

“How can you tell? Having only one working eye and all.” I tease, hoping to bring some levity to the situation.

The corner of his lip quirks upward and it transforms his whole face. Even as battered and swollen as it is, I can see more of the man underneath it all. I can’t imagine how strong he must be to not have broken.

“Careful, he doesn’t like it when I laugh. Walls probably have eyes.”

A single fingers of his moves, attempting to gesture to the walls around us. His brow knits and he stares at his hand for a moment like he doesn’t understand why only one finger moved when he meant to move the whole limb.

I don’t want to think about what that might imply.

“Do you have a name to go with your sense of humor?” I ask, hoping to bring him back into himself.

“Maybe.”

“Very unique name. I’m sure you got a lot of crap for it in school, didn’t you? Teacher calls attendance and you’re just like, maybe.” I laugh at my own lame joke. More of a nervous gust of air than anything else.

“Stop, smiling hurts.” He wheezes and lets his good eye close. “It’s Alek.”

“Got a last name?”

“Ivankov.” he runs his tongue over dry lips. I move for the water bottle as the weight of his surname crashes around me. One that’s not uncommon but only one person with that name would have meant anything to Nikolai. The woman that he almost married. The one who caused enough damage that I had to repair him.

“Helena’s brother?!” I blurt with more affliction than I mean.

He rolls his good eye toward me. “Maybe.”

He is probably wary of me now, but I can’t stop. I can’t help myself. “I’m sorry…”

He doesn’t answer me at first.

“For your loss… I mean…” I mumble pathetically. How can I feel guilty or jealous over a deceased woman? What does that say about me?

“She’s not dead,” is his only answer.

My eyes widen in shock. Of course she’s dead. Nikolai told me how he did it. He told me what happened that night. There’s no way that somebody could survive a fall like that. I never thought to ask what he had done with the body, if anything at all.

“Don’t put that on me, either. My sister is very much alive. And Nikolai is keeping me here until I tell him everything about her, but I won’t. I have ruined a woman’s life, that’s true, but I will not ruin hers. I’m guilty enough without adding more to it.”

“What are you talking about? Whose life did you–”

Whatever else I might learn from the conversation with this man is cut short by the door banging open wider behind us. Nikolai’s hulking frame fills most of the open space and the rectangle of light that I was sitting in just moments ago is now in the shape of his large body.

I whip around to look my husband in the eye. I know he’s going to be mad at me for doing this. I know that I’m going against his orders but until this very second the only punishment that I thought that I was going to get from it was a sound spanking. Which, I’ve never minded from him before. But the look on his face is something that I’ve never seen before.

Nikolai and I have been through a lot. He’s done some not awesome things to me before the nature of our relationship changed. He wasn’t always the man that I love – but I’ve never been afraid of him before right this very second.

“What the fuck do you think that you’re doing?!” Nikolai snarls.

I scramble to close my first aid kit, but my hands are shaking. Why? I try to stuff everything back into the compartments as sloppily as I can, but it doesn’t help – Nikolai closes the distance between us in the span of a heartbeat and then his hand is a vice grip around my bicep. He yanks me off the floor and drags me toward the door so fast that I can’t get my feet up under me.

My hand goes to where he’s holding me, attempting to pry his grip loose on instinct alone. “Stop! Nikolai, stop, you’re hurting me!”

“Let her go!”

There’s a clanging of chains and a rustle of metal against the concrete before the resounding clang of the man that I had just been helping clearly reached the end of his allowance. He must have hit that chain hard to make it make that sort of noise. I claw desperately at Nikolai’s grip but chance a glance back at the man holding the chain attached to his collar in both hands – his swollen, battered face a mask of pure rage that twists something primal low in my belly.

“Got something to say, finally?” Nikolai snarls at the man.

“Let her go! It’s me you have an issue with!” The man yells at Nikolai. There’s such authority in his tone that I can feel it.

Nikolai drops me. Hard.

I fall to the ground, my first aid kit wholly forgotten.

Nikolai punches the man so hard in the stomach to shut him up that I recoil from the force of it. The man spits blood straight onto the concrete floor and Nikolai scoops me up before I can fully process what’s even happening. He throws me over his shoulder and the last thing that I see before Nikolai slams the door to the man’s cell shut is that striking blue eye trained directly on me. His mouth moves – and I focus on his lips to make sure I hear whatever is so important for him to say even if Nikolai has my blood ringing in my ears. There’s a wild sort of desperation in his eyes. “Ask him… about… Lilian…”

The door slams shut and the lock automatically clicks into place.

“Put me down!” I demand.

Nikolai ignores me until we’re upstairs. He deposits me heavily on one of our plush couches and holds his hand out expectantly. “Key.”

I don’t care for his tone.

I scowl at him and fish the key out of my bra where I had hidden it and slap it into his hand with as much indignation as I can muster. I refuse to cower. I don’t break eye contact as he glares at me.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” He demands as he shoves the key back into his pocket. “I told you not to go down there. I forbade you from going down there!”

I sit up on the couch – but he’s clearly not done yelling at me. “And that gives you an excuse to manhandle me like that?!” I scream right back.

“Do you have any idea what could have happened?! Do you have any idea what he could have done to you?! You were right up next to that bastard, Anya! He could have hurt you. For fuck’s sake he could have killed you with his bare hands, Anya!”

I start to reply. I start to get indignant, but then I see the look on his face. The worry that knits his brow. The actual fear that something could have happened to me. Whatever I was going to say dies on my tongue as he sinks down onto his knees in front of me so that we’re eye to eye.

“Whatever he said to you Anya, that man is one of the most ruthless, merciless, blood thirsty criminals that I have ever encountered in my life,” Nikolai says as he cups my face in his hands. His thumbs sweep out over my cheeks as he tilts me face up to his. Softly, I place my hands over the top of his.

“I’m all right. Nikolai, I can handle myself. He was chained to the wall. He couldn’t–”

“He could. He would have. I promise you, he was just biding his time with you before acting. He doesn’t deserve your pity or kindness and he sure as fuck doesn’t deserve your cures.” Nikolai insists.

“I didn’t mean to make you worry… I’m sorry…” I answer automatically.

“He didn’t touch you?!” Nikolai asks with a far softer tone to his voice. “Are you sure that you are unharmed?”

I nod and smile softly. He loves me so much. “I promise. Nikolai, I’m fine.”

Nikolai kisses my forehead sweetly, his lips lingering for a long moment before he pulls me into his arms tightly in an embrace. “I’m sorry for reacting that way… I just… seeing you near him… I couldn’t…”

I wrap my arms tightly around him, holding him so that he knows I’m here. I’m solid. I’m okay.

“I’ll make it up to you. Dinner. Wherever you like. Anywhere at all – dress up nice and make a whole spectacle of it.” Nikolai offers as I pull back from him.

My heart soars. It’s been so long since we’ve been able to be alone with each other. It’s been even longer since we’ve been able to go out in public. My eyes lift to him, hope fluttering in my chest.

“As soon as this war is over, we will go out.” Nikolai continues.

That hope plummets like a rock in a lake. Of course he doesn’t want to go until business is over. Now that I know Helena is alive… that’s got to be why he uprooted everything. He was only moving on because he was coming to grips with killing the woman he loved… who betrayed him. He had moved on. To me.

At least I thought that he had.

How long has Nikolai known that Helena is alive? Is that why he moved us here? How do Daniel and his father’s mafia fit into all of this? There has to be more to this story. I’m supposed to be his person, the one he tells everything to and I have clearly been excluded from a lot more than he’s let on.

Is Nikolai lying to me?

I look up at him and his dangerously, painfully handsome face. The same eyes that I fell in love with. The man who I took vows for and tied my life to. I never had any reason to doubt him before right now, but the man in the basement had no reason to lie to me. I can’t help him, I can’t set him free. There’s nothing to gain from being anything other than honest. If Helena is his sister… there’s just too much that I don’t know.

But more importantly… who the hell is Lilian?

How likely are you to recommend this preview to a friend?

0	1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10

Submit

Best selling books of {Faye Pierce}

★★★★★ 51 ratings

Read the book

★★★★★ 37 ratings

Read the book

★★★★★ 45 ratings

Read the book

Chapter 1 

Emanuele 

“Eva, take those things out of my study,” my gaze shifts to the sea-blue eyes and the tresses of coal black. That used to be the color of my hair before the gray showed through, now even more visible under the ring lights and reflector she has arranged in front of my desk. 

Thanks to her, I know the names of this equipment, and while that might score me a best dad of the year title by actively participating in his daughter’s career, I would like to draw a line at how much harassment I can take. I’m having a cup of coffee, she is taking shots. I’m trying to read through the newspaper, she is taking shots. I am trying to bloody work right now, and she invading my space with equipment to take shots. 

“Dad, just this time,” she drops her camera on the desk and hurries to connect the extension to a socket, “It will be quick and painless.” 

“Eva, I’m not in the mood to have my pictures taken,” I look at the antique clock on the desk and see I might still have some time before Vittoria and her father arrive. “Go take a picture of nature or something else,” I pick up my cigar from the ashtray and puff, then tap the butt to let the ash fall. 

“Dad, they love you,” she flips the switch, “my page does not have the same buzz as when I post your pictures,” she takes hoppy steps to me and hugs me from behind, then plants a kiss on my cheek, “It turns out they love you more than they love nature.” 

“Who is they?” I know who. She fills me in on everything, whether I care or not. And I care. 

“My fans, who are sort of like your fans now because they are pining for more pictures of my hot dad,” she smiles sheepishly, saying the hot dad part through joined teeth. 

“Are these the kind of people you surround yourself with?” 

I know it’s not the point, and I’m not a saint myself, but I don’t joke with her. She is still my little Princess, no matter how grown she is. It will always be my duty to watch and protect her. 

“Dad, they are online, so it’s not a physical thing,” she says, dragging her oversized denim pants up to her stomach, then hopping back to the ring lights to set them. 

“But they’re in your circle, aren’t they?” 

“Let’s look at the good side here,” she ties her oversized neon t-shirt into a knot around her waist. I’m a fan of her style. She dresses in oversized denim pants and t-shirts, and she sometimes wears glasses. When she isn’t being a prickly daughter, she spends most of her time editing on her laptop or taking pictures. 

“What’s the good side?” I fold my hands across each other and rest them on the desk, making sure the cigar is visible between my fingers as I pose. 

She knows how to get me. My little bubbly offspring of trouble. I always knew she would be this way, from the night I held her in the hospital room when she was born. With those eyes like her mother’s, there’s not much I can refuse her. There’s not much I have denied her. And Eva has never asked for anything I couldn’t do. I built a bubble around her, and I love how she has stayed in it, never wanting anything more. 

“Be quick,” I snap my fingers at her, and she blows me a kiss. 

“You are the best, Dad,” she flips the first ring light on and then hops over to turn the second one on. She picks up her camera. 

“I like how you’re sitting, now look at the camera, please,” she angles the camera to snap. 

I do as the professional has asked. She is talented. Every year, she sells her pictures for charity, and it’s good for the family name, and people get their money’s worth. 

The shutter clicks, and she smiles brightly. 

I take it she is satisfied. 

“To put it out there, you have female and male fans,” she takes another shot. 

“You don’t have to put it out there,” I lift my eyes to look at her, and she takes another shot. I’m about to scold her when the noises from outside pique my interest. 

She hears it, too. 

“That’s quite some shouting,” she snorts, “Salvatore is finally losing it.” 

