Chapter One

Vanessa

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m afraid I can’t, Vanessa.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Two

Ethan

An Hour Earlier

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go away,” he hollered with annoyance.

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

Before the door clicked open, there was silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our transaction started before the bottle stood up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We three waited for the stranger to make a decision.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Prologue 

Laura 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter One 

Laura 

Buzz, buzz.  

Buzz.! 

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

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

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

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

‘Where are you?’ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friendship with Maxie means the whole world to me.  

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean no roommate?”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Two 

Laura 

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

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

That was her life.  

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

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

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

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

“Laura? You’re up in ten!”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good going.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Showtime.  

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

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

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

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

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Chapter One

 Lia

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Next,” the bouncer boomed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When it’s convenient,” he said.

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

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

“Where can I find Ryan White?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Twenty-five thousand dollars: gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I couldn’t leave if I wanted to,

Cause something keeps pulling me back to you…

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

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

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

Somehow, I wanted to burn.

There’s an energy when you hold me,

When you touch me, it’s so powerful…

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

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

I wanted to say something to him—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My mind running wild,

With thoughts of your smile,

Oh, you gotta give me some.

Or you could give it all,

But it’s never enough, no…

Chapter Two

Ty

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have to know her name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of all the hellholes in Massachusetts…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now, Dean glanced around and nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Lia

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

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

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

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

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

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

I wondered if my stranger had come with them.

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

“Oh,” I murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again and again, I replayed what had happened.

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

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

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

God, how could someone be so freakishly hot?

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

“Huh?” I blinked over at Sara.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus,” Sara said weakly.

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

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

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Chapter One

Camila

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry,” I mutter lamely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was not a request, Mija.”

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

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

Chapter Two

Camila

This is the part I hate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Papa. I know! I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nathaniel Angelo is alive.”

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

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

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

This is the worst thing he could have said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“S-so… What does that mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Has anyone made any threats on our lives?”

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

My rebellion dies in my throat.

Just like that, I’m defeated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Chapter One

Maria

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Control one…control one…control…”

***

Angelo

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

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

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

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

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

“How many men do we have here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Two

Maria

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I sighed. “Yeah. Thanks, Ma.”

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

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

“Madre está bien! Mom ‘s good… You?”

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

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

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

“Hello? Officer Kensington?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maria!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, the arm?”

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

“Damn shame… Broken?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever. Gimme’ the digits.”

“Control One,” I replied.

“What?”

“Like on the computer. C-T-R-L-1.”

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

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

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

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

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

“So, you know who it is?”

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

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

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

“But Johnny, I…”

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

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

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

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

Prologue (2011)

 Albert

My back aches from the metal bed frame. It’s the type of ache that can’t be kneaded out, cracked, or slept off – it’s the type of ache that shoots hot courses of pain through the rest of my body. I shift onto my left shoulder, turning towards the cement wall. I’m not really thinking about that, though. I’m not even thinking of the bruise that has been steadily forming since this morning when I’d been shoved against the pavement of the courtyard and kicked in the ribs. Because right now, staring into the darkness of the cold wall, I can only think only of Emma. The ache of Emma masks everything else.

I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, forcing myself to push her from my mind. I try to think of lawyers to write to, journalists that might be interested in my story, or some non-profit that takes on cases like this. Someone outside of this goddamn place has to be able to help me, someone has to be thinking of me, maybe she is.

Fuck, I open my eyes. Stop thinking about her. Stop thinking about her.

When I was little, my mom used to tell me to count sheep jumping over a fence to distract me enough to fall asleep, and if I couldn’t, I could picture numbers jumping over the fence. I try that now with this new mantra.

One sheep.

Stop thinking of her brown eyes.

Two sheep.

Stop thinking of her perfect lips.

Three…Stop thinking of her skin pressed against–

A crash of noise outside the door breaks me out of my mind, and I shoot up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, ready for anything.

Outside there is more noise — a clamoring of bodies and shouts and banging against walls. I move toward the door. Looking out my cell window, I see prisoners beating up guards, guards pinning prisoners to the ground, prisoners fighting prisoners, a madness spreading deep through the hallway of my cell block.

I can feel my heart pounding hard, leaping toward the door as if it knows that’s the way out. Some inmates spring other cells open. There is a part of me that wants them to come in here, but a part that also remembers what it feels like to be in a prison fight. Fuck it, I think, realizing what I really want is to be out of this place and bang my fist against the glass.