None of my domestic staff would dare to ramble so loudly that I could hear it from my study. And not even Salvatore, or the women he changes more than his underwear, would violate the estate’s solemnity in such a way. I wouldn’t put it past him, except this time he is not around. 

“Stay here,” I stand and walk to the door of my study. It’s a stringy lady’s voice and a harsh baritone belonging to a man, “Don’t come out.” 

Eva nods, “I will start editing the pictures,” she is on her laptop as soon as she sits on the navy-blue sofa. 

I open the door meticulously and step out. My study is on the second floor, and from here, I can see what is happening on the ground floor. 

I drag my cigar and puff, seeing them through the fogginess of the smoke. 

Looks like my guests are having a moment. 

Vittoria and her father, Giuseppe Mancuso. 

She has her back to me and intersects his line of sight because she is on six-inch heels. Her legs are covered in black stockings that disappear under the red coat she has on. 

But I can see the top of his bald head and the lines on his forehead deepening from aggravation. Giuseppe is leaning on his walking stick and I have no doubt he has a pipe between his lips. He wears his darkness like a second skin. 

“Give me a break,” Vittoria grits and balls her fists, as if she could punch him if he wasn’t her father. And I bet she can. I have heard enough about her to know she is as ferocious as they come. 

“You will do as told and not cause me any more trouble than you already have,” he grunts, “This time, I won’t go easy on you if you make a mess and bring me shame,” he points at her with shaky fingers, “Once is a mistake, but twice,” he spits his last words out, not completing the sentence. 

“Whose fault was it that Massimo said no to your proposal for a slave?” She throws one hand in the air in a poised way. 

Her audacity. That thing about the offspring of a beast not seeing what everyone else sees when they look at their parents. 

She is standing her ground, making her look like a strong, firm woman, but all I see is a brat that needs to be tamed. She has been given too much freedom, and it’s hard for her to know where the lines are drawn. 

Giuseppe makes a guttural sound, “I’m happy I’m getting you out of my home.” 

“That makes the both of us…” 

Her words have no landing as the back of his callous hand swings into action and smacks her hard on the cheeks. 

No, not that. 

Not under my roof. I get that she is a spoiled brat but hitting her is going too far. There are many ways to clip her wings, and I will take pleasure in… Salvatore would take pleasure in taming her. I correct myself and clear my throat loud enough to get their attention. 

I start climbing down the stairs to welcome them when she turns in my direction, and I almost stumble on myself. 

Bloody Saints. 

I grind my teeth. 

To say she is easy on the eye is an understatement. 

I am dazzled. 

She exudes a pure magnetic charge and bloody hell, I feel like I’m being pulled in with each step I take down the stairs to them. To her. 

I hold her gaze, her eyes like coal, only they smolder, and she has the defiance to hold my gaze as I walk down; standing straighter and lifting her chin like I didn’t just see her being hit and humiliated. Like ink on her pale skin, her hair is wrapped up in a polished bun. 

The closer I get, the straighter she stands. As if daring me. And that glare in her eyes, like she has already dragged me beneath her and placed herself above as the one with the power. 

Oh, she is a fiery one. A wild cat that I want to curb. So many ways to tame her. So many ways to train her. So many bloody ways to put her and her smart mouth to good use. 

I clear my throat again to sweep the contaminating thought out before it infects my mind any further. She is Salvatore’s soon-to-be wife, and whatever needs to be done to her, for her or with her, is his sole responsibility. Not mine. 

I close the distance, and if not for the fact that Giuseppe is in the room with his hovering sourness, which I need to remind myself about, I wouldn’t have been able to tear my eyes away from her to look at his face, as unpleasant as that might be. 

But his face is where my eyes should stay. They have no business sampling her any more than I have already. The legacy of my clan is hanging on her and Salvatore’s marriage. I should never forget that this deal is one way to strengthen my clan and give me a partnership with La eMe. 

Her engagement with Salvatore must go as planned. She holds the key to too much, despite Giuseppe showing he has no regard for her. 

By the way she carries herself, she knows her place and what she can make me lose. 

For some bloody reason, I find myself longing for hell. 

And that fire in her eyes tells me she is not afraid to play.  

Chapter 2 

Vittoria 

The fall of Vittoria Mancuso. 

A play proudly sponsored by Giuseppe Mancuso, my father. Even though he keeps showing how undeserving of that title he is with every single passing day. There’s nothing that can be done to alter the script, not when the show has been set, and especially not when he is the one directing it. 

Oh, to be a normal girl born in New York, allowed to choose her own career, have normal friends, go out on dates, fall in love, live her life with the people she loves and who love her. To be able to have a favorite TV show to watch, extended family holidays and to argue about which snacks are the best, the salty or sweet ones. To talk about fashion trends with your girlfriends or gossip about the neighbors with your mom. 

Oh, what I would give to not have to exist in this world as a daughter to the man beside me. 

But the show must go on. 

The shit I will have to act through… I know as fucking hell I will have to give a grand performance to the very end. Till the curtains close, the hall is emptied, and I’m finally hollow. 

For a moment there, I felt untouchable. Now, I wouldn’t dare to think I’m valued any more than exchangeable stock. 

I know a handful of people who are having a field day at the outcome of my life. The ones who think I probably deserve this much and the ones who wish I would get more than I’m getting now. 

Then there’s the club of men like the one whose sad semen brought me to life, who are clinking their glasses in celebration of the benefits they will reap from the miserable outcome of my life. 

My father doesn’t care for anything other than expanding his wealth and affluence. Sometimes, it’s like he doesn’t even care about his own life. 

That makes the both of us. 

I sneer, the vexation burning and running through my veins, rushing straight to my brain. It’s scorching every cell and licking up any functional nerves. 

Forlorn. I should slap it on my forehead and ride through a cloud of thunder with that miserable word. 

If I could sum up my shit life using one word, it would be pitiful. I deluded myself into believing that at the end of a rough life like the one I’ve had, I could find reprieve. I tricked myself into believing that somehow, something that feels like a miracle of some fucking sort could happen to me and get me as far away as possible from the only life I’ve known. 

But delusion time is over. 

Reality slaps harder than papà can ever hit me. 

There’s nothing I can do to change that or reverse the course of my life. It has set sail, and I am nowhere close to the helm of that ship. And it is pathetic to wish for a storm to steer it in another direction. 

This is what my life has been reduced to. 

Hate it as I may; I have no fucking choice but to live it. 

Giuseppe takes his pipe from his mouth, daring me to say another word. I know he is capable of burning me with the thing. He has done it before. I have a body that feels like a display of his artwork from the ridges left by healed wounds. It’s why I always cover myself up. 

Someone harrumphs behind me, and I take my time as I circle from shooting fireballs at Giuseppe for his assault, although I’m used to it and I probably saw that one coming, to looking at who I’m expecting to be Salvatore. Another degenerate I’m here to see. 

I don’t mean to judge, but I never knew Giuseppe to do business with men of unlike minds. The closest he was to doing things differently was with Massimo, but my father’s reputation preceded him, playing a huge part in ruining that for everyone. 

The grimace on my face loses its hold and begs to deflate as my eyes drop on him. The cold from his stapling sooty eyes, almost like the dark strands mixed in the gray of his hair, sends shivers from where our eyes meet down my spine. Any funny move, and I will disintegrate. 

He is entrancing, to say the fucking least. Old, no doubt. But age has only given him his attributes an acuteness that should be considered illegal, the same as his choice of business. 

I swallow what feels like pricking pins, my throat tight. It both hurts and tingles. 

I have a new theory for how the devil looks. Up until now, I could use papà’s face as a pictorial reference, but seeing the darkness in the eyes of this man, sensing the air that surrounds him as he takes valiant steps down the white-marbled stairs with gold rails, I agree with everyone who has ever suggested that the devil looks nothing like we know. 

My heart beats faster, in rhythm with my breathing, with each step closer he gets to us. To me. 

Giuseppe had to choose his kind. He didn’t even think of picking someone at least age-appropriate for me. I must have lost my market value to be given to this man. Or he offered something way above what Giuseppe would have expected in exchange for me. 

Not that he is anything like Giuseppe in appearance. The irony is that his choice of color is black, and Giuseppe’s is white. Black dress shirt for a buff body and muscles that radiate authority. Black dress pants for firm legs with powerful strides as they close the distance. A hole in one of his coal-black bristled eyebrows to show he had a wild youth. 

Most of his long, firm, thick fingers are covered in black ink and rings. 

I lift my eyes back to hold his slithering gaze. It’s like he can tear through my fort and see that I am cowering inside. Like he can see deep inside how much I’m shrinking and hurting from this arrangement. 

My jaw ticks now, and my teeth grate against each other. The fire in my brain is shooting across like fireworks, and my sinuses are prickling with tears that will never make it to my eyes. It’s been twenty years since I last cried. And no matter how vexed I am at this moment, it’s not fucking enough to break the dam. 

He is staring intently as he stands before me. Like I summoned him. Like he is some dark lord ready to fulfill some prophecy with me at its core. 

His hooded eyes are dispatching encrypted messages to me, and my vexation-swaddled brain is trying to decrypt them. Whatever they are conveying seems important, and I want to know. But, as piercing as his eyes are, there’s a shadow that does not allow looking past what he wants a person to see. 

The hair at the nape of my neck spikes up. 

It’s a staring contest, I guess. 

He is trying to gauge me. To weigh up his new toy. He can get in line. Giuseppe has tried even to break me my whole life and he yet has to get the desired gratification from his hard work. Whatever he thinks he can bend me with, I’m sure it’s nothing compared to the hell my father put me through for years. 

I take him up on his silent dare. Staring contest it is, then. A little annoying, but thrilling nonetheless. It’s the most thrilling thing that has happened to me in a while, and I can make due with a little excitement in my progressively tedious life. 

Papà is observing us, but he just insignificant right now. The man in front of me knows how to guzzle attention when he walks into a place. 

We are both determined to see this one to the end. 

Then, he drops his eyes to the side of my face. The same side that was hit by Giuseppe minutes ago. Meaning, he saw me get hit. He saw my humiliation, how I wouldn’t want the man I have been handed to as a trophy wife to see me in. And he is letting me know he saw it, to remind me of how little I mean even to my father and to let me know that he also knows how to keep me in place when I falter. 

But I will not falter. 

It’s a promise. 

A fucking oath, if I need to draw my blood and swear on it. 

I won’t let anyone make me feel so little. I am Vittoria Mancuso, and I don’t care what anyone thinks about my predicament; I will keep my head high, my eyes ocean-still, my spine vertical, and my will to fight for myself and retain whatever self-worth is left in my life unshaken. 

So, I boss up my chest. In my mind, I seize him up with a leash and strip him till he shrinks. I keep him where I keep them all—underneath me. I don’t care about the power this one emanates. I don’t care if he threatens to turn the wheel and use my leash against me. 

I don’t fucking care if Giuseppe dived into hell and brought the devil out with him to give his daughter to. 

He is beneath me. 

And beneath me is where he will be for the rest of this shitshow. 

A glint of amusement flickers in his icy eyes, and I sup up. It’s the first opening he is giving me. The first anything I get from him other than the dark threat in his eyes.  

“Giuseppe,” his voice bellows with the thick, dry texture of a tree bark. “Welcome. How was the flight?” He turns his head in the direction of Giuseppe. No smile. Not even a subtle welcoming hint. It appears Giuseppe has found his twin. 

“I beat death again,” Giuseppe grunts, moving closer with the aid of his walking stick. He once again makes it clear that I mean nothing by standing in front of me, giving me nothing but the back of his glossy bald head. 

I know he can manage on his own, but he chooses to use the walking stick as a guise, so people think he is vulnerable, and they let their guard down around him. 

“This must be her,” that stormy voice again, making me want to zero out every other voice in my head and narrow it down to only his. 

“This is my daughter,” Giuseppe offers, stepping aside slightly. On the bright side, if there’s any to this arrangement, at least I won’t have to listen to his screeching voice any longer. 

“I would say I that see, but…” he snorts quietly. 

“She took after her mother,” Giuseppe chortles abrasively, “She is lucky. What good would she be if she had this face?” 

I would carve the face out myself if that were the case. If life had dared to not only give me him as a father but also make me even a sliver of an image of him. It would feel like a punch in the gut every time I looked in the mirror. 

“She has your tenaciousness.” 

He doesn’t know me. I’m nothing like my father. 

If anything, I’m worse. 

“It has cost me,” Giuseppe replies, looking around, “I don’t see Salvatore.” 

“He is around somewhere.” 

“You are not Salvatore?” I don’t want to show the nip of disappointment in my maniacally twisting stomach. 

“Would you want me to be?” He turns to me now, then shoves his firm hands into the pocket of his dress pants. His stare has the same effect as a thunderbolt. It strikes. 

It’s my turn to harrumph, “I thought you were my fiancé.” 

“Is that so?” He lifts both brows, eyes almost shimmering from the effect of the bright white light overhead. 

Cheeky laughter breaks through the intensity in the air before the person laughing pokes her head from behind him. Everything in this estate appears to be on a different plane of beauty. 

She practically bounces over to us with coal-black curls, vibrant blue eyes, pink flushed smiling cheeks, wearing an oversized neon shirt tied to the back, baggy denim pants, and holding a camera. 

“That would be awkward now, wouldn’t it?” She sneaks her free hand under his arm and plasters herself to his side. 

She looks too bright to be around someone with such a sullen aura. I flick my eyes between them, observing the stark contrast. Tight-pressed lips and lips curved in a smile. Darkness and light. Maybe a storm and rainbow. 

“Salvatore is my brother,” she wraps her hand around his waist now. “Wouldn’t it be awkward if my father was your fiancé?” She cranes her neck to stare at him. “I know he is easy on the eyes,” she smiles, the kind of smile that says how much she cherishes him, “But nah…” She shakes her head, scrunching her nose. 

Her father. That’s the piece to complete the puzzle. As a pair they are like a work of art I can’t figure out, no matter how much I stare at it or try to delve into the artist’s mind. 

And as if it’s not enough, he smiles at her and wraps his strong, protective arms around her. 

His daughter has so much life pulsing through her that it is impossible not to have some of it spill on you. A daughter who looks like she has been allowed a freedom I can never dare dream of. I observe how bold she is to not only approach her father but to fling herself on him, even with a guest like Giuseppe groaning disapprovingly alongside me. 

This starts a spiral of longing inside of me. 

Shame on you, papà.

How likely are you to recommend this preview to a friend?

0	1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10

Submit

Chapter One

Katya 

“What the hell?!” 

There are very few things that can ruin a lovely vacation. And that was the sort of phone call that could ruin not only a vacation, but one’s whole damned life.  

I wanted it to be wrong. I wanted to have misheard it. 

Honestly, I wanted to cover my damned ears so that I could pretend that I had never heard that string of words in that particular order ever again.  

“Please tell me that you’re joking.”  

My voice trembled, and I couldn’t even bring myself to hate it in the way that I normally would. I’m not the sort of person that is prone to emotional displays. But, this? This ripped the world right out from underneath of me and tilted everything on its axis. 

My skin felt cold. I could feel myself paling as the damnable words came from my family’s assistant straight into my ears once more.  

“I’m so sorry Katya… but your mother’s death has been confirmed by our people. Stay where you are, and await further orders. I repeat, stay where you are until Alexei gives orders.” 

Moments ago, I had been allowing the September afternoon sun soak into my fair skin. 

I had been having my feet rubbed by the hunk now awkwardly pawing at my back. Not the best travel boyfriend that I’ve ever had in my life, but he’s stupid handsome and looks incredible in a suit so I can’t complain much. Standing at a good foot taller than me and covered in glorious, bulging muscles and tattoos, he certainly looks good being photographed next to me on the beach for my Instagram. He can’t offer me much in the way of conversation, but that’s not what I want him for anyway. He’s not marriage material. Not by half. But, he will do for now.  

Certainly good enough in bed to keep me fully satisfied. 

What else would one want from a leisurely trip to Valencia, in Spain, if not to have a lot of good sex and sangria? 

“What is it, babe?” Derek muttered as his large hands rubbed up and down my biceps. He tried to kiss the cap of my shoulder but the last thing that I want right now is to be touched. 

I shrug out of his hold, wading across the pool a couple of inches away from him.  

“What the hell happened?! Where is she? Her… her body, where is it? I can go and collect her tonight.” Even as I said the words, I knew that I was not going to be given permission to fly back to Russia tonight and collect her body from whatever pop-up morgue they had her in. I can’t even remember the last time that I was given leave to fly back home to attend to anything. Guilt surges through me at the knowledge that I, being the horrible daughter that I am, have not seen my mother in years. When was our last conversation? Was she alone when it happened? Was she scared? 

The thought of her lying there cold and prodded at by strangers is almost more than I can stomach. I might be sick.  

Derek tries to grab me again, pulling me by my hips back into the warm, broad expanse of his muscled chest.  

“Stop,” I mutter dismissively. Can’t he see that I’m busy right now? Can’t he see that something important is going on right now? I turn my focus back to the phone call. “Does Alexei know? What did he say?” 

This time, Derek seems to not want to take no for an answer. 

The grip on my hip tightens as he yanks me back toward him. Roughly enough that my phone slips and falls right out of my hand and into the pool. 

Whatever my family’s assistant was about to say to me about my brother becomes a gurgly mess.  

“What the hell?” I half shout as my palms collide with Derek’s chest.  

Something shifts on Derek’s face.  

He is no longer the mostly stupid boyfriend that’s been entertaining me for the past couple of months. 

No, he just transformed into something darker. Something that I don’t even have time to process before I’m being yanked under the water.  

My lungs burn. 

For a brief, delusional moment I think that he’s just being petty or something because I ignored him. But then his hand knots roughly into the crown of my long platinum blonde hair and doesn’t budge. 

He’s trying to kill me. 

Panic explodes through my body as my ‘fight’ mode kicks into overdrive.  

I swipe my feet at his, hoping that I can knock him off balance, but he’s so much larger than I am and his grip on my hair is so tight that it feels like he’s going to pull my scalp clean from my skull. 

This can’t be how I go out. I refuse to allow this to be the way that I die. 

Absolutely not. 

I’m a Levine for Christ’s sake. Does he not have any idea? 

Guess the meathead just doesn’t care. He might not have any sense of self preservation, but I sure do.  

I surge forward under the water and grab a hold of his junk as hard as I can, twisting and pulling with every bit of strength that I have left in my body. 

Dark spots are forming on my vision, but it works. 

I can hear him yowling in pain even from under the water. Enough that I can scrape my manicured nails into his arm like talons to free my hair from him and kick away. 

With a final burst of energy, I kick the heel of my foot into his face as hard as I can before swimming for my life.  

Shaking so hard my hands barely work, I gather up all of our clothes and belongings and book it to the elevators. 

I glance over my shoulder long enough to see that the pool water has bled red in a ring all around his frame. 

Derek’s eyes glint with absolute murder and rage as he slowly attempts to wade toward me.  

The elevator doors ding and I burst inside and awkwardly fumble the room key against the lock.  

It’s certainly not going to delay him for very long that he doesn’t have a key to the room, but I will take every second that I can possibly get.  

I throw myself into our hotel room and slam the door shut, barricading the thin wood with the dresser. Adrenaline must be on high time overdrive because the heavy wooden furniture is not something that I would have been able to move on my own before. I don’t think that I’ve ever managed to pack quite this quickly in my whole life. 

I am a hurricane as I tear through the room moving on instinct more than anything else. 

I know that if I stop moving, even for a second, reality is going to catch up with me. I can’t allow myself the time to process whatever the fuck just happened to me. 

I have to move. I have to get somewhere safe. Then I can call Alexei. 

Everything will be okay. That’s what I have to keep telling myself.  

I leave behind everything that isn’t absolutely mandatory for my survival.  

It feels far too much like my childhood to be comfortable.  

Scrambling to hide. Throwing everything into a backpack and mindlessly running until I know that I’m safe. 

Alexei is my safe. He’s always been the one to take care of me – but now my brother is tucked away in New York City and a hell of a long distance from Spain.  

The violent pounding at the door is even more triggering. 

Only, it’s not my father on the other side of the wood this time. It’s an enraged giant of a man whose nose I likely broke a few moments ago after his failed murder attempt. 

My heart thumps into my throat and my shaking is even more violent as I throw my backpack on and lace my shoes as best I can before heading to the balcony. 

Not the best option, I’ll admit that. But, if it’s death or death, I will be damned if I don’t choose pavement splatter when the other option is man.  

Over the balcony and down the drainpipe. I’m nearly down to the ground when I hear the door of my hotel room shatter. 

The angry crunching of wood splintering and furious shouting is the background noise to my heart threatening to suffocate me and a desperate desire for him to not look down.  

I dive into the first taxi that slows. I don’t even wait for it to stop before shouting at the man to drive me to the airport. “Hurry, please. I’ll pay double if you get me there in the next twenty minutes.” 

The man clearly wants to ask me handfuls of super annoying questions but I don’t have time for it. He must read it on my face because in the next moment, he’s peeling down the road so fast it would have made my Russian grandmother incredibly happy to see. I glance anxiously behind me to see if somehow Derek is running behind the taxi on foot. I wouldn’t put it past him.  

Almost trembling too hard to dial Alexei’s number on my phone.  

He doesn’t pick up until the third ring.  

“Brat?” I mutter softly. I hope that by speaking like this, I can hide how terrified I feel right now.  

“Da? I am very busy right now, Katya, what is it?”  

Even though he sounds annoyed that I’ve interrupted his day, just hearing his voice is soothing to me.  

“Has Ms. Lagunov not called you yet?” 

“She’s tried, but like I said – I’m busy right now.” 

“Mama is dead, Brat.” I whisper. 

Saying it out loud makes it real. It makes her actually dead and all at once, the pain hits me. 

The pounding, angry headache that throbs and the burning in my lungs all seems to fade away into nothingness as the reality of the situation sinks in. “Ms. Lagunov just told me. She is with her body now, the mortician is finishing up the autopsy for formality’s sake… but Brat, she is gone.” 

There’s a series of hushed, angry swearing in Russian from the other end of the phone and I know he’s likely covering the receiver with his hand in some futile attempt to shield me from his temper.  

“You are certain of this?” Alexei demands harshly. 

He’s always like this. Business first and emotions second.  

“Why would she lie?” 

“Those damned Italian bastards.”  

Something breaks on Alexei’s end of the phone. I don’t know if he’s punched something or thrown something, but it doesn’t really matter. “I warned those mafia pricks what would happen if they stepped out of fucking line. I warned them! Listen to me, Katya, I will handle this. You are to stay put until I say otherwise. I mean it. If they are making moves, I will not risk you getting in harm’s way.” 

“Yes.” I mutter lamely as I try to keep myself from blubbering.  

“Are you safe where you are?” 

I almost don’t want to answer that. I don’t like lying to my brother. “Yes.” I mutter. I mean, I’m as safe as a person in a taxi can be.  

I don’t tell him about my own murder attempt.  