“Hey!” I start shouting between pumps. “In here!”

A face appears at the window, pallid and large, a toothy grin of gold teeth.

Oh fuck. I take a quick step back.

The door springs open, and Gold Teeth enters, followed quickly by two more prison gang members. I learned to avoid these guys, not invite them into my cell with nothing to defend myself. I take another step back toward the wall.

“Well, well, well,” Gold Teeth breathes onto me, his face inches from mine, and starts to back me into the sink. “It’s Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.”

The other two laugh and close the door, muffling the sounds of the prison riot happening outside.

“You wanted us,” Gold Teeth taps a finger against my chest, speaking in mock magnanimity, “to help you.”

I brace my hands against the sink. I know what happens when you fight back here, my ribs beg me not to this time. I swallow, downing the part of me that needs to resist.

“I didn’t know what was happening out there. I don’t need –”

“I don’t give a fuck what you need,” Gold Teeth shoves me hard into the sink while the other two close in. “We’re getting out of here tonight, and what I need from you, my little Million Dollar Baby, is to know where you hid all the money.”

He presses against my sternum, almost certainly close to breaking it. I try to take another deep breath and feel my lungs restrict with the pressure.

“He asked you a question!” The bigger of the two grabs me by the collar and forces me against the wall, digging his elbow into my throat.

“Tell me where the money is,” Gold Teeth said louder this time.

One of them punches my stomach, sending whatever air I had left in me out. I start to choke and sputter, “I never had it.”

Someone hits me again.

“I said, tell me. Where. The. Fucking. Money. Is.”

The arm against my throat presses in harder, and my vision begins to go black.

“I don’t,” I spit out, “know.”

“Wrong fucking answer.”

Something sharp connects with my forehead, and I cry out in agony.

“Where. Is. The. Money?”

The sharp point is pressing deeper into my forehead. I breathe out harsh exhales, knowing they aren’t going to stop, even as hot blood trickles down over my eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” I pleaded, my voice cracking. I feel a bit of blood makes its way into my mouth, like iron.

“Wrong again.”

The blade digs in deeper still, slicing down past my forehead and into my eyebrow. The tip grazes my brow bone as I start seeing stars.

Everything is blacker now, hotter, colder, louder, quieter, everything all at once.

I start to black out and imagine I’m somewhere else, somewhere in my mind that isn’t this moment in the cell, far away from the cold blade digging into my skin. I’m in a bed somewhere else. It’s warm. It smells sweet, like honey. Suddenly, there is a leg wrapped around mine.

Mmm, Emma. She feels so perfect with her legs wrapped around mine. Hasn’t it always been this way? Me and her, tangled.

I inhale her sugary scent and start to wonder where I am, why things feel so different so suddenly.

Have I been freed? Have I been found innocent?

Emma’s eyes blink up at me so slowly, almost as if they are saying something. Blink. It will. Blink. All be. Blink. Alright.

Someone screams. Someone very far away from this bed with Emma. I’m listening to him when I realize my eye is on fire, burning in pain.

Pain. I remember the pain so quickly then, the pain of my life being taken from me, the pain of losing everything I’d ever known, and the pain of betrayal. Emma’s betrayal.

Emma’s eyes blink again at me, faster now. And this time I understand them. I understand her. I understand all she’s done to me.

The faraway man screams once again, and Emma’s face vanishes. She’s drifting off into nothingness, into the black darkness that falls around me now.

The darkness.

Chapter 1 (2021)

Emma 

 The dark midnight blue color of my dress almost reminds me of New York City at midnight. You can’t see the stars, so the sky is a murky sort of black, but with a disastrous quality to it, like you never know who will come down out of the heavens.

When I was younger, I’d go up on the rooftop at night — this was before we lived in a place with a fancy rooftop patio — and lay a towel over the graveled roof covering. I’d looked up at my city’s midnight sky so many times and still always found it frighteningly expansive.

I smooth the gown over my hips and smile a little at the thought of bringing midnight around with me tonight. I’ll need it.

“Wow.”

I turn around to see my little sister, Deborah, standing in the doorway. She doesn’t look so little anymore at twenty-five, but her sickness has kept her frame slight, and she still has the appearance of a young girl. To me, of course, she will always be a little girl.

“You look so hot,” Deb crosses the room and lays down on my bed, propping her head up with a bent elbow. She always makes a room hers.