They have to be related somehow. The timing of it is just too perfect. 

Alexei will go completely off the rails if he knows that somebody tried to hurt me and that somebody managed to find our poor mother. He would have every man in his considerable army mobilized in the hour if he knew… and avenging mother comes first.  

Besides, I’m fine. Mostly. I can take care of myself.  

“We are at war, Katya, do not make trouble. I will send word soon.” 

Just like that, the line goes dead on his end and I’m stuck with the taxi driver and the chaos of my own thoughts as he pulls the taxi around to the entrance of the airport. 

Alexei can tell me to stay put all he wants, but there is no way in hell that he can make me actually do it. He’s not going to cut me out of this situation as easily as he might like. 

He really ought to know me better than that by now.  

I’ve always been more of an act first and ask forgiveness later type of gal anyway.  

He can yell at me all he likes for it when I show up at his place in New York City.  

Chapter Two 

Luca 

‘Russia target eliminated. Standby for confirmation for Spain target.’  

“Well, would you look at that?” I chuckle bitterly to myself as I dab the corners of my mouth with my napkin. 

What started out as a nice lunch with my most trusted right-hand man, Dario, was turning into something truly lovely. Paired with the stunning weather outside, good wine and now this? 

Yes, it was setting me up for a damned good day.  

“Luca?” Dario questions as he sips on his expresso.  

“Looks like my father got busy again. Making even more plans without bothering to loop me in on things. How well do you think that is going to work out for me the next time I have to meet with him?” I ease back into my chair and let the cloth napkin rest on the table in front of me. 

I close my eyes and inhale slowly through my nose to remain as calm as possible.  

It’s not the first time that my father has done something like this. 

This damned war he’s gotten our family involved in is a constant struggle. 

Logic rarely matters when Enzo has the lead. He gets a hair up his ass about something or another and runs with it. In truth, he would rather prefer not to have to tell his son anything if he didn’t have to. I’ve always been the black stain that he can’t seem to rid himself of. But, as his only heir – he’s stuck with me. He certainly doesn’t care to run his choices through his son before acting on them.  

Even if those choices are completely against Cosa Nostra’s moral code.  

Something else that he tends to forget in his cursed wars.  

My phone vibrates with the alert of another text message that I pick up before I can think better of it.  

‘Update received – Spain target en route to NYC. ETA 4:37pm’ 

The updates are coming to me and not my father for a reason. 

It means that he has folded me in and made me responsible for these tasks and hasn’t bothered to tell me. 

Again. 

Some days I swear that he wants for me to fail. 

I’ve done everything that has ever been required of me, and yet it never seems to be good enough.  

And now, he’s put me in charge of this task when apparently only one of the two targets that he wanted killed were actually properly taken care of. Which means that I’m going to have to give my father a bad report.  

“Everything all right?” Dario asks, already packing up his belongings from the table and signaling for the bill. Most people mistake Dario for my older brother based on our looks. Not dissimilar in features despite the fact that I stand a couple of inches taller than him. He doesn’t have quite as many tattoos as I do, but we are matched scar for scar. Guess it comes with the territory. He’s got seven years of age on me, but you wouldn’t know it to speak to him. It’s not something that has ever gotten in the way of our working relationship.  

“No. We will have to reschedule our meeting, Dario. Looks like my father needs to speak with me.” I answer as I tuck my phone down into my pocket and take the car keys from the table. 

I don’t bother to wait for Dario, he will manage on his own. 

Every second that passes between my getting those texts and not showing up in my father’s office will be counted against me, and Dario is my closest and most trusted man – so he understands. 

There is very little that he would ever blame me for.  

My black range rover zips through the city that I’ve called home long enough to know it like the back of my hand. 

It takes almost no time whatsoever before I’m pulling into the parking garage of my father’s skyscraper. 

I pass the keys to the valet and adjust the fit of my black suit jacket before stepping into the elevator coded specifically to work for my father, myself, and our inner circle.  

I see that even those security measures aren’t quite enough for the old man, as the red light of a newly installed camera sits in the top corner of the elevator watching my every blink until I reach the penthouse. 

I can feel my father’s strange mood in the air the moment I enter his residence. It looks more like a sterile art gallery than a home that somebody could actually live in. A cartoonishly sharp version of hyper modern. All stainless steel, sharp edges and matte black everywhere that you look. 

My oxfords make no noise whatsoever as I move to father’s office, where his sweltering fireplace is already lit. 

He’s standing with his back to the door and a glass of brandy in his hand, swirling the contents of the glass around the tumbler as he holds it casually near his hip.  

I have been told that my father and I look a lot alike. 

I haven’t decided yet if that flatters or bothers me. 

The man tends to favor heavily on paranoia so he had nearly all records of his history and life destroyed save for a small album of baby photos in my late grandmother’s house. But the album was buried with her for the same paranoid reasons. 

He stands at a lean six foot, while I am three inches taller and a good deal bulkier than he is. While his head of thick black hair has turned mostly silver with age, hints of the true color still remain in his full beard and mustache. We have the same deep olive skin and russet brown eyes, though he lacks the dimples that I got from my mother.  

“Tell me that you have good news, son.” He addresses me without turning to look at me. 

Son? If that isn’t an indicator that he’s in the mood to play games, then I don’t know what is.  

Honestly, his constant power trips and games have become almost comforting at this point. 

Predictable in their consistency. No point in sugar coating things, get right to the point.  

“Levine’s mother? Are you out of your mind?” I blurt a touch more bluntly than advisable. 

If it was not just the two of us in this room, he would have had beaten the crap out of me for such a comment. 

Instead, he turns slowly, his eyes impossibly darkening with rage over the disrespect that he would interpret my words as.  

“It was supposed to be both of the Levine bitches. A swift strike to eliminate most of the remaining bloodline.” His words are condemnation and explanation both as he slowly sips the contents of his glass. “But apparently, the little bitch managed to give our man the slip somehow.” 

The clinking of the ice cubes around the edge of his glass is the only noise in the room between us for a long moment.  

I understand that he’s pissed that Alexei Levine’s younger sister isn’t dead but he doesn’t seem to understand how serious of a move he has just made. We’re not supposed to go after wives and mothers. Women and children are supposed to be off limits and yet my father has chosen to make his move by going after Levine’s immediate family? That is punching below the belt. This war has been going on for too long, I know that better than most, but this is not the way to move forward. 

However, even if I voiced my opinion here, my father wouldn’t listen to it. His way is the only way. His opinion is the only opinion that holds merit.  

“You know how this is going to go. This war that you’re obsessed with – there will be no turning back now. You’ve opened season on all of us.” Anger starts to bleed into my words as I speak. 

He might be the boss, but his long-term thinking has always been severely lacking.  

“You have no one, besides me, so what do you care? Is it not as if they can kill your wife or daughter as retaliation.” Enzo shrugged.  

“And our men? Those with families? Because you needed retribution for a few clubs and a slight dip in profits… you felt that this was warranted? Going against all of Cosa Nostra’s values? What does this mean for our clan?” 

“My clan, son. You have a long way to go before you get to claim that you have any rights to this family. Do not speak higher than you can reach.”  

“You are telling me that you find your actions to be fair? Especially when you know for a fact how volatile Alexei Levine can be?!” 

I take a step forward as father places his glass down on the mantle of his fireplace. “You said no innocents. It was your cornerstone, father, and yet here you are – murdering a woman who had nothing to do with any of this. I doubt that she had even the slightest idea of the war that her son was involved in. You know as well as I that there have been no reports of them even being in contact for years.” 

“Innocent?” Enzo answers, as if that were the only part of my words that he has picked up on at all. “You stand there and have the balls to tell me that any of those Levine bitches are innocent?!”  

His eyes narrow into slits – something that used to cowtail me into submission when I was a child – but that was a long, long time ago. 

Now I can just feel the muscle in my jaw clenching, knowing how much his impulsive, reckless actions are going to cost all of us.  

“Every one of those bitches is connected to him. That little roach that keeps getting in my damned way!” Enzo’s voice never changes pitch or volume, but somehow it becomes barbed and lethal when he speaks. 

Something about the way he can glare daggers at the person he speaks to, that seems to inflict actual physical damage, is something I have never understood and have also never quite learned how to master yet for myself.  

This whole war is wrong, but I know that I can’t say that to him.  

He wouldn’t listen anyway.  

I think that some part of him knows that I don’t support this war, and that I haven’t fully supported his choices in a while now. 

Maybe this is all just another test that he’s putting me through. 

He’s probably just trying to push me to see where I will break and what the final straw will be that makes me defy him. 

That day will come, I am certain, when I will no longer be his obedient son, and I will become one more name on his ever-growing list of enemies.  

I don’t know which one of us will survive that day either.  

“Care to explain to me why only one of them is dead, instead of both?” Enzo broke the silence, expecting an explanation from me that I just don’t have.  

“I have men on the way to the airport to intercept her as soon as her plane lands.” I answer through my gritted teeth.  

Enzo smirks. “Oh, good. For once we are on the same page about something, son.” 

He lifts a hand and condescendingly pats me on the cheek.  

“I want you to ensure that there are no more fuck ups on this job. I want you to personally go to the airport and pick up the young Levine bitch, and I want you to bring me her head. I will have her stuffed and mounted and pictures sent to that meddling twat of a brother of hers before the day is finished.” 

Just the idea of doing what he asked of me makes my stomach roil. 

It is not because I am not capable of great violence, but this girl didn’t do anything to deserve the horrible, depraved things that I know that my father would do to her. 

Not to mention, it is a damned insult to send me out on a petty wet work job when I’m supposed to be getting groomed to take over as the head of the family.  

“Unless you think that you can’t handle it? Son?” Enzo continues, his thin lips curling up into a devious smirk.  

“Consider it done.”  

It’s the only answer he would accept anyway.

How likely are you to recommend this preview to a friend?

0	1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10

Submit

Chapter One

Mary 

The Bensons were many things, but quiet was not one of them. 

I crashed through mom’s door, carrying a dish of wedged potatoes that was just a little too hot to be holding with my bare hands, as my red hair whipped into tangles from the wind. 

I felt like a mess—and I looked one too. I certainly didn’t look like a fashion school graduate.  

I shouted out an ‘I’m here!’ into the house, dropping the potatoes -almost literally- onto the table in the foyer.  

I expected mom to come around the corner with her oven mitt on, smiling at me and telling me to get in there, or to hear my brother hollering from the dining room about how late I was. A part of me still expected to get swept up into my dad’s bear hug, even though it had been almost four years now. 

Instead, the house was silent, and the minute I realized it my spine tingled with apprehension. 

It had been a difficult day. 

The magazine had me writing an incredibly boring article on the miraculous powers of a liquid dish soap.  

I had taken a journalism course in college alongside my fashion design major in the hope that I could work for a prestigious fashion magazine whilst designing my own line of clothes one day. I had yet to write an actual fashion article, no matter how hard I tried, and none of the fashion magazines in the area were hiring. Or at least, they weren’t hiring me. 

I’d ended up needing a hot shower to destress, but it stopped being soothing the minute I stepped out and caught sight of the clock. 

I’d lost track of time and had only thirty minutes to get ready for the Benson Monthly Family Dinner (trademark pending). 

Those thirty minutes were a whirlwind of me dodging from one end of my room to the other, trying desperately to put myself together enough to convince mom and Pietro I was doing alright.  

It probably worked, at least for them. 

I’d put on a sage long-sleeved dress with gray leggings underneath, which was just the right mix of flowy and flared to create an illusion of the curves I didn’t have, with a chunky, spiced-pumpkin sort of orange scarf keeping my pale neck and collarbones warm from the fall chill. 