“Are you sure?” I check myself out in the mirror. “I feel like I can see lines around my eyes.”

“Oh my God!” Deb shoots off the bed and takes my face in her hands, inspecting it dramatically. “You do not have lines!”

“Okay, okay, I know!” I yank my sister’s hands from my face, inspecting it for myself. I still think I see lines.

Deb sighs dramatically, flopping back on the bed.

“What?” I turn to her suspiciously. I’ll never get used to seeing her like this, so healthy and energetic. It makes me so happy but still sends a spike of fear through me, always anticipating something will ruin it.

“Nothing,” she says, clearly having something in mind. “It’s just that I wish I were getting ready for something—”

“You’re not coming,” I turn away from my sister and head back to my vanity; I don’t want her even to think I’m entertaining this idea.

“Why not? I’m feeling one thousand times better than last year. You agree that I’m hot. And who knows,” Deb learns toward me with a dramatic whisper. “This could be my last year…”

“Stop it. Don’t even talk like that,” I scowl at her. How can she laugh about this when it’s all I ever think about, dread about?

“Fine! But it would be fun.”

“It’s not gonna be fun,” I put my hands on my hips and stare my sister down. This position feels too familiar, so I drop them at my sides. “It’s a bunch of old, boring donors and benefactors and whatever else you want to call people who we have to pander to get their money. It’s going to be about work. Exhausting and boring work.”

Deb sighs. She might be feeling one thousand times better, but she’d never be feeling better enough to fight me when my hands are on my hips. That’s just something you know after twenty-five years together.

“I know it’s work,” she grumbles and looks down at her phone.

I watch her for a second longer and then turn back to the mirror, checking my lipstick closely. I sigh, too. It is work. And it’s going to be hard. Deb doesn’t understand because she’s never been out there with our dad on nights like these. Nights where everything was gorgeous and glittery and expensive and hard. Today had been hard. Every day for the past ten years had been hard.

“You okay?” Deb catches my eye in the mirror.

“Yeah,” I smile at her through my reflection. “Just thinking.”

“I know,” Deb nods. And she does, Deb always knows, I never have to say more. So many years leaning on one another in quiet ways does that to sisters. “Today sucks for you. But,” her voice raises a little, “it is still a gala. Try to enjoy yourself. Have fun when you’re schmoozing. Maybe talk to some handsome benedonor or whatever you want to call him.”

“I’m not gonna do that.” I shake my head and pick up my mask, trying it out over my eyes.

“Fine, don’t do anything fun,” Deb’s voice grows louder as I get closer to leaving. “But don’t do anything stupid, either.”

I turn around to give her one last look of annoyance, eyes narrowed like we’re kids again. Then I blow her a kiss. Deb swats it away with a hand.

****

The room is full when I enter. Masked patrons milling about, holding flutes of champagne, and swapping gossip. I hear some women mention the extravagance of this year’s event with some impressed reverence in their voice and roll my eyes inwardly. I scan the room, looking for someone to avoid.

“There you are,” and just the voice I was looking to avoid. My father’s arm grips my shoulder tightly and pulls me into him. “You’re a little late.”

I turn into my father and give him the sugariest smile I can muster, turning my cheek for him to kiss.

“I’m making an entrance.”

My dad, Cyril, is still handsome at sixty-five, and I hate him for it. He’d been handsome all his life, with his tan skin and jet-black hair. But it was his smile that drew people to him. The Larson Smile, they used to call it. He would tell us a smile that could melt hearts and panties but, most importantly, open wallets. He made us practice it in the mirror growing up. Now, his skin no longer tan and his hair no longer black, dad kept sporting the same Larson Smile as ever.

“Smile, Sweetheart,” he says between bared teeth. “At least make it look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

I close my eyes and count to three, then I open and flash him the most stunning Larson Smile I can, my lips turned up in just the way he taught us, eyes twinkling with mystery and intrigue.

“Beautiful,” Dad says. I raise my mask over my eyes, never changing the position of my lips. “Make sure you talk to the Cohens tonight, please. We need some fresh investors.”

I turn, anxious to get some distance between myself and my father. It is my job to talk to investors, after all, not him. He’s become increasingly pushier when it comes to finding investors, pawning me off to talk to anyone he thinks might be an easy target. I’ll appease him by heading in the direction of the Cohens, but I make no plans to talk to them right now.

Instead, I head for the center of the room, the best place to be alone. A passing waiter offers me a glass of champagne, and I take it.