The slouchy hat matched, but the ankle-boots were a light tan that didn’t fit the rest and I hadn’t had time to put any earrings in, let alone add bracelets or a necklace. 

I’d had to tie my hair, still wet enough to look brown more than copper, into a messy braid, and I’d had to try to do my eyeliner on the bus. 

If I’d had a few more minutes to put it all together I would have been able to make it cute, and to most people it would probably still be passable, but it felt painfully incomplete to me.  

I paused and forced myself to take a breath. 

I didn’t want my family to worry, and besides, it was all going to turn around soon. I just had to bear it a little longer and then I wouldn’t have to force a little extra cheer onto my face.  

“Mom?” I called again. “Mama, I’m here.” 

My stomach sunk when no one answered me. 

“Mom? Pietro?” I started down the hall towards the dining room as the frenetic energy that carried me in flatlined into something heavy in my gut. 

I tried to shake it off. Sure, something unusual was happening, but that didn’t mean I had to teeter down the hallway with my heart pounding like I was in some horror film. 

I should check my phone—maybe they had just gone to get something from the grocery store last minute and I just hadn’t seen the text— 

Then mom rounded the corner, eyes distant and a letter clutched in her hands. Instantly I knew that something was wrong.  

“Mom?” I gasped, hurrying towards her with my hands out. It looked like she would pass out and I knew if she did I’d have to catch her, although I didn’t know how, given that I was the definition of a stick and couldn’t lift more than ten pounds on a good day. But wasn’t that what adrenaline was supposed to do? Make people stronger when they were scared? 

I grasped mom by the shoulders, looking up at her. Her eyes met mine and the first sob broke free.  

“Oh, Mama,” I whispered, walking her back so she could sit at the dining table. 

Immediately, I felt tears burn my own eyes; my mom was an emotional woman but she rarely ever cried in front of us. 

The last time was the day dad died. She’d soldiered through the funeral planning and the wake with the people bringing casseroles with dry eyes, sagging like the world was heavy and she was exhausted, but never breaking into sobs. 

To see her now, hyperventilating with this scrap of paper clutched tight to her chest, made me feel overwhelmed and helpless—and scared down to my soul.  

Pietro wasn’t there, and I feared the worst.  

“Mom?” I asked, a sob building in my throat. “Mama, please, what’s…” She shook her head and held out the letter. All it said was: 

Dear Mom and Mary—I’m sorry, but I’m going somewhere dangerous and I can’t take you with me. I’m not in trouble, but there’s something I have to do. Mom, I found out but I don’t blame you for keeping it secret. If everything goes well, I’ll be back in a while, but I’m begging you not to call the police. The people I’m with cannot know who I am, and if the police come looking for me, I’ll lose the advantage of anonymity. I know this is scary for you, but the best way to keep me safe is not to tell anyone I’m in danger. If everything goes according to plan, which I really think it will, then I’ll come back to you. I promise. Stay safe, and stay out of downtown. -Pietro 

I stared at the words, reading them over and over like they would suddenly say something that made sense to me. 

All I was catching was Pietro, danger, might not come back—it spun around in my head senselessly. 

Sure, we hadn’t heard from him for a few days, and we’d thought that was kind of weird since we were a very tight knit family, but this terrifying, cryptic message couldn’t be real, could it? 

I mean, Pietro could be a total annoyance, but he was never a troublemaker. He’d dodged some classes but never failed any, and he’d thrown some punches but never the first. 

He was smart and funny and personable, and he was my big brother.  

No, it couldn’t be real. Pietro was fine. 

This was a prank, or a joke, or he was filming from around the corner while snickering, or something. 

He’d pop out with a big grin, and then see us crying and apologize, saying he didn’t think we were going to take it so badly. He’d comfort us like he had after dad’s death, he’d hug me like he did after my first college boyfriend broke my heart, and I’d smack his chest and yell at him and be so, so glad he was there.  

But mom was struggling to reign in her rising fear, clasping her hands over her mouth like that could smother the urge to scream, and Pietro wasn’t anywhere 

I read the letter again. 

Found out—secret—they can’t know who I am—if the plan works—if the plan works— 

I felt like I would collapse. 

Pietro was gone. This letter was real. 

Pietro was in danger, and he was gone. I’m going somewhere dangerous, and I can’t take you with me. 

What was the plan? Where had he gone, why was it dangerous, why could no one know who he was when he got there? Would he ever come back? 

What had mom kept a secret, and why did it sound like it started all of this?  

It was handwritten, and it was Pietro’s handwriting. 

He did that stupid thing where he put a vertical line inside of every lowercase O, because otherwise no one could ever tell his O from his E, and the slant of the Ts and Ds were weirdly severe. I had that handwriting in every one of the 24 birthday cards he’d given me. 

There was no mistaking his penmanship.  

Mom took deep, heaving gasps, eyes closed, as she tried to pull herself together. As she tried to be the adult. 

I was never any good at that, someone else always had to pick up the slack, putting aside their own needs to help me with every curveball that came my way. And here mom was, doing it again. 

She pushed the fear, the grief and hysteria, back down inside of her, even though I was sure she wasnted to let it all out, and I needed her too bad to tell her not to.  

“Mary,” she croaked. “Ma-Mary.”  

“Mom?” I asked, voice small. “What—what does he mean, he’s gone? What is he doing?”  

Another sob half-broke out of my mom’s clenched teeth and she clenched her whole face until the moment passed. “He’s—I think he’s with the mafia.”  

As I already said, I had never been very good at handling bad news. 

When I was 12 and my bully had dumped her food tray on me I’d sobbed inconsolably for days, and when I got rejected from my first-choice college I’d thrown up. When dad died they’d had to hospitalize me for dehydration because I cried out all the water they tried to give me. 

This time I felt the room spin and let my eyes roll into the back of my head.  

I wasn’t unconscious for very long, according to mom, but I woke up on the couch with my mother looking near apoplectic beside me. 

“Mary!” she gasped, squeezing my hand so hard it throbbed. “Oh my god, baby, don’t do that to me—here, have some water. Does anything hurt?” 

“No,” I drawled, smacking my lips as I came back.  

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” mom asked, bringing a cup to my face and peeling open my eye like she had the medical training to diagnose a brain bleed or whatever. I pulled back from her, taking the cup.  

“I’m fine,” I said, pushing myself up. 

The events of my last few waking minutes slowly leaked into my brain. God, Pietro was gone. 

He was with the mafia. 

“Mom,” I said seriously, looking her in the eye with an uncharacteristic seriousness, “I need you to tell me everything.” She gulped.  

“I never wanted you to know,” she said. “Either one of you.”  

“Mom,” I said, firmer. Her lower lip wobbled.  

“You and Pietro are half siblings,” she blurted, squeezing her eyes shut like she knew my reaction would stop her if she saw it, and she knew I wasn’t going to accept half a story this time. 

Then, before I could process the depth of what she’d just said, she dropped the next bombs, one after the other. 

“He—his father r-raped me. I was engaged to Dad at the time, and I thought he was going to leave me, but he didn’t. We realized I had got-gotten pregnant, and there was no way it could be Dad’s, but Daddy wanted to tell everyone Pietro was his so no one would have to know what had happened to me. It was a different time, honey, we didn’t talk about these things, and we were scared what would happen if Pietro’s biological father,” she spat the words with disdain, “ever found out.” I was speechless.  

“O-okay,” I stuttered, trying to digest all of that. “So what—what does that have to do with now?” Mom swallowed thickly.  

“Because,” she said, shoulders rising around her ears as she tensed further and further, “the man who raped me—Pietro’s birth father—is Cristiano Pellico. The mafia boss.” 

I stared at her. I remembered a video where someone dropped a bowling ball into jello, and the way the bowling ball carved its way to the bottom, growing slower with every second of resistance but never stopping. At that moment, I felt like I was that jello.  

Pellico, Pellico… I didn’t know the first thing about the mafia, but I’d seen that name somewhere recently. 

“You think he found out?” I asked, half-numb. 

Mom nodded jerkily, eyes frantically pleading with me as we finally made eye contact.  

“I don’t know how,” she said. “I thought I’d buried our secret, not even your grandparents know. Daddy’s name is on his birth certificate, we registered him as Daddy’s son, I never wrote it down anywhere or talked about it to anyone but your dad. I don’t know how he knows, but he does.” 

“And now he’s… joining the mafia?” I asked, the words fitting wrong in my mouth. 

That was ridiculous. Pietro wasn’t a criminal. 

He wasn’t a scarred-up thug who roamed the streets looking for fights, he was the brother who had skipped high school parties to watch his little sister swim like the seven years age difference was nothing. 

He didn’t do drugs or any other weird stuff, he was just a guy. Just an average 31-year-old. 

He worked at a tire shop. He hated pistachio ice cream.  

“I don’t know,” Mom said, voice cracking. “The letter dropped through the letter slot maybe fifteen minutes before you got here, I haven’t—I haven’t figured anything out yet, but that is the only thing I have ever hidden from the two of you.” 

“But—but why?” I asked, lost. “Why would he join the people who hurt you?”  

Mom shook her head.  

“I don’t know,” she said morosely. 

Pellico! The image of my phone screen! My phone automatically opened to a news feed, that is where I had seen, in big red letters, the words “Nicola Pellico Found Murdered.” 

I gasped.  

“My phone,” I said, trying to stand and ignoring my mother trying to urge me back down. “I need my phone!” 

Yep, right there—Nicola Pellico, the only son of suspected mafioso Cristiano Pellico, was found just hours ago in his apartment with four bullet holes punched through him, face down in a puddle of his own cooling blood, gunshot residue on his hands, his gun nowhere to be seen. So far there was no evidence of a forced break-in or a stated suspect. Information was still being gathered from the crime scene.  

My mouth dried up, and my mom went rigid where she was looking over my shoulder. 

Nicola had been 26, just two years older than me, and he hadn’t done anything important or notable. The only reason anyone would target him was because of his father. 

His father, who was also Pietro’s father. 

If someone killed Nicola in order to get back at Cristiano for something, then wasn’t Pietro living under the same threat? Is that why he left, to keep us from getting caught in the crossfire? 

“We have to do something!” I said, shaking my head There had to be something we could do, right? Some way to go back to normal? Mom’s fists wrinkled her work blouse.  

“What, Mary?!” she snapped. 

I reared back, and she reigned in her voice a little. “What can we do? He’s right, if we go to the police he’ll get killed. With all of… this… Cristiano will be desperately looking for another heir, so if Pietro shows up he’ll probably be welcomed with open arms.” 

I tasted bile. 

“So—so if—” 

“If he joins, he’ll become a mafioso. The police don’t help mafiosos, they shoot them. And if the mafia finds out the police are looking for him they’ll think he’s a snitch, and they’ll do a lot worse than shoot him .” 

“But—”  

Mom shook her head, holding me tight. “We can’t do anything, Mary. We can’t do anything at all.” 

Chapter Two

Salvatore 

When people died, they tended to take their secrets to the grave, and I had to know everything Nicola Pellico had up his sleeve.  

Usually, when I was staring this intently at a photograph, it showed a crime scene. 

Or, occasionally, a future crime scene. 

I was not used to inspecting a series of photos of one dead man and a random assortment of people he’d apparently known.  

I sighed, rolling my head to loosen the tight muscles of my neck. 

Flavio glanced back at me in the rearview mirror; he was a good man, as far as mafia men went, and deeply loyal to me as the last Mastro. He knew better than anyone else how personal this situation was for me, and though he wasn’t stupid enough to tell me to take a break, I could tell he was keeping an eye out for anything he could do to help me.  