Through my mask, I take it all in. Everyone here has come to impress us. Ten years ago, we’d never have been in a place like this with people like these. I’d never be wearing a gown that cost more than three months’ rent at the place we grew up. I’d never be asking people for money that I couldn’t have even fathomed, and they would never have given it to me! I take a sip of my champagne, tipping the flute into my mouth, feeling a rush of cool bubbles against my tongue.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice from behind me jolts me into action. I pull my lips into their place and turn.

I falter, my smile tipping just slightly at the corners at the sheer surprise of what is in front of me. I’m used to crumpled and stout old men or elderly women with repulsive fur coats. I’m used to boring and ugly. This man, this man is young, maybe a few years older than me, with olive skin and a head full of dark brown hair. He’s at least six feet tall (but who can tell when you’re wearing heels?), and he has broad shoulders that seem to tense as I take them in. He’s wearing a mask, and his eyes, are a captivating deep brown color that I could get lost in.  Something about the way his jaw flexes and brows knit together, I can tell he’s handsome. There is something else, too. Something I can’t quite put a finger on.

“I was wondering if you knew where I might find some of that,” the stranger motions to my glass.

“The champagne?” Obviously, he’s asking about the champagne.

He nods and smiles just slightly.

“Oh, yeah, well, there are waiters all around,” I say as I glance around, hoping one might materialize in front of us. I don’t want him to walk away just yet.

“Hmm,” I feel him following my gaze around the room and turn as he’s stepping toward me. I take another sip, just to have something to do. “Why don’t we find one of them together, then? Looks like you’re almost out.”

Oh God, I hadn’t realized I’d been downing my drink. I pull it back quickly from my lips, almost spilling it. He smiles and looks away, pretending not to see.

“Sure,” I agree. The stranger places a large hand on the small of my back, and he starts to guide me from the center of the room.

Quickly, we find a waiter, and each pluck a flute from the tray, depositing my (now empty) glass onto it.

“Cheers,” he says, clicking my glass.

“Cheers.” Our eyes meet, and my heart rate raises. The eyes, just behind a silver mask, are deep brown. A brown that melts my insides. A brown that reminds me of the man I destroyed, the same man I mourned today.

“It’s a beautiful dress,” his voice reminds me where I am. “You shouldn’t be hiding it in that crowd.”

The stranger smiles at me. For a girl with a famous smile, I’m surprised by how his takes me off guard.

“Who says I was hiding?” I return a sultry grin. Two can play at this smile game.

“It took me a while to find you,” the stranger takes a sip of his champagne.

My eyebrows raise involuntarily. “You were looking for me?”

“Yes,” he says plainly.

“Do we… know each other?” My heart picks up, telling me something, I just don’t know what.

“Not yet,” he smiles that smile again, and I feel nervous and mad and jealous all at once now.

“But you were looking for me?”

The stranger takes a step closer toward me, and I wonder if he can feel the heat on my arms the way I can feel it from him.

“I was looking for the most gorgeous woman in the room,” he whispers closer now.

I can’t help but smile — a sincere one, with a slight roll of my eyes. “That’s a good line. You should remember it.”

The stranger chuckles softly. “Are you going to remember it?”

“I might,” I tip my drink into my mouth, the bubbles feeling so different now.

When he smiles, the stranger’s eyes turn up in the corners, and I find myself drawn into them once more. They look like Albert’s. I miss how he smiled when we talked and when we did nothing but stare at each other. I miss him. I know I shouldn’t — couldn’t, really — but I did.

Soon, I was finishing my second glass of champagne and the stranger was handing me a third, then a fourth, his quick wit making me laugh or activating my defenses, always pulling me in and pushing me away, like a delicious game.

“So tell me, how is it you get people to invest in your family’s hotel?” the stranger asked as I sipped my fourth glass.

“Well, first I research who I’m speaking with, then I talk to them like they are the most important people in the world.” I look around the room, wondering if anyone is watching us, then realizing I don’t care. “Like this. Say you’re a Wall Street big shot.”

“Who says I’m not?” the stranger raises his eyebrows.

“Great,” I say, smiling. “Then you’ll be able to get into character easily.”

He gives me a grin and says, “Okay, please, continue.”

“I will,” I clear my throat in mock severity. “So you work on Wall Street. You live in Tribeca in some beautiful loft and I read online that you enjoy running marathons on the weekend.” I take a step toward him, feeling my heart rate rising with the slightest narrowing of our space.