I returned to the photos in my hands. Each one was taken in a different location, at a different time of day, and even though Nicola was the constant in every picture he was the one thing I wasn’t looking at. 

After all, he was no longer a factor. 

No, the trouble I had was with the small group of people that seemed to revolve around him, only some of whom I could identify. 

Lorenzo Sprezza and Francesco Faci were both soldiers in the Pellico family, but neither of them held any importance within the organization; there were two women, one seen more frequently than the other, that my consigliere was working to identify, and two other men who were also yet unknown to me. 

If the rumors were true, and Nicola Pellico had been planning some kind of coup, these were the only people who could tell me about it.  

Truthfully, the idea amused me to no end. I despised the Pellico family, in part because they were the natural rivals of the Mastros but more personally because Cristiano had forced me to watch as he ended my family and my childhood in a wash of blood. 

The nightmares had never ended, and the rage only grew more bitter with each one. 

Nicola was just Pellico’s son, but that was enough for my hatred to extend to him. Nonetheless, that he could have been scheming right underneath his father’s nose, ready to upend his family and possibly send everything Cristiano loved and felt pride in crashing to the ground, brought me incredible joy. 

Part of me hoped that Cristiano figured it out before Nicola found the wrong end of the muzzle. The betrayal must sting something terrible.  

I wanted Cristiano Pellico to feel true despair before I put a bullet in his head. 

How awful would he feel, in his final moments, to suffer as my father did? His children murdered, his lineage snuffed out, his empire left kingless? Everything he’d worked for in his life gone? 

I rubbed absently at the scar Cristiano’s bullet had left in the center of my chest when I was too young to even know what kind of life I was born into. 

No, killing the man wouldn’t be enough. I had to destroy him.  

I refocused myself on the photographs. 

If Nicola really was planning a revolt and these people were on his side, then they were more loyal to Nicola than Cristiano and might tell me everything I needed without having to deal with the messy affair of torture. 

If they did, I’d offer them a swift, clean death. 

The men, at least—not like Cristiano Pellico. He had never held true to the Cosa Nostra law to keep women and children out of mafia business. I had experienced that personally. 

Unless the son had turned his back on that, the women wouldn’t know anything, and were more than likely the wives or girlfriends of the other men involved in Nicola’s plot. I wouldn’t go after them unless I had to, and I doubted I would. 

Even if the men didn’t want to talk, I had ways to make them open their mouths.  

“We’re here, Don Mastro,” Flavio said, pulling me out of my thoughts as the car rolled to a stop outside my home. I pocketed the photos with a sigh.  

“Grazie, Flavio. Will you be using your room tonight?”  

“No, sir,” Flavio responded. “If you don’t need me, I’ll spend the night at my place.” I nodded, sliding out of the car.  

“Very well. Goodnight, then.”  

“You too, Don Mastro.”  

My house was beautiful, and it was one of the reasons I pitied the bosses who were stuck in places like Chicago and New York, where the height of luxury was a penthouse suite. 

Nothing would ever match up to a freestanding home. I was often grateful to have been born into Buffalo—a city of significant size, yes, but with a far more suburban feel. The buildings here had individuality.  

I left my shoes and coat in the foyer, unsurprised by the silence that greeted me. 

It was far too late for the maids or cook to be here, and the house was far larger than I needed for just myself. 

For now it felt empty, but someday I’d fill it with my children. 

It was my job to revive my family, so I would need at least four kids to secure our lineage for the future. 

In the meanwhile, I had the space to have overnight rooms for my underboss or consigliere should our business run particularly late, so it worked well for now.  

I followed the curve of the stairs up to the second floor, deciding to head straight for the shower and neatly peeling my shirt and belt off on the way. My bedroom was massive, with high ceilings and enough space for two beds, but I barely glanced at it. 

I’d bought this house the day I turned 18, selling the home where my family was slaughtered, and had lived here since. 

Nothing about this opulence was unusual to me—if anything, I had downsized from the mansion I’d grown up in.  

I stepped out of my dress pants and dropped my clothing into my dirty laundry bin, not sure if the cleaning service could salvage them now that the blood spatter had dried into hard brown scales. If they couldn’t, no biggie, they’d provide perfect replacements. 

I didn’t care much about clothes, luxury cars, watches, or private jets. 

Money couldn’t buy me what I wanted. 

Sure, by most people’s standards I was living like a king, but it was all surface level. 

Until Pellico’s head was served to me on a platter, using my father’s fortune felt like spitting on his grave.  

I entered my bathroom, moving past the full-length mirror to start the shower. I barely bothered looking at my reflection. 

My body, like everything else, was a tool. 

My slightly above average height made it easy to blend in to crowds, my black hair just long and shaggy enough to help cover my facial features if I needed it to but could just as well be slicked back into the sharp, clean visage expected from a Don. 

I kept my body muscular so I could handle any situation with force, but leaned into a wrestler’s physique more than visible muscle definition, because defined muscle was intimidating but not as useful. 

I was less threatening this way, clearly strong and capable, but not in the way that made people stare. 

Staring meant you were noticed, and being noticed meant you’d lost your element of surprise. 

Being underestimated, would only ever work in my favor.  

I had my father’s tan skin, and my mother’s blue eyes. My mother’s father had passed down the square jawline to me, and I never knew where my thick eyebrows came from. 

I knew where each scar came from, though. 

One long one running down the outside of my thigh marked where the surgeons had to cut me open to bolt my broken femur bone back into place, and both my knees were heavily scarred from repeated abrasions, and nearly invisible at this point was a small line across my forehead where I’d been pistol-whipped as a teen. 

Then, of course, the starburst of gnarled, darkened skin sitting low and tight on my sternum. 

Without any of my trappings, I looked more like a street rat than a Don. It was my favorite version of myself.  

I stepped under the warm spray and started kneading at my shoulder muscles, pondering over those photos again. 

The most recent one, in particular, had my eye; in it was Nicola, sitting at a table with two men on either side. 

I recognized Faci and Sprezza, but then there was another man with strawberry-blonde hair and lastly one with a tattoo on his neck. They were sitting at a table in a darkened venue that I couldn’t place, which meant it had to be owned by the Pellicos. 

There was a crowd, what looked like several tipsy people holding drinks and laughing, but the mood at their table was serious and tense. 

They were clearly talking business, and based on the somber looks on everyone’s faces, it looked like a war meeting.  

I had worked towards my revenge for more than two decades, and I was so close to finally looking Cristiano Pellico in the eye as I tore down his empire. 

Whether Nicola had really been trying to overthrow his father or something else was going on, I didn’t know. 

I could not let unforeseen circumstances derail me from my quickly approaching justice. 

I was going to hold Cristiano’s life in my hand, show him how useless it was, and then crush it. And no one else would distract me while I did it. 

I kept my shower short and utilitarian, dried off briskly, and didn’t bother to redress as I made my way to the kitchen. 

If I was going to be up all night trying to find these mystery men, I was going to need the fuel. 

I had one goal, one single-minded purpose, and I was too close to seeing it through now to waste time sleeping.  

How likely are you to recommend this preview to a friend?

0	1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10

Submit

Chapter One

Sara

For once, nothing on my computer could distract me.

Not when right now, my best friend in the entire world, Lia Goldin, was breaking into a cop’s house across the city, fueled by the desperate that her crime could pay for her father’s debt to the Sons of Celt. The Sons were a criminal enterprise that were surprisingly wide-ranging in their pursuits—dabbling in everything from petty theft to white collar crime to enacting medieval-ass blood debts on innocent girls. How Lou Goldin had gotten into bed with them was beyond me, but the man excelled at outdoing his own stupidity. Somehow, he’d managed to convince them to give him an enormous amount of money, and then bailed. The Sons didn’t appreciate that.

Either way, now Lia had to pay—either in cash with interest, or with her life.

I swallowed hard as I pictured her, golden hair tied back, the hood of her heavy sweatshirt up, and the hazel of her eyes stern with focus. Her lithe form, too thin from not eating enough, stealing across a dimly lit street, darting around a small white house, and sneaking into a backyard.

Following her best friend’s instructions to cut the power and break in.

All while, me, her best friend, waited for her call to help her with phase two—breaking into the cop’s laptop in hopes of finding some incriminating evidence that would pay her enough to get her out of trouble with the Sons, who’d demanded a motherless art student pay back Lou Goldin’s stupidly large debt to them.

A mix of adrenaline and tedium kept me pinned to my seat, raging against the circumstances, my heart roaring at how unfair it all was. It shouldn’t be this way, the person I loved best being forced to walk the edge of a shadowed world because of circumstance and suicide.

I knew how unfair the world was. I knew that no matter how smart you were, no matter how well you prepared, the world would break you into pieces the first chance it got.

No, all I could do was sit and stare out my window, watching night fall too fast now that it was almost winter. The cold glitter of Boston filled the skyline, bright, sharp, and distant. My computer monitor, reflected in the thick glass, glowed blank and slightly blue. I could just make out my features, the slight pinch between my eyebrows, the tight press of my lips and the nervous drum of my fingers on the arm of my chair.

My other arm was clamped around knees as I burrowed back further into the chair, layered in sweatshirts and a winter hat, not so much out of cold, but to try and keep the worry from gnawing straight through my skin to my terrified, frantic, and furious heart.

Lia is out there. Alone.

Always alone.

It shouldn’t be this way.

For as long as I could remember, her father had barely been in the picture, which made Lou’s current dumbassery even more infuriating. Usually, when I thought of Lia, it was always her and her mother against the world. Until, last year, when out of nowhere, Marina “Fierce” Fioreno, badass Boston Lady Detective extraordinaire had committed suicide, and Lia’s entire world fell apart. School, money, and now this shit.

God, I hate Lou Goldin.

My fingers seized on the chair, and I was tempted to get on my keyboard, track him down, and somehow get him extradited back to the States. But he’d probably end up in jail, and with Lia’s luck, she’d still be on the hook of those awful, idiotic Boston thugs and their goofy-ass criminal name.

Why can’t she catch a break?

At that moment, my phone rang, and I fumbled for it, nearly falling out of my chair. Heart pounding, I saw the number I told Lia to call me from flashing. My hand was shaking so badly, I almost couldn’t answer, and relief made me almost woozy.

“Holy shit,” I blurted into her ear, too much air wheezing out of my lungs, as though someone were squeezing my ribs.

And Lia, lovely, irrepressible, fearless Lia—laughed her ass off at me.

Shaking my head, a rush of affection and annoyance going through me, I drawled, “Okay, yeah, sure, it’s hilarious. That’s what I get for being normal and worried.”

“Believe me, Sara,” she said, her voice warm and familiar in my ear, though with that haunting echo of strain and sadness always ringing through it, “I almost peed myself a few times.”

“But you’re in?”

“I’m in.”

The next few minutes were a blur as I walked her through next steps, the phone tucked against my shoulder as my fingers flew over the keyboard. Forward momentum kept me calm and focused, and I scoffed when I saw the cop’s cluttered desktop.

“Boomers,” I tried to joke. “Look at that mess.”

“Oh my God, you’re the best,” Lia breathed in my ear, and I suddenly wanted to tell her to stop, to just come home. To just let me pay for her life with my ridiculous tech salary. It would be even more once I graduated from school. But I could do that now, I didn’t have to keep thousands in the bank—I’d stopped looking over my shoulder.

Hell, we could have even more money if I gave up this swanky, super-protected Beacon Hill apartment. I could scale down to a regular luxury apartment instead of this uber-secure one.