“You must work out,” I continue in character, grasping his forearm, inhaling sharply when I realize just how strong he feels. I pretend my reaction is a part of the show. “How do you make time outside of work?”

“I work hard and play hard,” he says, his chest expanding and closing our gap a bit more.

“I don’t know if exercise is playng,” I say.

“Depends on the type of exercise.” He says, and my hands grip tighter around his arm without meaning to, so I loosen it quickly.

“I just talk to them,” I say, breaking out of this charade, slightly breathless. “People like to invest with those they feel comfortable with, like friends.”

“It seems like you treat them like more than friends,” he says, cocking his head slightly, and I remember I’m still holding onto him.

“It’s my job,” I laugh, removing my hand from his arm. It was just as warm as I imagined. “And what’s yours? I’m sorry I’ve been talking so much.”

“My job is not nearly as entertaining as yours. You get to talk to rich people all day and go to galas in hotels with private aquariums.”

“Mmm,” I sip my champagne. “There is a nice aquarium here.”

“Will you show me?” The stranger had a new smile, one that was sending tingles through me everywhere.

I pause, and for a second, the whole room is quiet.

It’s just me and the stranger, and my heart beating loudly, sending heat through my limbs and everywhere else. My belly feels full of bubbles and anticipation, an anticipation that needs action. I see him take a breath in, watching his chest fill and release. I want to reach out and touch him, let his chest fall under my hand. I notice him looking at me intently, those eyes both haunting and inviting. It’s like I’m with him. It’s like the past ten years never happened. I want to stay in this moment of unreality, travel back, and be with the man I loved. I want to be with this stranger.

“Sure.”

The word surprises me, but suddenly I’m leading the handsome stranger from the ballroom and toward the aquarium downstairs. We’re pushing through the crowd and I remember Deborah’s words to me before I left tonight. I wonder if what I’m about to do will count as fun or stupid. Maybe it’s both.

Chapter 2

 Vince

The hallway to the aquarium is dark with blueish lighting, turning Emma’s dress into a vision of the deep sea. Her hips move beneath the satin in front of me and I watch, knowing I should look away. I knew it would be hardest to see her.

It has been ten years since I’ve been Albert and even I wouldn’t have noticed myself in the mirror, but, still, I’d felt the familiar anxiety of entering a new world I’d experienced many times before.

When Eric shared the plan for tonight, I readied myself. I prepared to enter this gala to meet with Justin and Hunter. Once upon a time, in another life, they were the only two people I trusted more than anyone in the world. Then they betrayed me. I planned how it would be to see their faces hear their voices and watch them live the lives they stole from me.

I had not been able to plan this far in my head with Emma.

Every night for the past ten years, I’ve thought of Emma. It has become a tradition. The only way to fall asleep and face another day of a life that I’d never wanted was to think of the woman who had betrayed me, to picture her face in revenge fantasies, to think of a million ways to hurt her as she’d done to me without a glance back.

Then there she was, standing in a sea of people, her lips pressed against a flute of champagne, and I felt everything leave me. I took a deep breath and spoke to her like she was a stranger.

And now, here we are, two strangers in a dark hallway headed toward an isolated room. Soon, I’d have her alone. Soon I could do anything to her. The hatred that had boiled so steadily for the past ten years seemed to transform when I saw her. I knew the second I saw her I had to have her. She’d taken so much from me ten years ago. Now, it’s my turn to take from her. Now, I can have anything I want from her.

“Have you ever stayed here before?” Emma turns to me as she speaks.

The room is dark, an eerie blue glow casting all around. In front of us is a glass tank extending from the floor to the twenty-foot ceilings. Light dances between us and all around us, as fish move back and forth inside the aquarium. There are smaller fish flitting in and out of coral, eels wrapping around the seaweed plants, and stingrays floating just above the sand. It feels like we’ve been transported beneath the sea ourselves, blinking into salt and grasping our way to the top.

“No,” I shake my head, looking into the tank. “I’ve been away from New York for a while.”

“Hmm, that would be nice,” Emma’s eyes watch an eel wind its way around a pillar of coral, a striking green against orange.

“You don’t like it here?” I travel next to her, watching the same eel.

“I grew up here, and I’ve spent too much time here,” Emma trails off and walks back to a bench, her hips swaying again, every inch of her revealed to me in that dark satin. I watch as she takes a seat and crosses her legs. God, I want to uncross them. I turn back to the tank, not wanting to give her any power over me.