“Thank you so much,” Lia was saying. “You got me in.”

“No problem,” I got out. Silence pressed at both ends and even though it was the last thing I wanted to do, I made myself ask, “Should I hang up?”

“Yeah,” Lia said softly. “I have it from here. Thank you.”

“Stop saying that,” I said, more sharply than I meant. “Anytime… Oh and, just in case, good luck.” My throat was tight, and my eyes burned as I looked up at the ceiling. “See you soon, right?”

“Of course,” Lia said softly, as though reassuring me. “See you soon.”

I went to speak but the phone slipped, and the call disconnected. The phone’s screen went black in my hand as I stared at it, picturing Lia hunched at the desk, biting her chapped lips, and staring at the cop’s desktop. Going through those folders, one by one.

What if he comes back early? What if—?

“No,” I said out loud, ignoring how my voice shook. “Lia’s got this. She’ll text me in no time at all, safe and sound at home.”

***

I jerked awake out of an old nightmare, one that I hadn’t experienced in over a year, and pressed a hand to my racing heart. You’re okay, you’re safe, I told myself, as I struggled to sit up and make sense of why I was on top of the covers.

Rubbing at my face, I blinked at the windows, and a hot whine of panic began in the back of my head. Something was wrong. Soft pink and gold light streamed through them, lighting up the room. As though daybreak had arrived—but that wasn’t possible because Lia hadn’t called.

I sat up straighter, shaking my head and patting my cheeks, trying to figure out when I’d gone to bed. My memories from the previous night were fragments of waiting and falling asleep, of aimlessly clicking around on my computer, and then sitting on my bed—just for a second…

I fell asleep. Now the panic in my head filled my entire body, a sense of being crushed on all sides, and I forced myself upright. My body seemed disconnected from my brain, movements jerky and automatic as I went to my desk, fumbling around through papers and notebooks for my phone. It wasn’t there.

Whirling around, I spotted it on the floor, and pounced. The battery was almost dead.

No text or calls.

“Lia, no—no,” I murmured. “Where are you—where are you?”

Tears blurred my vision. I had to be dreaming. The soft light filling my window could not be daybreak. It could not be the next day, with no word from my best friend. Any moment now, I would wake up and she would be okay, and my phone would fully be charged and full of messages.

Only the light got brighter, and the phone battery got weaker.

My entire arm trembled as I dialed Lia’s number.

“We’re sorry,” said the cold, automated feminine-coded voice. “Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up and try again.”

“No,” I said and went to throw my phone, before grabbing my charger and plugging it in. First, I attempted to track down Lia with the apps on my phone, before rushing to my computer, and whirling through every way I knew to track her.

But it was as though her phone had been wiped off the face of the earth.

Like Lia had been wiped off the face of the earth.

Here and then suddenly gone, just like her mother.

A sob shuddered between my gritted teeth. Okay, I had to try a different approach. I knew the name of the cop she’d gone after—Mickey Weiss, and yesterday I’d managed to sneak a peek at what Lia had been tasked to investigate.

The Michaelson family, notorious gangsters that lurked in the shadows of the Northeast.

That name had made my entire body go cold, and as I began to search them, the hits made it go colder. Everything I found told me a grim, bloody story of the previous generation—the brutal and horrific exploits of the “Rhino” and the “Reaper.” But both those men were gone now, and the family was under the control of the Rhino’s son, Tyler, and his cousins. By all accounts, Tyler and his capos were just as bad, if not worse—especially since they knew how to cover their tracks.

A pit formed in my stomach as I remembered the heavy muscle outside that Sons of Celt nightclub, the gangsters in suits with tattoos, guns, and cold purpose in their eyes. They’d pulled up right after Lia had gone in, and I remembered that twist in my gut, the timing too close a call…

They have her, said the pragmatic, blunt voice in the back my head. The Michaelson family has Lia. I put my hands over my face. And I’ll never see her again.

“No,” I growled and shoved away from my desk.

I took a quick, freezing shower, then got dressed, and made myself an espresso. When, I at again at my computer, I was more awake, more determined, and caffeinated. I then sent a quick message to my work, then my professors, apologizing for being out today and possibly tomorrow.

I would not leave this desk—I would not rest until I found my friend Lia.

Chapter Two

Sara

Hours passed, a blur of black windows with white text, blinking cursors, and dead ends, until I closed my eyes and saw meaningless words imprinted on the back of my lids. Occasionally, I’d stopped to drink coffee, snack, and jot down notes. But as the afternoon began to wane, I couldn’t eat or drink or make myself to get up.

Not when I was descending into a familiar, deadly kind of panic—a kind of fear that I’d only felt a few times before and had vowed to never feel again.

Ice-cold terror snarled up my arms as I hit another dead end and a scream of frustration built in my head. What the fuck was this? Why couldn’t I find one single answer? One lead?

Did the Michaelson family employ some kind of tech god? A hacker savant? An MIT student?

My jaw set to the side. I had gotten into Harvard and not MIT, and while I loved my Ivy League school—it had been my first choice—the MIT rejection still burned. But maybe I could use that, pretend the Michaelsons did employ some MIT incel bastard who hated women and was a decent coder but would be crushed under my stiletto.

I snorted. Like Zakary Frole at work. God, that fucking twat. At least calling out of work meant I didn’t have to see him and deal with his inability to take no for an answer.

And as though waiting for my petty grievance to pave the way, my computer chirped at me. Finally, I’d found something. Not what I was looking for, but a start—the Michaelson family’s virtual private storage, buried and locked under layers of protection. At least I had something, maybe a place to look for answers, instead of hunting for a place to even look.

You can do this, Sara Tailor. You are a badass tech whiz. Better than any gangster in Boston.

Getting into this storage, however, was presenting a real challenge. Chewing on my lip, my eyes flicked to my second monitor, where the project was that I was working on for my part-time tech job, a security-focused company called Moxi. They let me hack and chew all around their systems and client systems to find security flaws, and last month they had given us all access to a new, cutting-edge tool called Iris-X, or Iris-Beta, as it was still very much in beta.

We were not, under any circumstances, supposed to use it for anything outside of work until the product was done being developed.

But of course, I looked at Iris-X inside and out, copied it, made improvements, and had not yet deployed it. I called it my Iris-XS, my super sneaker, and excellent additions or not, it was a huge risk. I had no idea if Iris-XS could be detected—or if it even worked.

The alternative, though—brute-forcing my way in or even finding the physical server farm to try and get in that way—could take days. Weeks.

Heart pounding into my fingertips, I opened the Iris-XS application before I could stop myself and wielded it against the layers of security and firewalls around the Michaelson systems, cutting through them like a hot knife through butter. It was almost intoxicatingly easy, and a name flashed by during my furious search.

Hyperion.

That gave me pause in the tangled world of the Michaelson’s internal web that opened up to me. My lips parted as it hit me. No wonder it been so hard to hack into this—this wasn’t a typical virtual machine or series of servers. It was not like anything I’d ever seen. This was a whole world, with twists and turns, crafted by a genius who’d named it Hyperion.

“Holy shit,” I said and sat back, flicking my eyes through what I could see, trying to understand what I was looking at. It would take time to learn this, to fully appreciate this—

No. I need to find Lia.

But my hesitation cost me. Suddenly, I was kicked out of where I’d been within Hyperion, and almost locked out entirely. If my super sneaky Iris-XS tool hadn’t given me the ability to create backdoors and fake accounts, I would have been. But like a little parasite, I couldn’t be so easily removed, and I fled off to a different corner, trying to find a list of likely places they could have taken her.

What if they had hurt Lia? I swallowed as the computer screen seemed to fuzz in front of my eyes. What if they’re hurting her right now?

Hastily, I began to compile a list, addresses that I scribbled down, even as I sensed that whatever—or whoever had kicked me out before was closing in.

Sure enough, right before I was about write down the address for a place out in West Carlisle, I was locked out. A snarl tore out of me, and I slammed my hand down in frustration, then sucked in a sharp breath.

Final warning, ran the message on my screen. Your code might be lovely and your talent prodigious, Iris—but next time I won’t be so nice.

I gaped at the message, wondering how they’d done it—and even more mind-blowing, it acted like an old-school chatroom. I could type back.

Fingers shaking, I wrote out, Go to hell, Mr. Hype. Or should I say, Mr. Michaelson?

Oh, ballsy, came the response. Even though it’s pretty damn cold out today in Boston—you’re playing with fire.

“What?” I whispered.

Suddenly, another window opened, this time with a map. For a split second, it was stagnant, then it zoomed in to the Northeast, tilted over to New York, to the Midwest, and then jumped back Massachusetts.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” I hissed as my tired, clumsy fingers attempted to stop Mr. Hyperion, to cut him off before he could find me. How was he doing this?

Yeah, I see you.

Now the map showed Boston and its environs. It hopped to Cambridge, to Harvard, and I swore, as it jumped across the river, to Boston University and Commonwealth Ave, and then moved East.

With no other choice, I killed my entire system, and my screen went black.

But not before I saw his final message.

Better run, because I’m gonna find your ass.

***

Daniel

“Dramatic,” I murmured to myself as the trail vanished, the hacker—who’d I’d dubbed Iris, after managing to glean that the program they were using to hack into Hyperion was called Iris-XS—clearly killing their entire system to prevent me from finding them. “But effective.”

Too bad it was too late—I’d narrowed their location down to a fifteen-mile radius within Boston proper. All I’d needed was a fifty-mile radius and I could hunt them down with days. As it was, by tomorrow, I should have a name, an address, blood type, star sign, favorite kind of porn, and all the other interesting vices hidden in plain sight on the internet.

Leaning back in my chair, I thought I’d sensed them panic when the map had jumped to Cambridge, to Harvard Square. I didn’t think they were there, but they must spend time there. Maybe they were even a Harvard alumnus—though how they’d wound up on Hendrix’s payroll was beyond me. Perhaps prodigious Ivy League debt made the prospect of working for a gangster palatable. Blood money could be lucrative.

Pulling up their tracks, I sighed, and began to clean up their trail, trying to lock down the intranet I’d created for the Michaelson crime family. It was meant to be a web to catch any hacker, but this haphazard, clever spy had dodged every trap. Brute force and deft elegance let them get deeper than anyone should’ve been able to. Young but brilliant, was my guess. Perhaps not a graduate—but a student. Someone who took chances, someone who was willing to piss me off.

I blew out a sigh. Not good. Iris clearly had no idea how far in over their head they were. Or worse—did he have some kid on his payroll? It shouldn’t surprise me—there was no depth to which Hendrix would not sink. His family had become weaker since Ty had taken the lead of our family, and the word on the street was that his father would only give him the official role of boss once he managed to defeat Ty.

I drummed my fingers lightly on my keyboard, debating what to do. I wished I’d known how the little spy had gotten into Hyperion in the first place. Gotten in and then managed to stay in, which should not have been possible.

Staring at my computer, my mind whirled through dozens of possible plans, sifting and sorting. The smartest, most prudent thing would be to take down the whole system, and then bring it back, piece by piece, combing it over to make sure it was locked down and safe.

But then I couldn’t be sure that I’d ever find that hacker. At least, not without my full attention, and we had too much shit going on with Hendrix, the informant cop in the hospital, and the beautiful blonde who had my cousin, the Capo, in knots.

No, I had to play the riskier hand and leave Hyperion vulnerable, open a few doors to try and trick Iris into sneaking back in. Then I could trap them somewhere and study their skills at my leisure, while also finding a physical location.

I can’t believe they’re local. How reckless can you be? I shook my head. Part of me, however, was also curious about their skills—I’d never seen shit like that. It was as infuriating as it was impressive.

No matter what the cost, I had to protect my family stuff.

I had to find that little spy.

***

An incessant chiming came from next to my ear and I groaned, wincing as I tried to lift my aching neck, the inside of my mouth tasting like an ash tray, and my glasses crooked on my face. I blinked in confusion at the screens in front of me, then jolted awake in pure panic.

“Cazzo,” I swore in Italian, as my fingers tried to find the keys, stiff and useless from disuse. I’d been looking for the little spy, Iris, for almost twenty-four hours straight, with no luck. I’d kept meaning to take a break and had fallen asleep at my desk instead.

In the meantime, Iris had pounced. My brain seemed to hum as I woke up more, trying to catch them, screens popping up and closing, their quick, darting work making my jaw clench even as admiration unfurled in my chest.

Damn, Iris had balls.

I wish I could get you on our payroll, I thought, then I barked out, “FUCK,” as they almost found Tyler’s address—again. Heart pounding, I didn’t want to admit that I’d only narrowly stopped them. What the hell were they looking for—addresses to rob, to leak to the Feds, or a hit? Was Hendrix going after the Head of the Michaelson family? Didn’t we have enough to deal with?

I rubbed at my face, glancing at my phone, wondering how things were going with the blonde, and then I reached for a cigarette. Then, I paused when a message box appeared.

That was fun, but I think you’re all talk, Mr. Hype.

“No way,” I breathed. Iris had deconstructed my messaging apparatus, copied it, and was now using it to talk to me? “That’s so fucked—but also fucking incredible.”

Maybe I can teach you a thing or two.

A laugh huffed out of me. Maybe. You seem to have a death wish. What are you after?

Information. I raised an eyebrow as they seemed to pause, weighing their options. I don’t suppose mobsters might be bribed…

The word made my heart snarl, the tension in my spine enough to make it snap, and my head too heavy with the memories of the two biggest assholes in the universe, my uncle and my sperm donor. Their sneering faces, their chest-pounding pageantry at being mobsters, and their relentless cruelty.

Go fuck yourself, I typed and sent Iris hurtling through the Hyperion stratosphere.

I couldn’t wait any longer. I’d started to lay traps for Iris, but that wasn’t cutting it. The next hours were a blur of locking down the most vulnerable and important parts of Hyperion, taking breaks to nap, and plotting where Iris might live in Boston.

The next morning, I was out the door by nine, ready to hit every coffee shop and public wi-fi area around the Common. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but I had a feeling Iris was smart enough to keep moving, and staying private in public was their best bet at continuing to hack Hyperion and avoid me finding them.

Dressed like a college kid, I’d opted for a Northeastern University sweatshirt, a Boston Red Sox hat, and my most comfortable pair of jeans. I kept my hat pulled low and glasses on, trying to keep my expression neutral as I entered the Downtown Bean. But still, I saw the curious glances from people, the mix of admiration and nervousness, and my gut twisted.

Fuck off and stop staring.

I knew, deep down, I had not received the suave, stupid-handsome Italian genes that my cousins Ty and Luca had. Instead, I had a weird mix of striking features that made people do a double take, which I fucking hated to no end. Especially since, once they got a good look at me, saw the look in my eyes—they ran for the goddamn hills. Every time.

Sometimes, I might get a wild child of a woman to pursue me for the thrill of danger, but once she got close, once she sensed even a fraction of how broken and fucked in the head I was—she always vanished on me.

Now, I didn’t even bother beyond an occasional one-night stand, but even that had become less and less frequent. Once, I’d thought that maybe there could be at least one person who might be able to match me. Who might at least like me, who might be into the same things I was, and wouldn’t mind sharpening passion and intellect with me.

Probability-wise, on a planet with eight billion people, it seemed arrogant to assume otherwise.

These days, even that probability seemed like a fucking fairy tale.

I glanced out the window, at the busy stream of people crossing from the Theater District into Chinatown, the artsy kids from Emerson College smoking on the corner and laughing, the parents hustling kids with bouncing backpacks, and tourists ambling along.

The best you can do for Ty and the rest of the family is keep your head down, hack, and keep building Hyperion. Don’t get it twisted. You’re the monster on the Michaelson leash.

My computer let out a strange chime and I jolted, nearly upsetting my coffee. A few people looked over as it went off again and I touched my ears. I was wearing headphones. What the fuck?

Miss me? Ran a message across the screen. And it’s cute how you’re using café wi-fi. Great minds—but I prefer a different coffee shop. Also, there are a lot of public wi-fi places in this city, Mr. Hype. You’re out of your depth—and hiding something in West Carlisle.

Shaking my head, I typed, maybe that’s what I want you to think. With a few keystrokes, I made it look like I was in a different café, then a public library, and finally, an Emerson college classroom in the nearby theater. Or maybe I want you to know where I am.

I didn’t want that at all. Pressing back against the wall, I flicked my eyes over the room, but I saw no danger. Still, maybe sitting by the window wasn’t the best decision. Shattered glass and gunshots flashed through my head, and I let out an unsteady breath. I’d been witness to a drive-by once before and I never wanted to see that shit again, much less die that way.

You are pretty damn good, they wrote back, and I thought the tone was one of begrudging respect, which was kind of amusing. MIT?

Hm, well damn. I had indeed taken an accelerated program at MIT, at Ty’s insistence. Yep. Harvard?

They took a moment to respond. Maybe. And I didn’t know mobsters were so touchy about name-calling. I’ll be more sensitive to that, Mr. Hype.

A jolt went through me, a roll of surprise and excitement that had my fingers hovering over the keyboard as I almost typed out what I’d just realized.

You’re a woman, I thought, and a grin spread over my face.

I wanted to keep things interesting, Ms. Iris.

All that came back was a winky face before my computer rebooted and I yelped out, “Fuck.” The entire café went silent as heads swiveled to me and I gave a sheepish salute. “Computer died. Big paper due.”

Shoving upright, I grabbed the computer, and hustled to another café. There, it took me twenty minutes to get the computer working again. When I did, Iris was nowhere to be found, nor could I assess if she’d found anything.

And then my cousin Luca called me to set up a meeting with Boston Bratva.

Chapter Three

Daniel

After the unexpected outing with a bunch of fucking Russians, the bad news that a local Russian mob boss, Ivan Volskov had been offed, most likely by Hendrix, and having to keep Ivan’s nephew Kir and Ty from beating the hell out of each other, I hadn’t had a chance to check on Hyperion or Iris for almost a full day. For safety, I’d taken parts of Hyperion offline before the meeting with the Russians, and was now booting them back up, wondering if Ms. Iris was watching.

Ooh, did I spook you, Mr. Hype? Came the message.

Don’t flatter yourself, I wrote back, even though she had indeed spooked the fuck out of me. Maintenance.

Sure. Mid-week is a perfect time for that. By the way, those traps you laid for me were real cute. Again, offer stands to teach you a few things.

My lips twisted as I fought the urge to laugh. You’re just delaying the inevitable, brat.

I don’t think so, she wrote back. I think you like playing cat and mouse, Mr. Hype. Especially since I’ve piqued your interest by being in possession of a vagina.

At that, I did laugh outright, and Heavy, who was sitting across the room in the Crow’s Nest, the nickname of our building down the Seaport, slowly lifted his head and raised an eyebrow at me. I winked at him.

Of course, she continued. You thought I was a dude—so disappointing.

Is that why you nuked my computer? I wrote back. And I didn’t assume jack shit. If anything, though, I should’ve assumed you were a woman.

Oh, bullshit, she wrote back. But fine, humor me, why?

You’re persistent and adaptable. You think outside the box. You code with as much elegance as you do brute force.

For a moment, there was no response.

And compliments seem to be your weakness, I couldn’t help adding.

Meet me.

I stirred at that, something in my gut twisting, even as my heart beat a little faster.

Come on. I’ll make it easier. Meet me and let’s talk this out. I have money and—

I’ll stop you right there, I wrote, resentment filling me. I’m not “meeting” you, Iris. Fuck, how naïve do you think I am? I have no interest in having a bullet put in my head in a downtown café.

Perhaps I’d been a bit naïve, too, hunting Iris down with such recklessness. I’d thought her young, but maybe that had been an act. Asking me to meet, that shit was bold. A bit of an ingénue feint, too, trying to get me to let down my guard. Seemed Hendrix had sent an absolute pit bull after us.

Or—fuck. Was this a Fed? Waving money around like that? How fucking nauseating. I’d have to jump off the Tobin if I’d been bantering with a goddamn Fed.

Oh my God, that’s so dark, Iris replied. Christ, only a gangster would think that she wrote back. So, what, we go around in circles until you find me? I have a life, hello? Guess it must be nice not having a day job, being all above it as criminals, too good for the rules like the rest of us.

“Oh, Iris,” I said out loud, dazzled and delighted at her biting temper coming through the computer screen. “You just fucked up. You showed your entire ass, girl.”

I have several jobs, smartass, I wrote back. And yes, I like the chase. I also don’t believe for one second that you’d make it easier for me.

Except, I did. But it was too late to try and go that route. Plus, I couldn’t say for certain, but I suddenly suspected that Iris was a civilian, not Mafia. Day job, huh. Delicious. Especially since I was now pretty certain she wasn’t a Fed.

You won’t find me, Iris wrote. If you haven’t found me yet, you won’t, aren’t you smart enough to see that?

She was right. It had been almost four days, and I hadn’t found her. But what she probably had not anticipated was the danger of revealing anything to someone like me.

I, however, am getting lots of juicy information about Hyperion, she wrote, and I fought a grin. “Yeah, Iris, what I’m letting you find,” I said.

And I am persistent, Mr. Hype. Iris’s words were coming fast and furious now. I knew she had to be glaring at her computer somewhere. I will take all your shit down to get what I want. This is my last offer for a mutually beneficial compromise.

I appreciate that, Iris, I wrote back. But I’m not interested in compromise.

“I’m also not the one using company technology on personal time, young lady,” I said out loud.

“You good over there, cuz?” Heavy called. “’Cause you’re kinda freaking me out talkin’ to yourself and grinnin’ and shit. Look possessed.”

I grinned even wider, my demon’s grin, and I heard Heavy curse to himself. I’d ran a cross-search, and within five minutes, had pulled up the website for a company called Moxi. Located in downtown Boston, right in the Financial District, they were a world-wide expert on security technology, famous for employing hackers to test for weaknesses. And there’d been chatter about their propriety, cutting-edge security technology in beta, not even known to the market yet. A technology called Iris-Beta-22.

“Bingo,” I murmured. Louder, I said, “I’m fucking grand, Heavy.” He came over, a nervous hilarity on his face as he hovered, and I grinned wider. “Wanna take a field trip over to the Financial District with me? I’ll get you dinner.”

“Sure,” Heavy said. “Christ, you’re a scary bastard.”

“Thanks,” I said with a chuckle. Then I read the message from Iris, you’re going to regret this.

Nah, I wrote back. But I will see you real soon. And with that, I shut down most of Hyperion, save for one corner where I had Iris trapped. It would take her hours, if not days, to get out of there.

And in the meantime, I now knew where she worked. By the end of the week, Friday at the latest, I’d finally know who she was.

Looks like you’re gonna get that face-to-face after all, Iris, I thought as I stood up and grabbed my jacket. But I think I’m gonna enjoy it a hell of a lot more than you are.

How likely are you to recommend this preview to a friend?

0	1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10

Submit