“And what could a woman like you be missing?” I stare deep into the blueness of the underwater world. A reef shark shifts out of the dark and passes in front of me, slowly moving over the sand, sending some of the fish under rocks. The eel stays wrapped around the coral, unflinching.

“I don’t know,” Emma’s voice behind me sounds so small. I turn around and walk toward her. The light flickers across her face as she looks up at me, her brown eyes big and inviting as nothing has changed. Those same big, brown, eyes that I have pictured every single night for the last ten years.

But everything has changed. My whole world had changed. After I met Emma, I became a criminal. Then, a wrongfully convicted criminal. Then the victim of prison gang violence. Then the protege of one of the most feared men in the penitentiary. Then — after extensive plastic surgery — someone else entirely, Vince King.

All the while, Emma, Hunter, and Justin lived out their fantasies, profiting off my imprisonment and supposed “death.” That boil starts to fill me again, and I let it rise.

I step closer to Emma and pull her up to stand, our bodies so close I can feel her chest move into mine with each breath.

“What do you want?” I ask, my voice gruff.

“I don’t… I don’t think I know,” she breathes out.

I grab her waist and pull her against me in an instant. Her body pressed into me as my hands dug into her hips.

“You brought me down here,” I growl into her ear. “Now tell me what you want.”

“I want,” Emma looks up into my eyes. I see the desire in them and feel only my own. “You.”

I lift her without hesitation, Emma wrapping her legs around my waist. I drop her roughly on a table, the rattle echoing through the room.

I take her neck in one hand and her left knee in the other. I snake my fingers around her throat, tilting her face back to look into my eyes. She looks so fragile with my hand around her neck, so easy to break. Emma’s hand slides up to meet mine on her neck, pushing down on it, inviting me to choke her.

“You do know what you want,” I murmur, bringing my lips achingly close to Emma. I remember what they tasted like a long time ago. I hope they don’t taste the same. “But you’re not in control, Sweetheart.”

I press my lips onto hers, crashing down on them with a passion and need that can’t be filled. I feel their warmth and softness open for me and move my tongue inside, feeling her and tasting every corner of her mouth. She sighs against me as we explore each other. She tastes the same. Fuck. It makes me burn with anger.

I push Emma harder into the table, the hand on her knee digging in the edge. I start pushing my hand up her leg, feeling the curve of her thigh, the way her body gives with my touch, and her involuntary shake when I reach the spot I knew she was ticklish. I push harder there. Emma’s body bucks into mine, and her mouth tears away from me. I grab the back of her neck harder and pull her back. I want her to know I’m in control. I want her to know I’m going to have her. Now.

My hand pushes higher up her thigh underneath her dress, inching toward her underwear. I reach the crease where her leg meets her hip and trail my finger along the line, down the edge of her thong toward her wettest part. God, she is so warm and wet. She needs me just as badly as I need her.

“Touch me,” Emma moans.

I hook a finger through the thong and pull lightly, my knuckle grazing her clit.

I pull my face away from hers. Her eyes look greedy, staring back at me. I tighten my hand around her throat.

“You told me you didn’t know what you wanted,” I smiled sadistically. “So you’re gonna sit there and take it.”

Emma’s eyes widen with surprise and I pull again on the thong, letting my finger touch her harder this time on her clit.

“Right?”

Emma nods, and I rip the underwear from her body, pulling it past her legs and dropping it to the floor.

I trace my finger up and down the crease of her, sliding the wetness all around, never taking my eyes from her, seeing he drop her head back, sighing. The base of her neck folds into my hand, and I wind my fingers through her hair, then push her head up for our eyes to meet.

“I want you to look at me when I fuck you.” I want her to watch me.

Emma starts to nod, and I push one finger into her, feeling how tight she is. My body reacts almost instantly, a shutter flowing through me from head to toe. I contain it, though, I want her to know I’m in control. I don’t want her to know what she is doing to me.

Still, I know I am growing harder, my cock pounding with need.

“Oh,” she sighs.

“You like that?” I like hearing her want more. I push my finger in deeper. “You can take more, can’t you?”

I thrust two more fingers into Emma, and she jerks in surprise with the force and suddenness of it. I bring them in and out hard and fast as she gasps and moves with me. I press my thumb into her clit, and her body shivers with every stroke. Fuck, she feels so good around my fingers, twisting with desire and groaning with need. Her head starts to fall back again, her eyes leaving me.

I wretch her head up again, my hand constricting tightly around her neck.

“I’m not gonna tell you again.” I squeeze a little tighter. Emma looks into my eyes as I push my fingers roughly in her, her dress bunching and constricting around her waist. Her mouth falls open as she gasps for air and sighs for release. I want to see her pretty little mouth around my cock.

I pull my fingers from her suddenly, and she lets out a soft cry. I slide the hand around Emma’s neck up to her chin and tilt her face to meet mine more clearly. My other hand is still slick with her, so I run my fingers over her lips. The heat of her breath tickling my fingertips, I press a finger into her mouth.

Her hand grabs my wrist, and she holds it tight, leaning into the finger, pulling it deep into her mouth, licking her tongue up and down the length of it. She bites it gently, and the corners of her mouth curl up.

She may have tasted the same, but this woman is not the girl I knew ten years ago.

I pull my finger from her mouth and flip her around. Emma cries out in surprise as I bend her body over the table. I push her frame against the wood with one hand against her back, forcing her face down. I shove her dress up over her ass and look at it, round and bare, splayed out in front of me. All of her, just for me.

My cock pushes hard against the front of my pants, and I unbuckle the belt and undo the zipper quickly, letting it spring from my underwear.

Emma looks back at it, eyeing my cock with a greedy sort of a need, filling me with power. She wants me. I want to torture her first.

I start to stroke myself, satisfying the built-up feeling within me, watching her face move with my hand.

“You want this dick?” I stroke slowly.

“Please,” she moves her eyes up to mine, away from my cock.

I smile at her and tease my cock up her leg, touching her crease so lightly. I travel it along the crease toward her ass, leaning into her more with each millimeter. I bring it back to her pussy and rub it against her clit. Emma cries out.

“Don’t make me wait,” she looks back at me with her eyes full of something I had never known in her. I want to drive her crazy. I want her to feel everything I’d felt from her and more. I want to break her.

I grab Emma’s hair in one hand and jerk her head back, pulling her up to hit my body, my cock still edging between her legs, the back of her head pressing into my cheek. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’ll wish you never said that.”

I shove her back down and grab onto her hips, pulling her ass into me and inching my cock into her. Emma cries out as I enter her. The feeling of her around me isn’t enough, I need more, I need to have all of her. I press deeper and harder, Emma screams.

I start to pump, hard and fast, into her as she grasps the side of the table. My fingernails dig into the sides of her hips, bruising her. I want to leave a mark, remind her that I could fuck her into nothingness. The way her ass looks bouncing up against me, listening to the way she cries out underneath me, I never want to stop.

“Please! Yes!” Her begs make me push harder and grab onto her hair, pulling her head off the table. She looks back at me, her mouth agape and gasping.

“That’s a good girl,” I growl into her. I feel Emma starting to shake beneath me, constricting around my cock, her legs starting to give out. “Wait until I tell you to come.”

Emma’s panting grows loud and mixes with mine. The sound of her want and need sends me over the edge, and I feel myself getting close. Her voice shaking, I hear Emma say, “Please. Please let me come. I can’t wait.”

“Not yet,” I pull her hair again, sending her body into mine, and grab her breast in the other hand. My body starts to fill, and I know I need a release. I pinch her nipple and Emma screams; the sound makes me almost come undone.

“Now,” I pant into her, tightening my grip on her nipple. “Come for me.”

Emma lets out a cry, and her body shakes around me, her head lolling back, the feeling of her utter ecstasy courses through me. I’m so close now as her scream fades from my ears, and I feel her limp in my arms, completely mine, completely used. Pleasure shoots through me and I grab her tightly against me as I come inside her, forcing her to stay still as I empty myself into her. The release leaves me breathless, and I pant hotly into her ear.

For a second, I forget myself and want to hold her there. Then, I remember I’m Vince, and this is Emma. This is the woman who betrayed me.

I release her from my grip and shove her back toward the table, turning from her and getting myself together. From the corner of my eye, I see Emma hastily pulling her underwear on and smoothing out her dress and hair.

I watch her in the reflection of the glass tank for a second longer before I turn back, but when I do, she’s already moving toward the door.

“I have to…” she starts. “I have to go.”

I watch Emma hurry for the door, sensing her embarrassment and discomfort. In the dark of the aquarium, the light moving around the room like ghosts, I smile, knowing this is only the start of what I want to put her through.